Shabbat Shalom....this was said to me many times as I walked in and out of stores lining the old streets in Israel. And I in return would let "Shabbat Shalom" roll off my tounge like I had been saying it for years every Friday rather than a mear handful of times my entire life in temple.
Anyway the point of the story is that while I blend in apperance wise in Israel my Amercian accent immediatly identifies me as a Westener. And so each time I proudly said, mumbled or sang Shabbat Shalom, the local shop keepers eyes would light up and they would say....(every time mind you)..."No more Michael Jackson???" It was like they believed my American accent translated into me being the keeper of all answers to the mystery of Michael Jackson, his life and of course his death. And while I hate to disappoint and love to be an expert on any topic, the truth is that the lady in the first store this morning was the one to tell me the news....right before she tried to set me up with her son.