Executive decision A choice made by one individual when it would have been difficult for all other affected parties to meet and arrive at a consensus, such choice, once made, being willingly accepted by everyone involved

            (from the Casden American Dictionary)

Here’s an example of what I mean:

I’ve made an executive decision, Barbara. The Levines are arriving tomorrow (Mon) and staying until Fri. Last time they were here, they left Fri. morning and spent Shabbat at an event in a hotel. This time, they’re going straight home, so Richard would have to drive back two and a half hours and then start cooking Fri. afternoon. (Richard being a member of our informal group, Guys in the Kitchen). As far as we were concerned, we couldn’t get started getting ready for Shabbat until after The Levines left, starting my cooking late morning, and I haven’t got the energy to do it all in a few hours. So here’s what we are going to do. We’ll have Richard drive down to Yochananof on Thurs., where you tell me they have a full selection of Shabbat takeout, and we’ll get something for us, and The Levines can get what they need, and we’ll stick everything in the refrigerator. Which decision was emailed to The Levines, prompting a ‘Sounds like a plan’ response from Barbara L.

I hadn’t planned it, but a trip to this (very large) grocery store would be the culmination of a week of shopping. The Levines have no interest in living in our part of The Land, but they are more than happy to show up, enjoy our deluxe accommodations, and bring back items they can’t find up north, wines, albacore tuna, the best bagels in The Land, and, of course, coffee from –where else? – Power CoffeeWorks. And Barbara and I are able to get a ride to places we wouldn’t or couldn’t get to on our own. What a deal!

Take out food is not something I normally would be considering for our Shabbat table, even though I have fond memories from years gone by of going with Richard to a place or two in Karmiel where they would have on offer an enormous selection of tasty fish, chicken, and meat, not the mass produced not-very-appealing stuff that somebody thinks would tickle your palette, but you wouldn’t. (More or less what they have at the appetizing store in the mall. Maybe, a little better at the shuk.) Not unless you were ravenous, as in, hadn’t eaten for three days.  But Barbara had assured me that they had the good stuff at Yochananof. My wife knows me and my elevated standards. And if you can’t trust your life partner when it comes to takeout, whom can you trust?

First a word about supermarkets here in The Land. If you had mentioned the name of this chain a few years ago, I might have wondered whether Yochanan was on or off, and let it go at that. But there it is these days, one of their branches down in Mishor Adumim, which we can get to only when someone is driving. Supermarkets in The Land, like canine companions, come in a wide variety of sizes. The Supersol we go to is at least four times the size of Mayan 2000, the other market we could walk to. The big Supersol in Karmiel, which we’ve been to many times over the years with Richard, is close to three times the size of our version. Most recently, The Levines have transferred their patronage to Dabak in Deir al Assad, which is again two or three times as big as the Supersol in Karmiel – not counting the small kosher butcher attached to Dabak.

Ummm, you’re trusting the kashrut of an Arab supermarket? Just so you know, the Dabak family owns a slaughter house that I’m told processes most of the lamb, both Mehadrin and Halal, consumed in Israel. So the next time you order a lambchop in your favorite steak joint – not something I would do – it probably came from a lamb that entered their facility and never made it out alive. I guess you needn’t worry about the kashrut of their chickens; they’ve got you covered. What about the products in the main store; are they kosher? You mean the cans, the bottles, the bags? Almost everything in any Arab market comes from an Israeli company, so it will have at least one, maybe two or three or four hechshers from different parts of the Badatz mafia. You’re pretty safe.

Your friends don’t get nervous going into an Arab town? You have to understand that it’s a different world, call it the relatively calm north, as opposed to where we are. A lot of the medical specialists for the various kupot cholim are located in Arab villages, including Richard’s cardiologist, and no one thinks twice about it. There are no signs saying, ‘it’s dangerous to come here,’ as for example the one you can’t miss at the entrance to Azaria, across the wadi. Of course, once someone puts up a sign saying someplace is dangerous, even if it wasn’t before, it now is. Anyway…

Enough about Dabak. It was Thurs. and we were headed to Yochananof, which isn’t quite as large as the Arab market up north, but it’s still large enough that they can dedicate a sizable space for Shabbat takeout, leaving it empty Sun. through Wed. Let’s see what they got. This doesn’t look much different from the run-of-the-mill stuff I can get at the mall. Oh wait, what’s that along the back wall, where Barbara is pointing? That’s what I’m looking for, the good stuff, trays of lovingly prepared chicken, beef, and fish, which the guys working there will pack into a container for you. I’m not getting everything (that’s Richard’s department); how about what looks like stir-fried pargiot, and… are those stuffed chicken breasts? I’ve never seen that anywhere else. Having spent years at the shuk perfecting the art of pointing to what I want, I had no trouble procuring two containers, one each, of what I had in mind. That should be enough for two meals for the five of us. (Remember: the ‘kids’ would be enjoying our Shabbat hospitality.) I put the takeout and a few other items in my cart. One more stop. We had stumbled upon, all the way in the far end of the store, a chest filled with frozen fish fillets – skinless!!! – of what we feed Pooms. And they were on sale. How many can I stuff into a plastic bag before they throw me out of the store? Let me pay for all this and skedaddle before anyone is the wiser.

Sometime around Jan. 1, 2046, you might be able to obtain a copy of my memoir, Life in the Slow Lane, which will have to include the following incident: There are several ways a customer can pay for purchases in a mega-store like Yochananof. The most state-of-the-art method, which most markets are not equipped to do, is to scan each item as you put it in one of their special carts and pre-pay your order. I’m not going there. That’s way more than my skill-set can handle. Then there’s the self-checkout counters, which many places have. I’m good for that at Supersol, but the system here is probably different; so I’ll skip it. Let’s go with the old-fashioned way, stand on a checkout line. I would be allowed to waltz up to the front of the line because I’m over 80, but I haven’t got it in me to do that. There was one woman in front of me on the line I selected, except that she wanted to pay for her order with a check. I kept thinking: there was a time when lots of people paid by check, but recently? Who does that? Which is what the cashier must have been thinking, because she had no idea, and I mean no idea, what to do. A conference with her supervisor ensued. All the while, I stood there on line, calmly reviewing life in the slow lane. Are you with me in this: no matter what checkout line you’re on, it’s the wrong one. You can try to fool the system by announcing, ‘I’m getting on this line,’ and then, at the last second, getting on a different line, but it doesn’t help. It never does. The line you pretended to get on will be a super-express, and the one you are on… (Is there an English word to describe a traffic jam at a check-out line?) It used to be worse. They’ve eliminated toll booths on highways, and most government offices and medical facilities nowadays give you a number. Still, when you are on one of the remaining lines, and it’s the wrong one… (I know, most of you get IN line; only those of us elites get to go ON a line.)

They finally figured out how to allow this poor lady to pay by check for her purchases, after which I could flash my credit card, get the hell out, and join my Barbara and The Levines. They were sitting outside at the bakery attached to the supermarket, enjoying beverages of choice without a care in the world. That’s the way it should be – all the time. As in, no cares, no worries…

I’ve been looking at what you wrote, and I have a few questions. Such as?

You were talking about buying fish fillets for your cat. As you yourself wrote, Who does that? The answer is, I do. Shekhi and Lucky eat dry cat food with an occasional treat. Pooms is eighteen, with few teeth left, and her chewing days are long gone. She is also very fussy and very stubborn, meaning if you don’t feed her what she wants – freshly prepared fillets, boiled, mashed up, with the skins removed – you will get an earful (Oh, will you get an earful). Next question?

You wrote that you left the take-out counter with two containers of chicken, and you implied that Richard Levine bought out the whole store. Somewhat of an exaggeration, but… Richard’s philosophy is very simple: If you’re buying take-out, why not get enough for a few extra meals? Makes perfect sense. Me, being Mr. Frugal, got the minimum. Richard was heading out Thurs. eve. for some kind of sing-along (that’s where everyone present, or most people present, prepare a number of two to wow the crowd), leaving me time to rustle up some salads and side dishes for our Shabbat meals, all the while whipping up a cocktail or two for the ladies to sip. (Things will hum if you have some rum…)

Because we had done it my way, doing the shopping on Thurs., there was time for our guests to have something for breakfast, making sure they were taking everything with them, and heading on down the road Fri. morning relatively stress-free. For us? Wait for the ‘house-keeping’ crew to arrive in anticipation of the next occupants of the Levine suite, namely ‘the kids,’ Natania, Gil, Liel, and Gefen, the newest arrival. Something to keep my mind occupied before my follow-up visit to the urology clinic the following week, and how would that go? You’ll find out if you are patient. (Although I was the patient…)