Encounter with New York Jews

I’m enjoying the peaceful early morning hours before I set off into the hustle and bustle of New York life to share a few stories….

As I boarded the flight to New York in Brussels yesterday morning, it struck me once again just how many Jewish people were on the flight – many recognisable by their kippahs, dark suits and hats, some with side curls and beards, others without, some women from conservative families wearing headscarves, from beneath which a lock of hair would peek out now and then.

The Jewish man sitting behind me with his son had pre-ordered kosher food from the airline, as this isn’t normally available on board. It hadn’t worked out. Just as it hadn’t two years ago, when – also on the flight to New York – a Jewish couple were sitting next to me and they didn’t have any food either. I couldn’t even offer them any of my own. In my – limited – experience, it seems to happen quite often that the food arrangements don’t work out. I wonder why the airlines don’t learn from this and, on routes frequently used by Jewish passengers, have two or three extra kosher meals on board as standard. Presumably, those in charge haven’t yet realised there’s a problem.

I left my suitcase at a friend’s office and made my way to Bryant Park. I wasn’t in the mood for adventure just yet; I wanted to relax and unwind first. I was watching the people there when an elderly Jewish gentleman spoke to me. Perhaps 60 or 70… it’s hard for me to tell with men who have beards. He asked me why I’d been smiling so warmly. I told him that I’d just been thinking about how diverse and colourful the people here in this park are.

He said, „Then you’re not from round here; otherwise you wouldn’t have noticed.“

We struck up a conversation. I was a bit unsure at first. I don’t know enough to be able to judge how conservative someone is just by their clothes. I know that some very orthodox Jews wouldn’t speak to women they didn’t know at all – let alone those lying in the park wearing off-the-shoulder tops. He asked me if I was married and had children. When I said no, he wanted to know why not… Normally, I find questions like that a bit too intrusive, but in this case there was a genuine desire to understand something that was incomprehensible to him.

He told me about his family. His parents, from Bratislava and Hungary, had survived the Holocaust; his father had set up a fabric business in New York, which he, Joe, would be taking over. To me, the name – which sounded typically American – seemed more suited to a well-built baseball player than to an elderly Jewish gentleman who kept interrupting our conversation whenever someone rang him, and who would explain things and give instructions in Yiddish.

Joe’s mother had seven children – and she now has 250 descendants. Joe alone has contributed significantly to this, with his seven children and now 53 (!) grandchildren. He told me about another woman who had come to the USA after the Holocaust with 11 children and who, at the time of her death, had more than 3,000 descendants (children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren). Given the millions of deaths in the Holocaust, he sees it as a miracle how the Jews living in New York have multiplied. A miracle. Hope. Meaning.

He explained to me that mutual attraction and enjoying each other’s company were important when choosing a partner. But that wasn’t love yet: „Love grows with the children. At the start, there’s infatuation. But that doesn’t last. What’s the point of living for? For a house, for a car? Only children really bring a couple together.“

I’m not sure whether I agree with him on everything. But I can understand his point of view.

He asked me, if I ever came back to the park, to go to the same spot… so that he could find me if I was there. A warm welcome in a strange city.

My first day in New York.