Friday, October 2nd, 2020

The line for the new bakery stretches down the block, past the entrance to the Heart of the City mall. Red stripes mark the pavement every two meters. People should be standing at them, not between them. In practice, they stand about half as far apart. That’s better than the clustering I see elsewhere. A man with a cane sits on a bench nearby. Every few minutes, he walks up to another man in the line to ensure that he is keeping his spot. Everyone understands this. It’s OK. A woman walks up to the guard. He knows her. She isn’t trying to barge in, but wants to know if the bakery has a particular item in stock. The guard asks how many she wants and says that he’ll check. He goes inside. She goes to the end of the line. He returns and waves a plastic bag with baked goods in the air. He has found what she wants and is holding them for her. A car with a gaudily-decorated trailer moves slowly down the street, blasting music for the holiday that starts tonight. A little boy in line dances to the sound. The usual chabadnicks aren’t at the mall entrance. They gather there on Fridays to try to convince men to put on tefillin and to show them how. Getting that close to strangers isn’t possible during the lockdown. I finally get to the front of the line. A mic stand next to the guard holds a scanning thermometer. Each customer has to wave a hand in front of it. I do. I pass. I enter. I already have a challah from the bakery around the corner. I get large and small pitas and a loaf of sandwich bread here, as well as a coffee granita to go. I sit in the city square on a bench away from other people, take down my mask, and drink the granita slowly. I don’t want to get a brain freeze. Several meters from me, a shabbily dressed man bangs away at a single chord on an acoustic guitar and shouts words that I can’t understand. After a while, he pauses, takes a recorder from his pocket and plays a beautiful, complicated melody, full of unexpected turns and melismas. When he reaches the end, he jams the recorder into a different pocket and goes back to banging the guitar and shouting. The city billboard near us has a new sign. Tonight’s holiday usually features people going around to visit one another. The sign acknowledges that, using the classic terminology, but says we’re not to do it this year. To fight the virus, to preserve the rules, to preserve life, this year we will just stay home.