Memphis has Graceland. Vegas has impersonators. And Israel - yes, Israel - has the Elvis Inn, a bizarre desert Mecca for Middle East Elvis enthusiasts. It's the Holy Land, people, and the King has risen.
It's not every day you run into Elvis in Jerusalem's Mahane Yehuda open-air market.
Now, it's not as if I'm some kind of delusional Elvis freak here in the holy city, waving a hand-scrawled sign drawn in black magic markers, babbling on about Mideast war and peace in one breath and Elvis and aliens in the next, but, there I was: noon on Friday and traipsing through the market's bustling main open avenue doing my weekly round of pre-Sabbath shopping when I saw Elvis.
"Shlepping in Memphis," lets call it, grappling with two fistfuls of flimsy plastic bags stretched thin with sweet challahs, peppery Jerusalem kugel, savory hummus and schug, along with the rest of the capital's sweaty humanity eddying around for bargains and baklava, I was making my way home when it happened.
Not ten feet away from a pair of border police officers manning the rickety security portico at the bustling Jaffa Road entrance, as in a vision like so many others — with said visionaries usually gently carted away to the capital's Kfar Shaul mental health facility, unless otherwise elected to the Knesset — there he stood.
2 comments:
"unless elected to the Knesset..." oh boy, what a line!
Laffin', just ta' keep from cryin, huh?...
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