Overheard at the Cash Register

One blustery morning about two and a half months ago I realized that after an endless Mideastern summer, winter was actually coming. I put away the summer clothing and tallied up which family members needed which items for the new season.

But this wasn’t like last winter or the winter before. The country was in mourning and shock. Hundreds of families were sitting shivah, hundreds more were trying to track down traces of life from the hostages in Gaza, and entire towns and kibbutzim had emptied out from both North and South. It felt wrong, off-key, to worry about clothing.

I waited a week, then another, then decided to squeeze in a quick shopping stop after a medical appointment.

The racks were bursting but the store felt chilly; the large space was almost empty of customers. The proprietor jumped to help me a little too eagerly. I had heard from the accounting department at work that wartime is tough for local businesses, but now I was seeing it firsthand.