A few interesting folk I encountered during my all too distant (and too underfunded) trip to Israel, in 2008.
Canyon HaNegev interactions
HaNegev is a large modern shopping centre, across the road from the Be’er Sheva central bus station.
Once, while going through the security checkpoints at the front doors, I was searched by an average female soldier (aka walking advertisement for Leica cameras). She did the typical bag search, detector-wand sweep, and waved me through to automatic glass doors. As I passed she gave my backside an audible slap with her wand, much to the amusement of her army friends watching from within the entrance. The chutzpah was strong with this one.
About half-way through my Israel trip my Aussie watch broke. Looking for a cheap, temporary, replacement I rummaged through the Be’er Sheva shops. On the top floor of HaNegev I discovered a Russian trinkets / souvenirs kiosk, and acquired a mostly rubber & plastic 70-Shekel digital watch…that lasted for three years without fail…
One afternoon, while window shopping in HaNegev, a polite thick-set gentleman called me aside and tried to enroll me into some English language (ESL) classes. His Russian accent was so dense I almost couldn’t understand his English. Unfortunately, I had to interrupt his sales pitch and inform him that 1. I only know English, and 2. I was also a qualified English (ESL) teacher. What were the odds?
Oh, after a brief eatery comparison in the HaNegev’s basement level, I discovered the Israeli equivalent of Hungry Jacks is far superior to the American original…Nicer staff too…I cannot remember the hamburger restaurant’s name, but I think its logo was a red bull.
Some kibbutz encounters
The second kibbutz I stayed / volunteered at was Ein HaShlosha (awesome place, peculiar characters, fearless kids). On the first night of my arrival I noticed the volunteers’ manager, a very kind and friendly local lass dressed in a tie-dyed shirt, long loose skirt and sandals, roaming among the clusters of volunteers. At first I thought the black strap over her shoulder was for a canvas pack or satchel on her back, to complete the hippie look. Nope. When she turned around I discovered her long-barreled M-16 marksman rifle. She took the volunteers’ safety and happiness quite seriously. We didn’t speak much during my stay, I was one of the more quiet and placid volunteers.* Although when I commented I would soon return to Australia she became visibly upset and mumbled, ‘the good ones always leave.’
*My Finnish roommate once stated I would be perfect for Finland, no one would identify me as a foreigner…And, yes, Finland is on my Places to Visit lotto travel list…
On each Friday night, after Shabbat dinner at the kibbutz dining hall, the volunteers gathered at the kibbutz pub (a converted bomb-shelter called The Mafia). One night several stocky lads rocked up to the volunteers assembled outside the Mafia / bomb-shelter, and deposited three large plastic boxes on the pavement before us. One chap** proclaimed at drill-sergeant volume, the pub is closed until these crates are empty. I peered inside a crate and noticed it was crammed to the rim with bottles of Red Star beer…I don’t recall much else of that night…
We’ll bless them all until we get fahsnickered! ~ Rabbi Tuckman (Mel Brooks).
On another night, the volunteers had a spontaneous BBQ outside the accommodation. Several locals appeared and dragged us off to the kibbutz residence area for another BBQ…At the time I didn’t know what was happening, I just followed the crowd…The chap** in charge of the food shoved a plate into my hands and asked what I wanted to eat. I tried to explain I had arrived by accident, and I wasn’t formally invited to their gathering. He ignored me and repeated his question. Apparently ‘some’ chicken translates into Hebrew as a ‘wrist-snapping plate load’ of chicken. Never sit at a party in Israel with an empty plate. That’s viewed as a challenge.
Oh, and thanks to the HaShlosha nightlife I soon learnt to identify a F-16 and a F-15 just by their engine pitch.
^Usual kibbutz neighbourhood watch. When the gunships visited at night they would hover so low overhead I couldn’t hear someone shouting in my ear.
One afternoon, while cooling off in the kibbutz pool, a group of young girls gathered around me and began talking at me in rapid disgruntled Hebrew (maybe being solitary is not kosher). I tried to explain that I only understood English. The girls paused for a moment, then resumed their belt-fed dialogues in fluent Spanish. I sank beneath the water and paddled away, defeated.
During my stay I worked in the Kibbutz kitchen / dining hall. My mother insisted I worked somewhere safe, and the dining hall had four-meter thick concrete & steel ceiling (safe enough, I thought). The kitchen manager was an cheerful eccentric silvered chap, who always referred to me as ‘Mister Matthew, sir!’ As the summer months approached the dishes cleaning area became a grease-laden-humidity filled sauna at the best of times. The kitchen manager often rotated the volunteers on ten minute breaks, to rest in the shade on the outside lawns, as a reprieve from the afternoon (kitchen) heat. For some reason, my breaks seemed precisely timed to observe clusters of depressingly fit and attractive soldiers or sparsely clad young women wandering passed the hall. A much missed cheeky old sod.
Other Be'er Sheva events
During the first week of my trip I decided to visit the Hazterim air force museum, outside Be’er Sheva. A fascinating place but you need to time your conversations. The museum is about a kilometer or so from the Hatzerim airbase (Israel’s largest). When a combat jet spools up for take-off, which they did with a curious frequency, you cannot hear anything else. Anyway, the most memorable encounter was on the trip home. My friend and I discovered, en-route, the bus-line also serviced the airbase. We drove up to the perimeter fence checkpoint, a thin young soldier (carrying his bodyweight in firepower) stepped aboard, checked my passport and my friend’s ID, and proceeded down the isle. I then noticed my friend and I were the only civilians on the crowded bus. The soldier left, and the bus continued into the airbase, driving up to the main admin building. My butt remained welded to my seat as the military folk departed, and we eventually returned to Be’er Sheva without issue. My decision to take my passport on the museum trip was random, I didn’t know it would be required. Even with a passport I was surprised the soldier let me stay on the bus. The IAF are renowned for their secrecy.
One afternoon, while shopping for my second kibbutz venture, I attempted to buy some roll-on deodorant from a local chemists. At the checkout the pleasant girl tried to tell me something in Hebrew. I soon discovered she didn’t understand English. However, a wonderful elderly lady beside me translated for us. Apparently my chosen roll-on was on special, if I bought two bottles. Done deal. I darted into the isles, and returned with a second bottle. The cashier girl smiled and proclaimed in struggling English “A gift! A gift!” as she shoved a large plastic jug into my bag. I thanked them both and departed. That evening I learnt the cashier’s gift was a two-liter jug of sun screen.
…More to follow…
But I had a feeling we would want to tell many stories. So, you don’t have to pick just one stranger you still remember. You can do as many as you’d like, but try to keep them short 
He was so random, and wild. And telling us everything.
I’d read a whole book of your encounters.