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ISRAEL'S
Sellers of Vegetables
Visitors to Israel during the Tenth Anniversary Year are
finding great interest in touring the famed Machine Ye
huda market in Jerusalem where scores of exotic produces
are available. The following article is by a recent visitor
to the market.
The seller of vegetables has the
face of a prophet. His gaze is re
mote, turned inward on some Tal
mudic wisdom of his own. His red
hat, like a fez, is wrapped around
with a white cloth and over his
long grey robe he wears a pull
over and a striped suitjacket. None
of the garments looks like any
thing but sublime on him.
Ovadya doesn’t cry his wares.
Years he has sold vegetables at the
same stall in the Machne Yehuda
market in Jerusalem. At 3:30 each
morning he begins to read the To
rah. At eight he opens his stall (or
rather gets into it, for there isn’t
really anything to open.) There
he stays until the evening. For the
two hours in the afternoon when
the market shuts he remains stand
ing in the stall, reading one of
his holy books.
Ovadya doesn’t cry his wares.
He stands behind the heaps of egg
plant, cabbage, pumpkin, banana,
orange and tangerine, waiting for
customers. Around him swirls,
sways, pushes the variegated life of
a busy market in the ten-year old
State of Israel. He came to Jeru
salem from Iraq 23 years ago. Pol
itics had nothing to do with it. He
came “because it is Jerusalem.”
Visitors to Israel are wrong to
think of “shopping” in terms of ex
change rates, holiday budgets, cost
of living. They should be venture
some enough to do some of their
shopping in the markets, and bold
enough not to take every price
quoted as the final price. An hour
in the Machne Yehuda, buying,
strolling, talking to the vendors
can be infinitely rewarding.
I had been shopping there, oc
casionally, for weeks when, one
afternoon, thanks to a chance meet
ing with Uri Levy, I got to know
some of the people in it. Uri is a
Yemenite. He learnt his English
in the British Officers Club in the
Mandatory days, when he was a
waiter. On an off he has been a
supervisor at the Machne Yehuda
for more than 20 years, walking
up and down its alleys, enforcing
the regulations. But there is noth
ing forbidding in his shy, dapper,
slender figure. He has a smile or a
ned for most of the pedlars in the
tiny streets and open - fronted
shops.
Uri let me walk with him for a
W'hile, and savour the odd mixture
of East and West, of past and pre
sent. In passing, we said “Shalom”
to the orange seller, Aron Cohen,
40 years younger and worlds apart
from Barasani. He was born in
the Old City of Jerusalem. He is
in business, in three shops, with
The Southern Israelite
his two brothers and father, who
built up the concern. Outside the
shops are two vans which make
the journey to the wholesale mar
ket in Tel Aviv twice a week. “It
is a nice life," says Aron frankly.
“Business is better and better.”
Machne Yehuda is no mercantile
jungle. As we walked on down its
main street, Uri let me into the
intricacies of its regulations, its
strict closing hours, its price con
trols on certain basic items, its lic
ensing laws.
But price controls don’t affect
Itzhak Baruch, the “pitta” baker
whose place we visited next. Five
piastres each is the “right” price
for pitta—no one would dream of
asking, or paying, any other price.
Pitta, is a round, flat, unleavened,
oriental loaf. You can eat it in
Baghdad or Damascus or Cairo or
Jerusalem. Itzhak shapes the dough
briskly between his palms and,
with the aid of a c'oth-coveri'd
pad on the end of a pole, makes
it stick to the sides of the fur
nace. After a few minutes his as
sistant, a small, bow - legged ex-
Iraq, carefully dislodges them,
piles them on a barrow and runs
at a jog-trot through the market.
He stops at corners, shouting “ham!
ham!” (it means “hot”) and trots
away again. The pitta sell very
quickly.
Uri went off on some errand, so
1 tackled the spice merchant, pros
perous and smug behind a gleam
ing counter. Rafael Danon spoke
in faultless French. “Je suis de la
Bulgarie,” he explained. I wanted
to know what was the rarest most
exotic spice in his stock, but he
was loath to favour one bright,
pungent powder before another.
He agreed to let me sniff each
one, the ginger, the cinnamon, the
nutmeg, the Turkish eucalyptus
and (expensive delicacy) the Eng
lish pepper. At the end of it, Uri
rather sadly confessed that he
“really” made his living from sell
ing price-controlled coffee.
Still sneezing from a surfeit of
English pepper, I went into a
rather dark little shop next door.
It was Moshe Arnon’s, the brush
maker. A large exhibition broom,
with the figures “1925,” the year
he came to Jerusalem, embossed in
red beads, dominates the shop.
But Moshe’s greatest pride, as he
tells you within a minute of mak
ing your acquaintance, is that his
son is a civil servant—an em
ployee of the Post Office. In the
five minutes we stood talking, and
admiring the photographs of the
son, Moshe had made a broom.
SR means Brighter Bays
for all of us!
BD means Black-Draught, the friendly laxative which
has been helping thousands every time they need a
laxative. Black-Draught has been the favorite with
more than four generations.
When a laxative Is needed to help dispel headaches,
upset stomach, tiredness caused by sluggish bowels and
Irregular elimination, you can always depend on Black-
Draught. Taken ns directed. It’s natural-Uke action
Is prompt and thorough.
Black-Draught Is pure. It Is scientifically prepared
from finest Imported herbs proved best for a laxative
by centuries of use; laboratory controlled for absolute
uniformity.
Children take Syrup of Black-Draught because It
tastes good.
Black-Draught is manufactured by a company
known for quality since 1807,
Next time you need a laxative, take Black-Draught,
powdered or granulated—Syrup for children. Get
Black-Draught at your favorite dealers.
BLACK-ORAUGHTuxative
Burkart-Schier
Chemical Co.
Chattanooga, Tennessee
PENETRANTS • DETERGENTS
SOFTENERS • REPELLANTS
FINISHES
MANUFACTORING CHE MISTS
FOR THE TEXTILE INDUSTRY
Incorporated
Textile Machinery
Riverside Drive Telephone OX. 8-3481
Chattanooga 8, Tennessee