False Dichotomies

“Boker tov,” said the bus driver. “Good morning,” I replied, my tone one of surprised warmth. I have been back in Tel Aviv for less than a week, and have been loving every minute of it, but a 6:10AM greeting from a bus-driver was still unexpected. “Ma nishma?” he asked. “I’m great, how about you?” Now he looked irritated; his eyes panned straight past me. “Nu, when do you want to come and pick up the car?” I wasn’t the target of his greetings; I was just a nudnik in the way. I walked up the aisle, chuckling away, unembarassed, thinking of my new home in Cerem Hatemanim (oh what a joy it is to live in a place called the Yemenites’ Vineyard) and these sensational South Tel Aviv streets. Behind me, the man buying the car took his seat, and I do not know what he was thinking.