In my hometown, right under my apartment, there’s a falafel and sabich stand. It’s an old place, dating back to the 90s, with the warm, inviting smell of hummus and potatoes wafting through the air. Most of the time, the place is empty, but come Fridays, a crowd gathers, people swarming the stand like it’s the best-kept secret. It’s the cheapest meal in town. Just 15 shekels for a portion (about $4), which is significantly cheaper than other places. The catch? The owner refuses to accept credit cards. It’s cash only. This is even written in big chalk letters on a board with three exclamation marks. In fact, she gets visibly irritated when someone tries to convince her to take payment through an app. There’s absolutely no way you’re going to get her to use any form of payment processing. Cash. Only.
The owner is an older woman with a stern face but a sharp mind. She reminds me a lot of my late grandmother. My grandmother was a senior economist in the Soviet Moldovan government. She joined the system for the perks, to put food on the table for her two children, but she was always skeptical. She never bought into the communist anthems or their false pretenses—she just wanted to do her job.
I never carry cash. I don’t even have a wallet anymore. It’s been ages since I’ve carried a purse because I pay for everything through my phone, whether it’s contactless credit payments or even Bitcoin. Now in Israel, there’s talk of phasing out the 200-shekel bill as a step toward eliminating cash altogether.
For the stand owner, this is a real obstacle. She’s missing out on quite a bit of business because most people under 40 don’t like using cash, even though they really want that falafel. And even when she sends us to the nearest ATM, by the time we return, our appetite has waned. Given all the discussions about the death of cash, I decided to talk to her and figure out why she’s so against card machines. At first, she seemed evasive. Her brows furrowed, and she stuck to her mantra, “No machine. Only cash.” I asked if she was trying to simplify business expenses to keep her prices low, avoiding the fees and upkeep of payment processors. That wasn’t it. Sure, I considered the idea of tax evasion, but I had a hunch that wasn’t it either since she pays all her business taxes, including signage fees and property taxes.
As I continued chatting with her, trying to decode her unique stubbornness, I suddenly heard a ringing tone. A classic, old-school ringer. She pulled out her cell phone from her pocket. Wow! I hadn’t seen a phone like that in years. I think the last time I saw one was in the early 2000s. A phone with buttons, no internet, no WhatsApp, no social media—just calls. If I hadn’t seen her day in and day out over the years, I would’ve thought she was a time traveler.
Then it hit me. I smiled at her, “You don’t trust the financial system, do you? You don’t trust the banks.” She took a deep breath, looked around cautiously like she was selling something illegal, and whispered, “I don’t trust anyone. Not the government, not the state, not the bank, not the insurance companies. They’re all thieves, every single one.” Her tone was heavy, laden with a past that hinted at scars from a story I could only imagine.
In the city where I’m writing this, the question I was about to ask would seem pompous and pretentious, but I asked anyway, “Have you heard of Bitcoin?” She gave me a confused but skeptical look, clearly not wanting to hear about any new fads, much like my dear grandmother. “It’s the most decentralized digital currency in the world. You bypass the entire financial establishment, and it’s the most private system out there,” I told her with excitement. She looked at me without saying a word, but her expression was clear: “What are you rambling on about with this complicated technology? I’m an old woman struggling to make ends meet—do I look like someone who’s capable of understanding how that works right now?” I smiled and told her I’d be around if she ever wanted to chat about it more in depth.
Her sentiment reflects a growing unease as Israel considers canceling the NIS 200 bill in a bid to combat black capital. The government aims to transition to a cashless society, where digital payments reign supreme. While this may help curb tax evasion, it poses a significant challenge for those who, like my falafel stand owner, rely on cash for their financial autonomy.
Decentralized finance (DeFi) offers an intriguing alternative. Built on blockchain technology, DeFi allows individuals to manage their finances without banks or intermediaries, empowering them to take control of their financial destinies. For someone like the falafel lady, DeFi could represent a way to bypass the very institutions she distrusts. But here’s the challenge: many people don’t understand DeFi, and that lack of familiarity breeds suspicion.
The potential of DeFi is vast. Imagine a world where my falafel stand owner can access financial services without the banks she so skeptically views. Yet, unless DeFi becomes intuitive and accessible, it risks alienating those who need it most.
El Salvador’s recent adoption of Bitcoin as legal tender is a case in point. The country aimed to give the unbanked population access to financial services, but many faced hurdles due to a lack of understanding. To succeed, the government initiated educational programs, emphasizing that technology alone won’t solve the problem. The same applies to DeFi; without trust and understanding, its promise remains unfulfilled.
As Israel pushes towards a cashless future, we must consider the implications for people like the falafel stand owner. While DeFi could offer her the independence she values, it’s crucial that it becomes simple and trustworthy. The shift to digital currencies cannot leave behind those who’ve spent their lives relying on cash.
The path forward requires more than just technology; it demands a commitment to making financial systems accessible and understandable. DeFi has the potential to democratize wealth and empower individuals, but it will only be effective if it resonates with those who feel left out of the digital revolution. The future of finance should not only cater to the tech-savvy elite but should also include those like my falafel lady, who just want to keep things simple and maintain control over their own lives.
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