Impressions of a Shuk

I arrive later than I’d planned because I had to wait until traffic died down around Tel Aviv’s busy city center. The Carmel Market, known as Shuk Ha’Carmel in Hebrew, has been hopping for hours. It is packed with locals and tourists alike.

I start on the end with the produce sellers and am immediately confronted by crowds of various nationalities, and blaring western music. Music from current US artists. I chuckle to myself at the irony. The produce sellers are yelling over the music-in Hebrew, of course.

But I get the gist of it. I can smell the strawberries as I pass by. There is no refrigeration here to slow decay and mask their sweet scent.

Further down, I pass a tiny juice bar, offering freshly squeezed concoctions of pomegranate and other brightly colored fruits. I know from experience that they are delicious and refreshing.

There is a large shop with kitchen utensils and quality pots and pans. I’m surprised to see this type of store here; it seems more at home in a mall, not in the local market.

I stare at a spice stall, where mounds of red, yellow and orange powders promise exotic flavors and aromas for my next meal. I’m trying to figure out what the small signs written in Hebrew mean in English when the stall’s owner approaches me.

He’s an aging man with a brown, lined face. He speaks to me in friendly yet persuasive Hebrew. With his bare fingers, he pinches a sample of a nearby spice and asks me (in English) to try it.

I can’t bring myself to say no, as he transfers the sample to my palm. I hesitantly taste it with my tongue. “Delicious,” I say. I’ll worry about the hygiene, or lack thereof, of my taste test later.

I walk down a little further. I start to pass large displays of Arab pastries in large metal trays. I only recognize Baklava, a popular dessert with layers of thin dough and a paste of crushed pistachios and honey.

But there are many tempting treats, some with tiny, crispy threads of wheat or bright orange color that I can’t place. I want to try them all but hesitate because nothing is covered, by plastic or an awning.

Although I already know the halvah is creamy and so tasty. (Halvah is baked sesame seed paste and sugar, that can also be made with extra ingredients like chocolate or coffee).

Incidentally, I look up and see the old aluminum covering that covers the stalls. Nothing seems to have been cleaned in decades, and debris and dust hover overhead. I think of my husband’s advice, “Yes, but will it kill you?”

My favorite vendor is down on the right. He serves made-to-order falafel in a cart. I know falafel is a national treasure, but I only like it hot and fresh.

He scoops up balls of ground chickpeas mixed with parsley and quickly fries them. The hot, brown crust reveals a green, slightly crunchy center. It is a wonder! I ask for mine in a pita with tahini, (ground sesame paste) drizzled over the top.

I know that traveling all the way down the aisle will take me past low-cost, knock-off vendors selling purses and shoes and scarves – soccer jerseys with the Nike logo in the wrong direction.

So, I veer off towards streets on the eastern side of the market. I love the tiny, diverse shops that line the road towards parallel Binyamin Street.

On Tuesdays and Fridays, (the Shuk is closed on Shabbat of course) Binyamin Street plays host to a craft fair of merchants selling a variety of artisan wares: clocks made of Dead Sea stone, handmade jewelry, candles, pottery, paintings and puppets.

It’s all exciting, but I don’t see anything I need at the moment until I cross the pottery vendor with a bright red, small serving dish in the shape of a pomegranate.

Pomegranates are a symbol of Israel and Judaism. It is the perfect gift for my grandmother. And maybe one for myself.

I buy my treasures but wander to the northernmost end to see it all. The crowds are thick and, like many places in Israel, a veritable melting pot of the world.

I see many different skin colors and hear an assortment of languages.

We filter out at the Kikar Magen David (Square of David’s Star), a point where six streets converge to make a star, like the symbol of Israel itself.

I feel like I have reached the pinnacle – the end of the adventure for that day. I turn and weave my way back through the crowd to head home from the shuk.

A little tired but exhilarated from the excitement that this unique place, full of life, infuses with each visit.