KRISTIN WINET
is an award-winning travel writer, blogger, and
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It didn’t take us long to find a kiosk of
hand-me-down jewelry, the handiwork of
the nomadic Bedouin tribes of the Middle
East. As I ran my fingers over the jewelry
hanging on a rope like strings on a harp, I
started enticing the seller, a Bedouin man
named Josef, with a fantastic bright smile
and happy eyes, to begin the bargaining
dance with me. We locked eyes, haggled
for a few minutes over the price of a silver
pill-box necklace studded down the center
with turquoise beads, and decided we’d
settle on exactly the amount of money I
had with me.
This would be a “statement piece,” a big
piece of jewelry that has to be worn by
itself. I’d only wear it, I promised him,
over something very boring and black. He
nodded sagely, as only a man with big gray
eyebrows who sells jewelry for his family
part-time can do.
Before we left, I told Josef how much he’d
saved me from returning home empty-
handed. Though I hadn’t planned on
buying a statement piece — because I
rarely wear any jewelry at all, much less a
piece that dangles down my chest by itself
— I knew that every time I saw it, I’d
think of Tel Aviv and the sweaty, musty
world inside that kiosk.
Back on the bus, I popped open the lid and
pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. In
very clear Hebrew, Josef had written
something to me. The only two words I
can make out, now that I’m home and
don’t know a soul who speaks Hebrew
fluently, is the word for “friend” and
Josef’s signature. I smiled broadly. My
last-minute self-indulgent gift — a
statement piece that actually goes
beautifully over my black sweater, by the
way — had come with a bonafide Israeli
love letter. It was perfect.
23
enVoyage
