Once a week, a very sweet young Arab man comes to wash the stairs in my apartment building. He has blue eyes, a small beard and a shy, snaggly-toothed smile. He never laughs when I speak to him in my little Arabic, even though he speaks fluent Hebrew and a Lebanese friend in New York once told me that I had the worst accent he'd ever heard.

He rides to work on a clattering old bicycle, with all his cleaning tools strapped to a basket on the rear wheel. No matter what the weather - and it has been raining for four days straight now - he always works barefoot, with his trousers folded up to his knees. He fills buckets with water from the tap outside, carries them to the top floor and pours the water down the stairs. Then he uses a long-handled squidgy to push the water down, working methodically until he finally sweeps the water outside.

When I saw him yesterday he was standing outside my building, facing the water tap. "Sabah al khayr!" (good morning in Arabic) I called out cheerfully.

No response.

I stopped and looked at him, and saw that he was standing still, barefoot as usual despite the cold concrete flagstones. His hands were folded over his lower belly, his eyes were shut tight with concentration and his lips moved. I'd interrupted him in the middle of his prayers.

I couldn't understand why he'd stop to pray right near the building's entrance, rather than looking for a little privacy in the courtyard in back, under the orange tree. I wondered why he didn't have a little prayer rug. And I felt uncomfortable about unwittingly interrupting him at prayer.

There's no point to this story. It's just a sort of written snapshot.

Israellycool is hosting the first-ever Jewish Israel Blog Awards. And I've been nominated in two categories.

Best New Blog 2004
and
Best "Life in Israel" Blog

I haven't been nominated for anything since someone thought I'd make a good grade nine class president. Which is when I learned that I am sadly lacking in leadership skills. (I've since decided that I'm neither a leader nor a follower).

As for writing skills, well, I did take a couple of creative writing courses when I was a callow university undergraduate. My instructors - one a New York Times culture critic and novelist, the other a fairly well-known playwright - were not terribly impressed by my efforts. Perhaps I've improved over the years?

The competition is stiff and I expect to get creamed, but still I'm really, really touched that some kind people nominated me. Thank you Annonymous, Mike (do you have a URL?) and Jonathan.

And a big thanks to Dave for all his time and effort.

Let the voting begin.