Why is Jerusalem different (under lockdown) from all other cities?

Ashkenazi”, they said, pointing at me, “Why else would she wear a mask over her nose and mouth?”. “You’re Anglo”, smirked an interchangeable interlocutor, “that’s the only reason you don’t send to gan/act normal/want to lick my ice cream”. If you were seeking to pigeonhole us according to some structuralist anthropological study, we’d be the isolationists. Seemingly only dimly aware that there is still a pandemic - “But Corona ended in May!”, expostulated one childminder to her client - most Israelis appear to be managing trippingly, even if on the back of some Gothic-style governance. Bars and nightclubs were opened while caps on wedding and funeral attendees remained. Those who didn’t take to hermit life were invited to join the moshpit of the political protests. The whimsically changing regulations are a daily reminder that yes, frustratingly, we are in the Middle East. Ahead of the curve at the beginning, Israel is now struggling terribly with infection, all because no one here likes to keep rules. Such faith! Although my sanity-meter is bursting for some green dell to frolic over without tripping over five non-masked families holding their bi-weekly mangal, I do feel very fortunate to be here. There needs to be a more pressing reason to extricate me from this most omphalos of the world. I’m not asking for one, thank you.

Sharon Blaukopf What could be so different about lockdown in Israel or, more precisely, in Jerusalem?

Goodness gracious me, banks offering special facilities (free!) to those of the third age, or the golden age as it’s termed hereabouts. For a bank in Israel to offer anything without a charge is amazing, practically a miracle. The municipality has been delivering meals to old people. Before Pesach, Chabad popped up with “Seder-in-a-Box”. I had not actually ordered such a treat, but nonetheless one day I nearly tripped

over a large box by my front door. I made a Seder all by myself, and actually enjoyed it. I could have gone to my daughter and family but there was a strict “closure” over that period that I did not want to transgress. I fulfilled my civic duty by spouting Mah Nishtana out of the window at eight o’clock, along with a few other people in the street. Come Shavuot, places at the Kotel, normally packed at that time, were somehow or other apportioned to a limited, lucky few. I was walking down a nearby narrow street one Shabbat morning and it took me a minute to realise that the davening I could hear was coming from rooftops on either side of the road. Well, this is Jerusalem, in’it? This is your actual holy city. Not going to miss out on praying in a minyan here if at all possible. Now, on many streets, one finds outdoor minyanim. Play your cards right and you can be blessed by Kohanim multiple times on a short walk. (The Kohanic blessing happens every day in Israel.) On Shabbat afternoon, at one of the local minyanim for Mincha, the Torah is read from a second-floor balcony to a suitably socially distanced be-masked group below, including women using a convenient hedge as a mechitza. These minyanim have become fixtures, with many having erected covers against the sun. I suspect that they will also soon be serving as protection against rain. These outdoor minyanim are no longer a novelty. I, who have not been inside a shul for five (or is it six) months, find them to be an enhancing addition to the landscape. It gives a kind of feeling of kedusha to the surroundings. I am even considering buying a plastic chair to take along to a minyan of my choosing on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. The internet is bursting with edifying talks, interactive lectures of Jewish and other interest, and whatnot. Along with loads of others, I have become a Zoomologist. How do I cope on a daily basis? I can get meat and fish brought to my door easily enough, but of course I’d like fresh veg too. At first I had fruit and veg delivered from a stall in the Machane Yehuda market. Seemingly, some stalls were allowed (or maybe not allowed) to operate. Oh dearie me I had come across a stall that was super frum, with prices commensurate with its high moral stance. I ended up