All was in Israel. The twins were soaking up the holiness. Even as young as they were, just looking at them, you could tell they were taking it all in. It was only a matter of time before they would begin to understand what they were seeing.
After several joyous days in Jerusalem, they headed to Tel Aviv after a quick overnight stop in Safed. Marc was out for a stroll along Dizengoff Street. Alana was playing with the kids on the beach. He scoped out the restaurants and was deciding which one the family should dine at. He’d text Alana in a few.
He bought some fresh-squeezed orange juice and was loving Tel Aviv. He heard some noise and looked around. He saw a man stumbling down the block and banging into things. He was piss drunk. Marc was not happy. No one should disrespect their environment—especially one as holy as Israel’s.
The drunk was screaming and yelling. He scared a few teens, who were obviously tourists. Fluent in Hebrew and having been to Israel dozens of times, Marc fit right in. No one would consider him a tourist.
He had enough and shot several enlarged pomegranates at the drunk. He nailed him in the head and back. The drunk let out a yell. He started stuttering even more and got even wobblier. Marc got closer and shot barley out of his eyes. It landed right into the drunk’s eyes. Marc unleashed more of his weapons. He wanted to kick him in the head. But decided not to. He pummeled the drunk with a few more pomegranates. The drunk started wailing. At this point, Marc smiled and texted Alana that it was dinner time.
