You must understand that to be a sabra - a native Israeli - is to be born with a cell 'phone ear-attachment.
On Wednesday, the senior of the two guys who delivered our stylish new office furniture manoeuvred heavy, cumbersome parcels from their wagon, into the lift and even up several flights of stairs without once pausing his grunted flow of tele-chat. He broke off only to supervise his mate and then to sweep up our payment with barely a nod of thanks.
His looks and tone reminded me of a young Arnie Schwarzenegger, complete with android monotones emanating from somewhere deep inside his heavily forested torso. Don't tell me - the handset he used also had to be an 'Android'. 
But the 'ear-set' also means that one is born with a natural facility for gobbling while gabbling.
Even before we settled in Karmiel permanently we'd watched in awed fascination as another Neanderthal yacked endlessly on his phone while wolfing pitta stuffed with falafels, hummus, feta, olives, chillies and pickles with consummate ease. What's more, he didn't spill a drop.
All this reminded me of a crowd of school kids I once saw near a cafe in Jerusalem. 
As they burst into the playground for their break they ran to the gate to phone pizza orders over the road. I laughed so much at their spoiled behaviour that the waitress began to think I was laughing at her. Oh, dear ...!
msniw
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