This morning, Ronnie and I went to Yad Vashem. It was the second time I've been to the new museum this summer. This time, it wasn't as insanely crowded as it had been the first time, and we walked through on our own, without a group or guide. We spent a long time listening to the testimonies and reading the exhibits, something I didn't have the chance to do the first time. We spent about 4 hours at the museum, and by the time we finished, we were too tired and hungry to look at any of the outside exhibits (Children's Memorial, Valley of the Communities, etc).
We went across the street to a place I'd eaten before - a little falafel stand kind of place where I'd gotten an omelet-esque thing in a lafa a few weeks earlier. This time, our orders were made by a man who could talk of nothing but the World Cup. The food was just as good, but he didn't put a falafel ball on top like the woman had my first time there (which was good, because I'm sure it would have fallen again and I'm not sure I would have wanted a witness to my picking it up and eating it this time around). And he didn't put in any amba. It was still pretty good.
We were eating a plastic table outside, between the store and the street, and the man behind the counter was a big Iraqi guy who kept coming out to ask if we wanted more chips (french fries that they put in the sandwich) and/or coffee. The way he asked, it occured to us that it may be in our best interests to say yes. But we didn't and we've lived to tell about the experience, so I guess Nancy Reagan was right on one account.