The City Drains

In the car to the airport I watch the sky go by—the sky so blue and so big; where I live we’ve let it be that way, we haven’t crowded it with buildings and clamor and people. Wide and unhampered, I feel its joy. Sunlight plays off the leaves, vibrant green, deep red, smoky orange, highlights dancing as we whoosh by, trees and trees and trees. The mountains tell me they’ll wait, and the lake is still and gray. I ache, thinking about leaving it all behind, missing the rest of the season, every change, every sunrise and sunset. But I can’t let myself feel lost already. I find strength in forcing my mind and my soul to recall that, sustained by God, the leaves will turn colors again next year, every subsequent year, and the sun will continue to rise and set over the mountains, morning and evening, for as long as I can foresee. I may miss many moments, each one unique, but there will be more, and all of them fantastic.

I’m back in the city and right away I feel it: the pressure that constricts my lungs, the noise and the rush and the urgency, pulsing, pulsing, pushing toward a goal. Faster! In the cab I try to retain some of my composure, the blissful peace that a month at home bestowed, but already I feel it slipping. The conclusions that I came to, the slow deliberate consideration of options, the necessary realization that I can, must handle whatever comes next is suddenly replaced by COMPARISON, by COMPETITION, by the feeling that I am BEHIND and INFERIOR and about to LOSE all chance of success. The city yells at me in capital letters. I press my hands to my ears, hoping to erase the sounds with memories of long pinebrown walks through a forest to shul, talks with my father, songs sung with my sister—but the city is relentless.

Back in the dorm I try to forget my troubles as I hug my friends and ask them about their chagim. Yet within minutes I realize that I hardly recognize myself. This loud, giddy person—zany, entertaining—she is not me. For a month I was quiet, sweet, reflective, thoughtful, with a frothy, childlike joy. I return and my personality has shifted, I am a different girl. This manifestation annoys me. She is more shallow and less loved. She feels the pressure, the competition, and tries to drown out the voices with frivolity. She strives for attention, even—especially—among her closest friends. The city life is too rushed for the quiet one to survive. She struggles and thrashes and makes more noise than she cares to hear. I turn away.

I sit in class and try to feel. A month at home restored my ability to discover and accept my emotions. It was elation, pure and clear, to know that my capacity for love and fear and wonder still abides. I felt the emotional nuance of each chag, each Godly encounter, each human interaction, and I reveled in the awareness of it. Without emotion, life skids by untouched, there is no way to grasp hold of a moment. Precious sensitivity allowed me to live each day, to experience and grow. And now I am back, and already I feel a callus forming, my skin thickened, becoming impervious to nicks and scratches and soft caresses. I see opportunity sliding away, I feel loss, I want so much to stop this process. But what can I do? This city eats at my heart and diminishes Truth, but I cannot leave now.

So I will close my door and close my eyes and breathe slowly through my nose until I find my pace again. I will do this today and tomorrow if I must, but each time the equanimity I regain is less. And then the time will come that I will leave this city for a few days or weeks and I will find myself once more. And then, with the inevitability of night after morning, I will return to the city, again and again—until the day that life leads me to a new place, and I am liberated at last.

The Perks of Living in the City

or
Amazingly Awesome Things I have Done In the Past Few Weeks:

I am not a New Yorker, nor do I ever plan to be one. Though this is my third year living in NYC for college, I do not plan to stay here long—certainly not long-term. Yet, as much as I may complain about the New York area and Manhattan in specific, sometimes living in the city is amazing. In the past I’ve sometimes tended to get caught up in school and school-related things and not get out as much as I should. This year, I am happy to report, I have been doing a better job of exploring and experiencing New York. As follows, a brief guide/summary of some of the attractions I’ve discovered in my current city of residence.

Times Square -- though it is one of the most well-known tourist sites in New York, there is so much to see and do that it’s exciting to go back again and again even for those of us who live just a few blocks away. Some things to see in Times Square:

• Toys “R” Us – this store may be known to in-towners as nothing but a trite date-site, but really it is much more. Yes, it’s a great place to spy on shidduch dates, if that’s one of your hobbies (“Oooh, that one’s not going well, look at how her arms are crossed—I guess she’s not a fan of Ninja Turtles”; “They’ve for sure been dating a while, they look totally comfortable together”; “No matter how many we see, I still think a black hat and suit look strange in a toy store”), but it’s also a terrific spot to go with friends. One upside of going with an all-female group is the ability to spend extended amounts of time in the Barbie section without having to deal with a male feeling his masculinity challenged by an overload of pink. Seriously though, for those of us who are still on good terms with the 7-year-old inside us, it is always a ton of fun.


• The M&M Store, The Hershey’s Store – the former is much bigger (three floors) and carries anything you could ever want or need—all emblazoned with the M&M logo or pictures of the various M&Ms from the ads. They also carry M&M candies in more colors than you could have ever imagined. You won’t necessarily buy anything there, but it’s fun to look. The latter is much smaller, and in my mind a bit overrated. It doesn’t really sell much but chocolate—but then again, there’s nothing wrong with chocolate. :)


• Dale and Thomas Popcorn, aka Popcorn Indiana – carries popcorn in all sorts of flavours, including cheddar, kettle corn, barbeque, chocolate caramel, and white chocolate peanut butter—and it’s all kosher! My personal favourite is the kettle corn, which is the only flavour of which I am able to consume large amounts at a time. The ones with chocolate are amazing, but so rich that it’s hard to have more than a little. The popcorn costs little more than Starbucks, but is much yummier. I’m a fan.


• Broadway Shows – I am a huge fan of musicals, and Broadway shows, though often quite costly, generally provide an experience exciting enough to talk about for weeks. There are various methods of obtaining tickets for less, some of which I’ve found more effective than others. TKTS, in my experience, won’t offer tickets cheaper than can be bought at the box office, but will usually give better seats for the same price. Student rush tickets are available for some shows, or if you’re feeling lucky, many shows have a lottery for $20-25 front row seats. Take, for example, Wicked—one of my favourite shows ever. Long-time devotees of this blog may recall that I saw it in London, but of course that isn’t the same as seeing it on Broadway. Before today, I had twice entered the lottery and left empty handed. Today, however, I entered…and won! My friend and I paid $26.25 each and sat in the second row! We were so close that I could see Galinda’s zits hidden under seven layers of cover up. It was awesome, to say the least.

Pylones Stores -- never heard of them? Neither have most people—but trust me, they are incredible. Pylones makes accessories, furniture, kitchen appliances, keychains—all in bright, shiny, funky prints and shapes. They have three stores in the city; I recently discovered the one in Soho. The picture on the left will give you an idea of the kind of place it is. ‘Nuff said.

Poet’s House Reading Room – ok, so my Writing Children’s Lit teacher forced me to go. But it was cool anyway! A small room on the second floor of 72 Spring Street houses shelves and shelves of books and a quiet reading/writing area. And the door is yellow. I read an awesome children’s book there (Plum, by Tony Mitton, illustrated by Mary Grand Pre). But they are moving locations very soon, so it won’t be the same long.

Fish’s Eddy – another random store I discovered on a trek to Barnes and Noble; proprietor of such items as the “Heroes of the Torah” glass set, featuring pictures of Rabbis with generic Jewish names that neither I nor my friend had ever heard of—we are convinced they made them up. They also had colorful mottled dishware and plastic reusable straws with stripes and polka dots. I like bright colors.

The Great Children’s Read – you can’t go to this anytime soon, because it happened already this year. On the quad of Columbia University, children’s authors and performers gathered to read aloud, answer questions, and express their love of books and writing. I saw Julie Andrews. In real life. Proof on the left. I nearly passed out. And I saw a lot of other fun people/things too. Go next year.

The Staten Island Ferry – it’s a ferry, and it’s free, so why not? It’s better when it’s not so cold outside, but if you’re willing to brave a little wind you can get a great view of the city and the Statue of Liberty. And did I mention it’s free?

Midnight Runs to Duane Reade – “a drug store??” you ask, “that’s supposed to be fun??” And I answer: yes! 24-hour Duane Reades are awesome. Walking to Duane Reade with your friends at one am is a party in and of itself. And once there, there is no limit to what you can discover. Like laundry detergent. And chocolate. Ok, whatever, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it.

Getting Ready for Shabbos Aboard the LIRR – admittedly, it takes a very specific set of circumstances, and a very special type of person, but it is an exhilarating experience. When you’ve missed the train you meant to take and then missed your back-up train, you aren’t left with many other options. The experience includes the classic one-handed makeup maneuver (the other hand holds the mini-mirror), and if you’re really brave you can do the train-bathroom-hair-ironing-trick (no, I didn’t do it, but my friend did…and I have the picture to prove it).

Bonus: Anywhere you go in the city, keep your eyes and ears open for interesting sights and dialogue. Example: in Toys “R” Us today I saw a group of be-payised, bearded, bekeshe-clad Chassidim posing with a bin full of bright red stuffed Elmo dolls while a young Chassidish girl took a picture. I coyly took out my cell phone and snapped one of my own. :) And eavesdropping (a necessity of life, for a writer) in the city is always sure to yield lots of colorful dialogue.

Of course, I also love ice skating in Bryant Park and Rockefeller Center, and looking at the holiday windows at Macy’s and Lord and Taylor, and lots of other things too…but really this entry was meant to record only those things I’ve done recently, because I didn’t want it to get too long. Oh. Right. Well. Ahem.

Sooo…that’s it for now, folks. Wherever you live, get out there and enjoy it!

This message brought to you by Adventurous People Promoting Life and Excitement (APPLE) and the Committee of Procrastination (COP)

What do PDAs, Little Red Bugs, and R’ Shlomo Zalman Auerbach Have In Common?

They can all be found in Central Park at the same time.

This afternoon, I fled the madness of Stern in finals season (see below, if you haven’t yet) to my favorite NY haven…Central Park. I love Central Park. I could write hundreds of posts about Central Park. There will probably be future posts about Central Park. But tonight I have a hard final that I haven’t studied for yet (again, see below) and therefore I will limit my words.

I went there today with three of my close friends, ostensibly to study in the park, though of course I knew better. We plunked ourselves down on the sun-dappled grass under the shade of a large tree and took out our notebooks. The grass was patchy, and we hadn’t brought a sheet, and thus I was shortly covered in dirt, weird plant thingies, and teeny tiny little bright red bugs that crawled across my notes uninvited. I tried not to think about where else they might be crawling.

After finding an attempt to read my notes unsuccessful (surprise!), I couldn’t resist lying down on my back and staring up at the sunlight streaming through the spring green leaves and branches of the tree high above me. The beauty of that spectacle was literally breathtaking. I gazed into the vast canopy above me, and felt the hard earth under my head. Now let me tell you, I am certainly no hippie-nature-girl, but at that moment, I communed with nature. It was actually stunning. I could have stayed like that for hours.

But I didn’t, because I felt that I should try to study again. So I did. And naturally, several minutes later, I found myself asleep. Not a deep sleep, but a lovely, breezy, summery doze. Asleep enough to be comfortable, but not too asleep not to notice and awaken with a start when I overheard my friends mention food. The food concerned turned out not to be of interest to me, so instead I took out the gummy worms I happened to be conveniently carrying in my bag and distributed them among the masses (a.k.a. my homies). I try not to go anywhere without sugar. Best to be prepared.

Then I tried to study again. My friends and I, however, were shortly distracted once more by a couple a few yards down the slope on which we camped. This couple was horizontal, and they were engaged in, well, let’s just say…they weren’t quite shomer negiah. My friends and I did our best to ignore them, but 10, 15, 30 minutes later, when they were still similarly employed, it started to grate on our sensitivities, and we couldn’t help but brainstorm imaginative ways to remedy the situation. We could walk up to them and say, “Hope we’re not interrupting anything…but would you mind taking a picture for us?” Or walk by and discreetly cough, “Get a room! Ahem! Get a room!” Or surround them in a ring and sing the shomer negiah song. This last option was shortly ruled out, however, because of kol isha issues.

Eventually, we realized that it was getting late, and if we didn’t leave soon we’d miss the mad rush to dinner at the caf and be left utterly foodless, as we were two nights ago. Stern really needs to learn how to order food during finals. Having hundreds of burned-out-from-studying-Jewish-girls, who stagger into the caf hoping for sustenance to get them through another loooong night of memorizing obscure information, to find that the only remaining food is a few semi-stale bagels and low-fat kugels…well, let’s just say, I feared for my life. I’ve never seen so many people in such a collective bad mood. But I digress…

We picked up camp and walked through the park in the direction of the subway station. Those who have been to Central Park will know that lining the main walkway of the park lurk myriad caricature and portrait artists seeking customers. As testaments to their skills, they display samples of their work, depictions of celebrities of all sorts. (Never mind that they probably spent hours doing those, while the one they will draw of you will take 15 minutes, and therefore will not look remotely like the samples, nor in all likelihood, remotely like you. Trust me, I know from experience.)

As we walked, I was expressing, for the thousand and seventh time my desire to purchase ice cream from the ice cream trucks (I’m a sucker for ice cream, especially the chocolate kind, and especially from trucks), when an unexpected sight caught our collective eyes. There, staring back at us from an easel, was the face of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, in color! A middle aged Asian man sat, intently using pastels to copy a picture of R’ Auerbach clipped to the easel. There was no way we were going to just walk on by, so we stopped to chat. We told him we that we really liked his picture. The man’s English was less than perfect, so we didn’t understand everything he said in response, but we think he told us that he’d been commissioned to do the portrait by someone. Then he asked us if we were from Brooklyn. That was funny. We said no. We asked if he knew the Rabbi’s name, and he said no, and offered us the picture to caption. My friend wrote “Rabbi Auerbach” beneath it. We snapped the artist’s picture, and went on our merry way, marveling at the things one finds in good old NYC.

We had a jolly walk back to the subway station, and I played my favorite game: the Notice Everything Game. As a writer, and a lover of life, this game is important to my very existence. Noticing the funny, touching, quirky, and beautiful things that I pass enhances my appreciation of life, and my ability to describe. One thing we noticed was an “interesting” window display, pictured below.

We sardined ourselves onto the packed subway and finally arrived at our destination—in time, you will be glad to hear, for me to procure a piece of slimy chicken, some mediocre french fries, and a cup of utterly flat cherry coke. Gotta love caf food. Anyway, that was my afternoon.

Wow, I can’t help but a feel a little bit like friend and fellow blogger, Chana, who can’t seem to restrain herself from writing incredibly lengthy posts, and who happened to record a slightly similar park experience just a few weeks ago. Hmm.

Other notes on life…

On the subway earlier this morning, a family (mom, dad, pre-pubescent son) sat down near me. The father was clad in a peach polo shirt and khaki shorts displaying hairy legs, and also sported a large gray mustache. These people were tourists. How do I know? When someone all the way across the subway car sneezed, I was abruptly awakened from my half-doze when the father said loudly, “Bless you!” My first thought was, “What? You just don’t do that. Who does that?” I mean, it was a little weird. The sneezer wasn’t even in our line of vision! But after that immediate reaction, I smiled to myself. Ah, how I love out-of-towners. And from now on, I resolve to bless subway sneezers!

And…graduations make me tear up—even if I’m not graduating, and even if I don’t know the people graduating. Something about seeing all the relatives there, beaming with pride, cameras in hand, makes me emotional. It’s nice, in a funny way. Though transitions from one stage to another are always interesting, achieving a goal is something to be proud of. It’s good to take some time simply to be glad before having to move on to whatever challenges lie ahead. So hooray for my grads, and mazal tov!

Now I should probably start studying for my final…

A Girl Walks Into a Bar...

Yes, I know that just yesterday I promised a blogging hiatus. But I had an experience tonight that was both out of the ordinary and frustrating—an irresistible combination for a blogger. So, since I felt like writing about it anyway, I figured I might as well post it here. I hope you forgive me for yesterday’s misleading post. I guess I will now add a disclaimer to the disclaimer: I am on a break from blogging—unless something so blogworthy happens that I am necessarily compelled to violate my self-imposed exile.

Ok, so now on to the story…

Tonight I went to a bar for the first time in my life. Before you start ranting about the moral deterioration of today’s youth, I’ll relieve your concern by telling you that, no, I was not there to drink myself silly or to meet guys. In fact, I was quite resistant to the idea of going, as I had never planned to enter a bar, at all, ever. The reason I was there was because my creative writing teacher told us at the beginning of the semester that we had to attend a reading of fiction and write an essay on it at some point over the course of the semester. Of course, being good college students, my entire class left it till the very last second, and now the essay is due on Monday. So we all scrambled to find a fiction reading that was free and not too far away. And we did. There was to be a reading at an Irish pub right near my school tonight at eight. So a few friends from class and I decided to go. Beforehand, we did some research about the bar where it was to take place, since none of us are 21 yet and we wondered whether we would have trouble getting in. After looking it up, we hopefully determined that because it holds weekly fiction readings (as well as Irish language lessons), it was really not a bar, but rather a dimly lit cultural center that also happens to serve alcohol.

We got there tonight just on time, at 2 minutes to 8. The pub was small and narrow with a low ceiling—and the only part of my assumption that turned out to be correct was that it was indeed dimly lit. The only other people there were two college girls from another school who also needed to hear a reading for a class. My friends and I situated ourselves on a leather couchish thing against the wall near the small platform where a shtender with a microphone waited expectantly for the absent author to appear. We had ample time to observe our surroundings and comment on the novelty of actually being in a real live bar, because the author was late. It was fun for a few minutes, but then it got later--and the author still didn’t come. We started getting worried, and we asked the bartender (a normal-looking 30ish lady with a thick Irish brogue) whether the author was coming. She said that she didn’t know, because she “just provides the rrumm” (room or rum?) so we sat back down and chatted amongst ourselves. After we had waited about 40 minutes a few girls left, but two of my friends and I still waited hopefully—because we really needed to hear the reading tonight in order to write the essay in a timely fashion. At 9:01, over an hour after the reading was scheduled to begin, we finally gave up hope and left. The End. Great story, no?

Overall, it was an extremely frustrating experience, because not only did I go to a bar for nothing, and not only did I waste over an hour of my incredibly busy life, but I still have to take even more time to find another reading to go at some other point! Now it looks like I have to go to yet another bar tomorrow night to try again (two bars in two nights—I don’t know what has become of me!). To try to look on the bright side, I guess it can count as an interesting experience. Maybe I’ll even get a short story out of it someday. My creative writing teacher would be pleased.

New Yorkers: To Bash or Not to Bash?

Last week, over on Ezzie's Blog there was some discussion of the issue of “New York bashing.” As a proud out-of-towner, I must admit that I am guilty of possessing some negative stereotypes about certain NY Jews and their attitude. However, I acquired these stereotypes based on real-life experience, and of course I don’t apply them across the board. The truth is that before I went to Israel for a year after high school, I had practically never met a New Yorker in my life. It was only then that my eyes were opened with a vengeance to the concept of in-town vs. out-of-town. I quickly found out firsthand about some of the issues with the stereotypically “New York” mentality. When I started going to school in NY the following year, I found out even more. No one will deny that the differences between being a Jew in-town and out-of-town are plentiful. I’m not going to discuss the pros and cons of these differences here, but I will weigh in on the appropriate time, place, and way to point out flaws within certain segments of the Jewish community in New York.

My final disclaimer is this: I am close friends with a ton of in-towners, whom I love to pieces, and many of whom display none of the negative stereotypical characteristics of in-towners. There are far too many Jews in this area to make a generalization about any group—inevitably, every group has an infinite number of variations within it. If you are a New Yorker reading this, it should in no way be taken as a personal attack. It is very possible that you are among the New Yorkers who are as well-mannered, considerate, and sensitive as any out-of-towner could ever hope to be. That said, it must be acknowledged that, unfortunately, there are many New Yorkers who do not share your attitude. Any negativity is directed solely at those who display behaviors that merit it. Ok, now to what I wanted to say:

The bottom line is this: Orthodox Jews need as much good publicity as they can get. If I was to write an article for a non-Jewish publication, I would never ever write about problems with pushy NY Jews. Instead, I would write about positive examples of Orthodox Judaism. And if a non-frum person or a non-Jew out-of-town said something negative to me about New Yorky Orthodox Jews, I would respond with an adamant defense, and tell the person that that’s not the case at all. I would say that the problems the person encountered were probably the result of the hectic NYC mentality, which affects Jews and non-Jews alike, and is not a problem unique to the Jewish community. If the person persisted, and cited examples, I would say that it is unfortunate that he/she had encountered people like that, but that the majority of Orthodox Jews in New York are not like that, and that those people, who should indeed change their ways, are exceptions and not the rule.

However, I think it entirely appropriate to discuss problems with the mentality and actions of certain NY Jews in a private setting. If there is no discussion of these issues, then the problems will only be propagated and ignored, and we are all at risk of falling into the same kind of behavior. As someone who lives in NY (temporarily), I am, of course, prone to the possibility of acting in the ways that so disturb me. By talking about the issues that undeniably exist among certain populations of NY Jews, I attempt to keep myself and those who hear what I have to say away from those behaviors. There is a delicate balance between speaking out to correct behaviors when needed and perpetrating sinas chinam. However, the fact that it is tricky does not mean that we must keep entirely silent about the problems we see. If nothing is said, nothing will be done, and no Jew should feel content to merely sit back and watch the amount of chillul Hashem that sometimes occurs. As frum Jews, we are all responsible for one another, and the actions of any one of us affects the image of the entire group. We need to offer mussar in whatever way we deem will be most effective--but without being overly harsh or allowing personal bitterness to infiltrate our reaction.

A friend from NY pointed out that sometimes we out-of-towners don’t realize that what we say may be offensive to NYers—that our flippant comments may often be insensitive. I think that we should always be conscious, and avoid making comments purely out of annoyance or spite. Yet, when necessary, we should offer tochacha in whatever way we think may actually get the message across and keep people from acting that way again.