Old/New World Discourse: My Friend's Shuk: More than apples or falafel

To me, the shuk is a place of wonder. From spice stalls, to bazaars crammed with all manners of dried fruit and nuts, to vegetable vendors, and to the best of fish mongers, the Jerusalem shuk, to me, is about culinary delights. I love the shuk.

To Missy Oldest, though, the Jerusalem shuk is a place to avoid. Too many young men from too many nations lie in wait there, ever ready to comment about her looks. Some whistle, others remark, aloud, sharing their unsolicited ideas about her beauty, in general, or about her natural hair color, specifically. She hates the shuk.

To a special family friend, who has merited living in this holy city for generations, the Jerusalem shuk is a market for goods. It's a place where savvy shoppers stand a reasonable chance of getting value for their shekels.  She tolerates the shuk.

Recently, Missy Oldest and I had the privilege to shop in the Jerusalem shuk with this special family friend. Except for a carton of eggs for my family's weekday dinners and some pistachios to brighten Computer Cowboy's Shabbot, I took no advantage of the market's culinary offerings. Except for a few shy, and one sly, glances from shuk workers, Missy Oldest experienced no harassment. Rather, the shuk we saw that afternoon was the shuk of our special friend's daughter. Missy Oldest and I experienced the shuk of a new kallah.

Drapes, pillows, pitchers, measuring cups and the like were on our shopping agenda. We viewed mixing bowls and spatulas, table runners and salt and pepper shakers. We adjudicated among kiddish cups and weighed the pros and cons of purchasing one type of bath towel versus another.

Although I have occasionally purchased the odd sukkah decoration or havdallah candle at the shuk, I was not accustomed to thinking of that market as a place from which to glean housewares. Although Missy Oldest had been sent, during the course of a scavenger hunt, to but trinkets at the open air market, she, likewise, was not used to think of the shuk as a place from which to build a kitchen or furnish a bathroom.

Fortunately, our special friend and her daughter taught us otherwise. Prices are consistently good at the Jerusalem shuk. Variety is available. Not all vendors are lecherous; some are even courteous and helpful. 

The four of us had no trouble filling the car with all sorts of household goods. In fact, we left out brooms, mops, and kindred utensils because they simply would not fit.

Albeit, by the end of the afternoon, other shuk-based attractions, such as a falafel sandwich for Missy Oldest, and a pita filled with other tasty spreads for the new kallah were brought to prominence, most of the afternoon we spent chasing down items that could not be consumed in a matter of bites. We learned that the Jerusalem shuk is not only a place for folks who huckster herbs or watermelon, but also a place, to which to come, intentionally, for bath mats, colanders, and candle holders.
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Little Smile:

Leftover summertime tidbit; it's interesting to note that our hand-held phone did not run out of batteries until Missy Youngest returned home from sleep away camp.