NOTE: The lighter posts are first. My deeper ones I saved for later, so scroll down if you need greater stimulation.
I am on my way to Tel-Aviv. I spent yesterday afternoon in Manhattan, walked briefly into the Metropolitan Museum of Art, through Central Park, southward with my cousin Robyn and her husband Koh.
We walked past store windows of reputable fame around the world, yet utterly useless in the realm of the park–even surrounded by steel and concrete, Oak and Maple are far more powerful forces on the human consciousness than are NBC, Barneys, or Cartier.
We stopped for a few minutes to look into the windows at Hermes, where one of Robyn’s neighbors contributed to the decor. Her name is printed on the windows. “Paintings by,” as well as, “Masks by Cynthia Rojas, www.cynthiarojas.net”
Onward we strolled to Rockefeller Center, where I delighted in the simple, uniquely urban pleasure of observing God’s work from the top of a manmade structure. At ground level, Manhattan is a beast, but from the “Top of the Rock”, the island is a tame, approachable piece of something much larger, and much more sensible than this small component.
We trained to Brooklyn, where the evening would wind down, along with the three of us, in a diner called Relish, where the Fettucine Taormino is like nothing Knoxville Tennessee can offer.
Then back to Robyn and Koh’s apartment. We walk the dog, talk about big things, plan for little things, inflate the air mattress, and set the alarm for 6 a.m.
I took a cab from Brooklyn to JFK: $40. Robyn paid, as she did for every cost I incurred in the city.
El Al Flight 022 to Tel-Aviv is made up predominantly of birthright tourists like myself, from my group (Shorashim) and a couple others.
I have already met some fine young Chicagoans (and non-Chicagoans). A tallish guy, Eric Schreiber, who heads a software sales team in Chicago, stood in line with me. Elisabeth (“with an S”) Schneider is “almost twenty-seven,” which is quite a bit older than her much quieter sister Jordyn, who is twenty. Two seats to my left–28H–sits another Eric, this one from New York: Eric Benja, who is in finance, is an aspiring actor who is going to be in an upcoming indie film called “Timid”. These are just a few of the members of my group whom I have met.
I am hesitant to admit that I would like to find a Jewish girl here who sweeps up my spirit, and I am overjoyed to report the existence of at least a couple smart, funny, and attractive prospects among this flock. I already have a good feeling about this group in general. Here friendship is inevitable, and romance is–as it always seems for me–left to chance.
