"Bring out your dead!"

And the Voice of Recycling Is Heard Throughout the Land.

Nearly every morning, the song of the junk man in his horse–drawn cart can be heard on Droyanov Street. I was annoyed the first few days (he's loud without his megaphone), but his scavenging serves Tel Aviv well. "Junk" is a relative term. The man ensures that nothing, nothing that can be saved, repaired, or used up is not sent to a landfill.

And so, a cry can be heard throughout the land, a cry from European man's Middle Ages. My son noticed the similarity between the junk man's call and a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, decimating forever my historical observations.