Beer Sheva's a City Too!

I live in Beer Sheva first and Israel second. Not too many people would say that and I very well may be lying - except that I really do live in Beer Sheva.

For those not in the know, BS is the "Capital of the Negev," not to be confused with "The Happiest Place on Earth." I had some errands to run this morning. Being that it was a nice day I figured I'd walk the fifteen minutes to the central shopping area rather than drive it, like the lazy fuck I usually am.

Bank Hapoalim came first. This is where I go every couple months to receive my rent subsidy check from the government as part of my absorption package. The 250 shekels I am given for a months rent is nice and it does help. It also covers the same portion of my rent as much as a Catholic priests notebook protects his choir boy from anal tutoring.

While waiting for the mortgage teller to get off the phone and acknowledge the long line of old Russian immigrants and me I was entertained by two little kids playing in the lobby. The sister, about four years old, was watching her little brother, about two years old, while their mom waited in her long line. Here it may be assumed that at the end of her much longer line she would be charged for whatever transaction she makes on her own account as is fashionable in Israel's banking system.*

These two adorable children were right out of some commercial: cute and loquacious. Until the brother turned nasty and started beating his sister, well I thought that was cute, too. He wanted to run down the stairs and the sister kept stopping him. Then he wanted to play with the fire extinguisher, possible to use as a blunt instrument. But, once again, he was thwarted by the pre-school matriarch, and thus, he resorted to open hand blows to her face. His sister, knowing that to be effective in keeping him from victory and succumbing to the alluring nature that is a stair well, retreated to telling him there was a fire there because of an explosion. Heartwarming.

From there it was into the heart of the beast, the Bezeq Store. This is where Bezeq distributes its equipment, sells its overpriced phones and collects young Christian children for using their blood in the making of Passover matzahs. I must say, and surprisingly so, that I was able to return my ADSL modem with no trouble whatsoever - it must have been a bumper year for matzah.

On my way to the store I passed along the part of the street, along Rager Blvd, where beggars and entrepreneurship meet. Be it three-card Monty, that game with the pea and three walnut shells, bootleg cigarettes or the Israeli cell phone company Pelephone, all can be found along this magical strip. Most often the purveyors are old, down and out Russian immigrants who don't collect their 250 shekels each month. At the end of all this human drippage is the Bezeq Store, but not before passing the guy with the emaciated stomach.

My only prior experience with emaciated stomachs has been through the lens provided by Sally Struthers. As a person who finds it hard not to stare at someone sitting in a wheel chair this unnatural perversion was as easy for me to ignore as a one-legged man with a goiter. This individual was sitting against a wall, on a cardboard mat, his hand outstretched and his dirty black and blue flannel shirt unbuttoned, exposing his bloated belly in a superb example of marketing - Himmler style.

The walk home was nice, sun still out and shining. I turn at the construction site of the new home of the Beer Sheva Symphonietta, a gargantuan structure that currently stands as a testament to concrete and pink marble tile. Originally scheduled to be finished by the summer of 2005 I noticed the faded sign was replaced with a new one informing the public that the new date of completion is to be the summer of 2006. From what I can tell there is only one man working on the building and he has Tuesday through Sunday off. My prediction is 2006 is still too optimistic. Luckily, the new sign has a beautiful picture of what some artist thinks the finished structure may very well look like. Ah, the sweet smell of urban renewal.

*At most banks here you are charged a small fee even to deposit money into your own account.