I LOVE New York. More than anything I love the energy that seeps into my pores just walking around. I walk differently in New York——a little faster, a little more aggressive, a little more purpose. I edge my way past anyone too slow or anyone who tries to stop and sell me something.
Today I passed at least 100 kids standing out on almost every street corner. …holding pieces of fruit and plants, occasionally stopping people passing by . At least half of them tried to make eye contact or step in my path, but I brushed right past and ignored them.
So I have no idea why I stopped when yet another one of them approached me. My back was already turned, I couldn’t even see who was asking me: “Are you Jewish?”
I paused, and turned around.
I knew what he was holding because I had learned about them in Hebrew school, when we studied about the etrog (citron) and the lulav and the joyous festival of Sukkot. I found myself telling this stranger that my son-in-law had called a few days ago from Iraq, asking me to explain the same thing—what this holiday is about. I wish I had given Shane nearly as good an explanation as this young guy gave me. (click here for a better summary than you will get from me.)
There was something else—besides a recap of Hebrew school— that made me decide to stand on a Manhattan street corner and recite Hebrew blessings, as he directed me in his soft Israeli accent. And some reason that afterwards I continued to stand there with him talking.
Don’t ask me the reason—I don’t know it. I just felt it.
He did give me his reason— why he was standing there, that he’s part of the Chabad movement and that someday all the Jews are destined to come together as a people.
As I turned to go I asked his name.
“Daniel.” His face was both gentle and wise. Even before I started to smile, he told me: “It’s your son’s name—-right?”
There was no burning bush; no parting of the sea; not even a parting of the sea of traffic around us.
It was sweet but not significant; interesting but not important; 10 minutes that isn’t going to change either of our lives.
Yet in those moments there was a connection—enough to make me stop and pause—and think of all the ways that human beings connect to each other. I’m not sure what this particular connection meant, except that it was a sign. And not the one over my head that said “Broadway.”
God I love NYC; great story!
The best part of life are these little moments. Sweet!
As a New Yorker, I am entitled to say, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE NEW YORK, for the sheer energy, people-to-people proactive, interactive energy, that does not exist anywhere else. And I have always said that New Yorkers get a bad rap: They are not unfriendly at all. If they choose, they will bend over backwards to help any one at any time. But if they do not choose to, they will just keep going because they are either in a hurry or do not feel any positive energy from you and that’s OK too because there is nothing phony about that. If they like you, they love you and if they don’t then they just don’t bother.
Enjoy, Enjoy, Enjoy.
Yes, yes yes! There’s nothing like it—I get why people who live here say they couldn’t live anywhere else—
Great Column! Beautiful pictures of you!!
Darryle, I absolutely feel the same about NY. I was born in Manhattan and lived in Forrest Hills until I was 8, then we moved to Miami Beach, where I/we grew up! I went back periodically but then didn’t for over 20 years. When my mother passed in 2002, I was drawn back to NY, and especially to Union Turn Pike and Austin Street, where I grew up. Spent a day in the city too. It was re-connecting with my roots, and I felt it STRONG. NY just IS a place where people connect and cultures gravitate. If the world could learn from NY, we might actually live in more peace, harmony and acceptance.
What a coincidence! Hazel’s first trip to NYC was this past weekend! I wish we had known you were there, too…
Lindsay–me too, Hazel is getting to be quite the traveler. Will hopefully see you next time you get back to CA.
Debi, Deborah–thank u for comments.
Funny after just writing that post about my friend Deborah the art curator, then having dinner tonight in NY with my Yale friend Deborah….starting to wonder if every other woman of our generation is named Deborah.