Inflation in Tel Aviv

March 11, 2026. Walking around Tel-Aviv, 11 days into the war.

I’m tired and hungry, with one eye on the buildings for shelters in case of another alarm, the other scanning the stores looking for food.

Suddenly the nose picks up a gorgeous Middle-Eastern, so-called Mizrahi, food scent. It is very robust but not overpowering, complex in its flavor but each component clearly defined, completely authentic and inviting. It smells like soup.

I make a bee-line for the eatery. Five big cauldrons of soups, each smelling heavenly, the man behind them definitely Mizrahi. My Hebrew is passable, having lived here for 7 years. I put on my best Mizrahi accent and ask for the price. He smiles and answers in English. I look at him incredulously and burst out: “How in all creation did you figure out I’m not a local?”. Now he smiles broadly: “Only tourists ask for price. Israelis pay whatever I ask”.

So now I know. At least in Tel Aviv, inflation is explainable and probably here to last. We bantered some more about it and both lamented the high prices of everything. What all Israelis do, even in Tel Aviv. Even if they don’t ask for prices.