שׁוֹטַטְתִּיsho-tat-TIבְּשׁוּקbe-SHUKהַכַּרְמֶלha-kar-MELבְּאַחַרbe-a-KHARצָהֳרַיִםtzo-ho-RA-yimחַם,KHAM,וְהִבְחַנְתִּיve-hiv-KHAN-tiבְּדוּכַןbe-du-KHANאָמָּנוּתo-ma-NUTקָטָן.ka-TAN.הָאָמָּןha-o-MANהָיָהha-YAמְבֻגָּר,me-vu-GAR,עִםimשֵׂעָרse-ARלָבָןla-VANוְסִנָּרve-si-NARצִבְעוֹנִי.tziv-o-NI.צִיּוּרtzi-YURאֶחָדe-KHADתָּפַסta-FASאֶתetעֵינִי:ei-NI:סִמְטָהsim-TAקְטַנָּהkta-NAבְּיָפוֹbe-ya-FOבְּיוֹםbe-YOMגָּשׁוּם.ga-SHUM.שָׁאַלְתִּיsha-AL-tiכַּמָּהka-MAהוּאHUעוֹלֶה,o-LE,וְהוּאve-HUאָמַר:a-MAR:"תָּלוּי"ta-LUIאִםimאַתָּהa-TAבֶּאֱמֶתbe-e-METאוֹהֵבo-HEVאוֹתוֹ."o-TO."הִתְחַלְנוּhit-KHAL-nuלְדַבֵּרle-da-BERעַלalאָמָּנוּת,o-ma-NUT,וְהוּאve-HUסִפֵּרsi-PERשֶׁהוּאshe-HUמְצַיֵּרme-tza-YERכְּבָרke-VARאַרְבָּעִיםar-ba-IMשָׁנָה.sha-NA.הוּאHUנוֹלַדno-LADבְּמָרוֹקוֹbe-ma-RO-koוְעָלָהve-a-LAלְיִשְׂרָאֵלle-yis-ra-ELבְּיַלְדּוּתוֹbe-yal-du-TOעִםimהוֹרָיו.ho-RAV.בַּסּוֹףba-SOFקָנִיתִיka-NI-tiאֶתetהַצִּיּוּרha-tzi-YURבְּמַחֲצִיתbe-ma-kha-TZITהַמְּחִירham-KHIRשֶׁהוּאshe-HUבִּקֵּשׁbi-KESHבַּהַתְחָלָה.ba-hat-kha-LA.עַכְשָׁוakh-SHAVהוּאHUתָּלוּיta-LUIבַּסָּלוֹןba-sa-LONשֶׁלִּיshe-LIוּמַזְכִּירu-maz-KIRלִיliאֶתetהַשִּׂיחָהha-si-KHAהַמְיֻחֶדֶתha-me-yu-KHE-detהַהִיא.ha-HI.
I wandered through the Carmel Market on a hot afternoon and noticed a small art stall. The artist was older, with white hair and a colorful apron. One painting caught my eye: a small alley in Jaffa on a rainy day. I asked how much it cost, and he said: "That depends on whether you really love it." We started talking about art, and he told me he had been painting for forty years. He was born in Morocco and emigrated to Israel as a child with his parents. In the end I bought the painting for half the price he had asked at first. Now it hangs in my living room and reminds me of that special conversation.