Haim Watzman
The Jerusalem winter that kept coming back had finally come to an end, or perhaps it was just taking another break. Whatever the case, the clouds had gone from dark and low to scattered and high, the wind had slowed from gale force to tickle, and the temperature had risen from ski gear to light jacket. It was the first Shabbat in weeks that you could go out without an umbrella. Ori and Dudi had gone to play with friends, so Ronen and Gali grabbed the opportunity.
“It’s too cold,” Gali objected. She was half-reclining on their couch, being kicked from inside.
“But it’s warm today!”
“It’s still cold.”
“We haven’t been there for months.”
“No one goes there anymore. It’s like a ghost town. It gives me the creeps.”
“Well, then,” Ronen asked, “where should we go?”
“You know I hate making decisions.” She took Ronen’s extended hand and allowed herself to be pulled up slowly, so that she could keep her balance. “Why can’t you make up your mind?”
Since they had been married for nearly eight years, nothing in the previous exchange really meant anything.