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I\u2019m enjoying the peaceful early morning hours before I set off into the hustle and bustle of New York life to share a few stories\u2026.<\/p>\n
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 \u2013 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.<\/p>\n
The Jewish man sitting behind me with his son had pre-ordered kosher food from the airline, as this isn\u2019t normally available on board. It hadn\u2019t worked out. Just as it hadn\u2019t two years ago, when \u2013 also on the flight to New York \u2013 a Jewish couple were sitting next to me and they didn\u2019t have any food either. I couldn\u2019t even offer them any of my own. In my \u2013 limited \u2013 experience, it seems to happen quite often that the food arrangements don\u2019t work out. I wonder why the airlines don\u2019t 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\u2019t yet realised there\u2019s a problem.<\/p>\n
I left my suitcase at a friend\u2019s office and made my way to Bryant Park. I wasn\u2019t 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\u2026 it\u2019s hard for me to tell with men who have beards. He asked me why I\u2019d been smiling so warmly. I told him that I\u2019d just been thinking about how diverse and colourful the people here in this park are.<\/p>\n
He said, \u201eThen you\u2019re not from round here; otherwise you wouldn\u2019t have noticed.\u201c<\/p>\n
We struck up a conversation. I was a bit unsure at first. I don\u2019t know enough to be able to judge how conservative someone is just by their clothes. I know that some very orthodox Jews wouldn\u2019t speak to women they didn\u2019t know at all \u2013 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\u2026 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.<\/p>\n
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 \u2013 which sounded typically American \u2013 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.<\/p>\n
Joe\u2019s mother had seven children \u2013 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.<\/p>\n
He explained to me that mutual attraction and enjoying each other\u2019s company were important when choosing a partner. But that wasn\u2019t love yet: \u201eLove grows with the children. At the start, there\u2019s infatuation. But that doesn\u2019t last. What\u2019s the point of living for? For a house, for a car? Only children really bring a couple together.\u201c<\/p>\n
I\u2019m not sure whether I agree with him on everything. But I can understand his point of view.<\/p>\n
He asked me, if I ever came back to the park, to go to the same spot\u2026 so that he could find me if I was there. A warm welcome in a strange city.<\/p>\n
My first day in New York.<\/p>\n
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