There is nothing quite like an Israeli supermarket in the days before a Jewish holiday, even if it is a oneday holiday like Shavuot. Among the anxious shoppers there was something familiar about the fellow I spotted in the dairy aisle. “Mick?” I asked the tall, bearded guy carefully studying the assortment of cheesecakes. “Mick Jaeger, is that you?” The man in the white shirt and black yarmulke turned around quickly as if he had heard a ghost. “Yes,” he answered slowly. “Do I know you?” “It's me, Keith,” I explained, “Keith Richardson. We went to Hebrew school together, remember?” A broad smile of recognition came across Jaeger's face. “Yes, you are Keith, of course! You still go by Keith?” “Well, in Israel everyone calls me by my Hebrew name, Akiva.” “Same here,” he said. “I only go by 'Michael' here, no more 'Mick,' thankfully.” We reminisced about the good old days, friends and teachers we knew growing up and how we both came to Israel. “Do you remember what they used to call us?” I asked him. “Sure,” he smiled. “We were known as 'The Rolling Stones,' Mick Jaeger and Keith Richardson.” He laughed hard, nearly dropping the bag of milk he was holding. “You do know that the Stones are coming to Israel, right?” I asked him. “Really? I didn't know,” he seemed surprised. “You know that since I became more religious” – he rubbed his beard for emphasis – “I haven't really kept up on stuff like that.” “I understand,” I nodded, wondering if I should drop the subject. “So, when are they coming? The Stones, I mean?” he asked as he dropped a small package of cream cheese into his shopping cart. “Oh,” I said, surprised that we were still on the subject. “They're performing this Wednesday night, June 4.” He did some quick calculating in his head. “You mean on Shavuot?” “Yeah, technically just after Shavuot ends,” I said sheepishly, “but you know, when it comes to The Stones, I don't think playing after a yom tov bothers them.” We both laughed as I tried to imagine Mick Jagger and Keith Richards fighting over the last piece of Shavuot cheesecake. “Oh, well,” Jaeger sighed. “I guess it's just as well. It's just another one of the many reasons I can't go to their show, although deep down I'd really like to.” “Well,” I said, “you can't always get what you want....” “True,” Jaeger answered, not picking up on the joke, “very true.” “Well,” I said, “ordinarily wild horses couldn't keep me from going to the show, but with it being Shavuot and all....” “I hear you,” Jaeger sighed, still not getting it. “I can't even remember the last time I saw the Rolling Stones live in concert,” I mused. “You know, I was one of the people who tried to get them to move their Israel show so it wouldn't conflict with the holiday. Sometimes you can try and try, but just can't get satisfaction.” “You are so right, Keith – I mean, Akiva,” Jaeger said. “It's a tough fight.” “Don't start me up about that,” I warned him. “I know they have a tight concert schedule – heck, even I have sympathy for the devil – but come on, this is Israel, and it's only rock 'n' roll, so why can't they move the show back one night?” “You'd think so,” Jaeger replied. “Yeah, I'm telling you, I went down to the Israeli promoter's office and knocked on his door, and I was wondering, 'Can't you hear me knocking?' But it didn't do any good. The bottom line is that you can bitch and complain all you want, it won't change anything. I guess the important thing is that they didn't give in to pressure and decided to perform in Israel. I'm sure it'll be a great show.” “For sure,” Jaeger concurred. “I forget the names of most of their songs, though – except for 'Gimme Shelter,' and of course, 'Jumpin' Jake Flash.'” “Jumpin' Jack Flash,'” I corrected him. “Right,” he smiled as he grabbed a bag of brown sugar and gently placed it in his cart. “You were always good with Rolling Stones song titles.” “Me? Nah. Some girls we knew in Hebrew school were bigger fans of the Rolling Stones than we were. They knew all the song titles.” A young woman rushed by, asking puzzled shoppers, “Anybody seen my baby?” Fortunately she quickly found him crawling toward the frozen food section. She swiftly scooped him up before he could be injured, in what could be described as an emotional rescue. “Sorry, but I have got to go,” I said as I spotted my wife Angie at the end of the aisle, struggling with a bag full of vegetables. “Okay,” Jaeger said. “It was great seeing you again. Hope to see you again sometime.” “I'm sure you will,” I said. “Time is on my side.” “Is that a Rolling Stones song?” he asked. “Maybe,” I answered – with faraway eyes. The writer has an MA in creative writing from Bar-Ilan University.
