18/5/98

We're losing our Ramot control

    I've lived in Ramot for seven months now, and except for a jawing I had with a shopkeeper, nothing has yet happened worth mentioning.
    It doesn't figure. There are almost 50,000 people here, and no commerce. There are eight million haredim in Ramot, and no turbulence. One bank, two pizzerias, a crappy commercial center no one goes to. There are no restaurants, and no restaurant elsewhere in town will deliver to Ramot. There is one makolet per 5,000 people, and I'm not exaggerating.
    I checked with Dvora at the local minhal kehilati: how many businesses are there altogether in Ramot? I asked. It took her a minute to find the list, and a second to estimate the total: a few dozen, and that includes the old man wandering about with a sack on his shoulder, buying alte zachen (old things).   
    If you want to meet fellow Ramotians on shopping day, you go to Ramot Eshkol, which is not exactly walking distance.
    It has been widely assumed that Ramot was given over to the Palestinian Authority, because you never read about Ramot in the newspapers. At least, not since many years ago, when the haredim went bananas over the Ramot Road, and before that, when the haredim went bananas over the Ramot Pool. (They lost both battles, as witness the stalwart continued existence of both Road and Pool.)
    Since that time, the only thing my neighbors have to talk about (when we meet at the Ramot Eshkol shopping center) is the controversy over the placement of dumpsters. (You think I'm kidding.)
    Then, suddenly, a couple of weeks ago, I got junk mail. I'm sure every household here reacted with the same excited frenzy as I did, losing our Ramot control: the circus is coming to town!
    Of course, no circus would come to dozy Ramot. It was actually the  Ramle-Lod Shuk, but for us, that promises to be a circus.
    "Finally finally, coming to Ramot, every Tuesday," blared the flier. "Best prices in the country!!! The biggest shuk in the city!" (Well, sure: the second-biggest shuk in Ramot City consists of one old Arab lady sitting on the sidewalk selling parsley.)
    To think that dozens of vendors were coming all the way here from Ramle-Lod to holler "Socks! Five shekels! Yalla, yalla!" at me and my fellow Ramotians -- it was like La Scala coming here to perform.
    I don't know anyone in either Ramle or Lod, so I couldn't confirm that this was really a world-class shuk. Maybe, I thought, it's such a lousy shuk that it's fleeing the fed-up Ramlean-Lodites. If that's so, they knew where to come. We're starved for culture.
    Came Tuesday, a week ago. Ramot was abuzz. 
    Oh, there were hordes, and everyone asked each other, "This is the shuk?"
    What happened is this: The organizers forgot to tell the vendors. Two guys showed up, one hawking shoes, the other, tee-shirts. (That works out to one vendor per 25,000 Ramotians, which is about average.)
    "Big screw-up," the latter told me in an exclusive interview. "But word's getting around now, and next Tuesday, I promise, we'll all be here." No matter who wins the elections.
    "Where you from," I asked him journalistically, "Ramle or Lod?"
    "Modi'in," he answered.   
    He estimated that by mid-afternoon, at least 2,000 people had already come, looking for the shuk. But you know how we are here: nobody was disappointed. Even now, just a week later, you can tell the difference in Ramot: everyone's walking around with new shoes and new tee-shirts.
    I feel we should show gratitude to Ramle-Lod, somehow, but I don't know what we can offer in return. Maybe we could send the parsley lady in a sort of Shuttle Shuk Diplomacy.
    Today we should get at least as many shuk-shoppers as election-voters, even if it turns out there are more prime-ministerial candidates than vendors.
    Once the rest of the country takes notice, the next thing you know, Tel Aviv will send over a real cafe for a day. Beersheba will export its famous livestock auction.
    A berry festival from the Golan, right here in Ramot! A caravan of mezuza repairmen from Bnei Brak! An exhibition of nude sunbathers from Eilat! Car thieves from Gaza! Troublemakers from Mea Shearim!
    Ramot will become the commercial and cultural crossroads of Israel, the barnstorming capital of the Middle East. This is how cities like New York got started.
    Let it be remembered that when Ramot wakes up this morning, rubs its collective eyes and harks its collective ears to the unbelievable-but-true rhapsody of shuk vendors' collective clarion bellows, it will be the dawn of a new day for The Suburb That Never Wakes Up.
    Shuk Day in Ramot!
    Wonder where they're going to put the dumpsters.