Market Day in Netivot
The sights! The smells! Market day in Netivot! Both my parents grew up in farming communities in the borscht belt during the Depression years when if you wanted to eat, you had a farm. So, naturally, each Tuesday of their bi-annual visits, a day at our local market was a must.
Old timers here remember the days when Netivot had the highest birthrate per family in Israel. I was continually pitied when my pupils heard I had only one brother! My first friend from Netivot (later a well-known spokeswoman for Gush Katif) was the eldest of 17 children.
We also had almost as many braying donkeys, free roaming chickens and other fowl as citizens in this tiny 3,500 member community. On market day, the few cars in town were useless, as the roads were chock a block with heavy metal pushcarts crowding the streets as everyone in town was on the move, raring to buy fresh goods to last the week. If you missed out, you did without, as we had no vegetable stores back then.
It was a grand social event where Kurdish, Tunisian, Moroccan, and Yemenite tongues were heard spoken. Folks from the entire surrounding area came to town that day to shop, bussed in by the Azzata Town Council. (Later changed to "Sedot Negev" Council)
It was like stepping back into time, or imagining traveling the ancient spice route through Asia. Aromatic stalls of freshly ground cumin; tumeric; coriander and Turkish coffee and stood side by side with those selling everything from clothing; baked goods; live chickens to house-wares. Burly Moshavnikim showed their wares, loudly bellowing, "Pears! Peaches! Plums! I have the best! Come quickly while they last!"
In the USA, my Dad had a huge vegetable garden that kept us well stocked for 8 months of the year. So naturally, 6.00 a.m. on Tuesdays until at least 2.00 p.m. he would wander around the stalls inspecting the merchandise; wondering at the freshness of the produce; its size and the entire market experience so unlike the local A and P in our native Ellenville N.Y.
However, time marches on as does "progress." The market has moved to a new area which is much more difficult to reach. Sadly, not owning a car, shopping there is not an option for many like me any longer. Hence, the majority of the stalls no longer open and most of the "old timers" are left with fond memories of market day as they push their carts out of the local "Barcol," "Yesh," or other local supermarkets. One of my home dictionaries defines "progress" as "Gradual improvement or growth or development." I beg to differ!!
1 comment:
I love this post! It brings back such sweet memories of my old Italian neighborhood in Buffalo, NY.
My grandparents were immigrants with little money like most immigrants. But the Italians in particular when they came to Buffalo did two things--grow grapes for wine and tomatoes to make sauce.
The West Side of Buffalo was blessed with huge backyards so there were plenty of large backyard gardens.
When I was growing up most of the neighbors canned vegetables and fruit. I can still remember all the steaming pots and all the jars soaking in the bath tub in boiling hot water (don't ask why, I have no idea why that was a part of the canning process lol).
My backyard was considered particularly blessed because it had wild...cardones? Something like that; they grew in the ground and had long stems and giant leafs.
Now there are just small pockets of the old time markets, but every Thursday you can still go to one Italian market (Guercio's) and buy olive bread (round bread with bits of black olives in it).
Delicious! And The Meating Place is still there on the West Side, too.
Now you made me hungry!!!
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