We head north across the river, pass the Notre-Dame, and through Marais, the Jewish quarter of Paris (also the gay quarter, but you don’t have to fulfil both criteria to come here).
Here we are approached by street preachers and asked if we are Jewish. One of us is, and they proceed to wrap a leather strap seven times around his left arm, attaching a small leather box just above his elbow, and another to his forehead. These boxes are apparently known as tefillin, and contain important extracts from the Old Testament.
Following the preachers’ cue, he recites a prayer in Hebrew, and then the straps are whisked off and slapped onto the arm of another passer-by. It’s a familiar ritual to Jews, but our friend is unconvinced of the spiritual value in such an express version.
The rain ruins our plans for a picnic but when the sky clears up, we head to the Place des Vosges where we bask for hours in the uncompromising sunlight. On the way back to the apartment we stopped in at L’As du Falafel, which is purported to make the best falafel in France. It is very good, but I will be eating a lot of this stuff where I’m going, and I’ll be paying literally a twentieth of the price.
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