Jerusalem Syndrome - Marc Maron [36]
He said, “Calm down. I’ll check. Please get out of the stockroom.”
He came out with the box and pulled the perfect shoes out of it and put them on my feet. I started to walk around. I said, “These are amazing. I feel great, whole.”
“They feel alright?” he said.
“Alright? They feel amazing. I’m never taking them off.” I started stomping around the store.
“Sir, could you please take it easy? You’re making the other customers nervous.”
“These are the most powerful shoes I’ve ever had on. They should come with a cape,” I said proudly. “I’ll take them.”
“You want to wear them out, sir?”
“Wear them out? I’m gonna wear them to sleep,” I said. “You can throw those other shoes away.”
I walked around and found Kim. I showed her my shoes, beaming as if I were ten years old. She hadn’t found anything for herself. I took the camera out of the box in the foyer of Niketown. After we left the store, I swear people were parting as we walked down Fifty-seventh Street. In retrospect, it might’ve been because I was skip-stomping down the sidewalk like a hyperactive child, in my pretty new boots as I watched people passing by on the little screen that winged out of the side of my camcorder.
These are the trials and tribulations.
12
WE flew to Israel on El Al airlines. If you go to Israel, you’ve got to fly El Al. It’s in the Talmud.
El Al is a very high-security operation. There are three or four security checkpoints. There are armed Mossad agents with Uzis. When you go through that much security, you actually have a moment when you say, “We don’t have a bomb, do we, honey? You packed. Is there anything that looks like a bomb? Honey, tell me, we’re almost at the guy with the gun.”
I stepped up to the counter. “We don’t have a bomb.” He motions me to the side. “Why do I have to step aside? She packed.”
This security ritual prepares you for entering a culture in which an abandoned gym bag is a national security threat. It’s that tense.
I generally have some fear of flying, but when you fly to Israel there are always at least two Hasidim davening in the back of the plane. I figured they’ve got the direct line to the Almighty. We were covered. Aside from that, God had to know I was on the plane.
We actually were seated next to a rabbi, and I told him about my vision. I told him God had chosen me and I showed him my shoes and my camera. He took the camera in his hands and looked it over for about five minutes. Then he looked at me earnestly and told me he had a brother-in-law who could have given me a better deal.
We spent ten hours on the plane. During those ten hours I read the camcorder manual cover to cover and made notes in the margins. I learned how to work every element of my camcorder and I skimmed the kabala. I wanted to cover all my bases.
Now, I hadn’t seen Jim in three years. I’d never met his girlfriend. When we arrived in Tel Aviv, I walked off the plane with the camera stuck to my eye socket. I saw Jim. “Hey, Jimmy, we’re here. Israel! No, stay there. Wave. I got a good shot here. Yeah, it’s a new camcorder. Is that Oriella? Hi, Marc, nice to meet you. Stay there. We’ll hug in a minute. Great shot. Okay, you guys just walk ahead. I want to get this. Where we going now? Baggage! That’ll be great.” We get to the luggage carousel.
My wife said, “Is that ours?”
“Hold on. I’ll check.”
I clicked the zoom button on the top of the camera. It slowly moved in on the bag. “Yep, that’s it. This is a great zoom. I can read the name tag.”
I followed the bag around the carousel with the camera. “Aren’t you going to get it, honey?”
Kim shot me the look, like a cobra.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I put down the camera and picked up the bag.
We went to their apartment. It was a nice place. We spent two days in Tel Aviv and I decided God would definitely not hang out in Tel Aviv. It’s a big city. It’s not very interesting or ancient. It is right down the road from Jaffa, the oldest port in the