Crossing the Street

Dear Friends,

One of the first justifications I gave myself for moving to NYC was, “I’m not afraid of being hit by a car.” Growing up driving in California, how could I be? It’s not that hard to see pedestrians, and it’s not that hard to put your foot on the break last-minute. I love J-walking, in fact. I’m such a wimp, I get a little thrill out of it without a total, all-consuming adrenaline rush that is otherwise abhorrent to me. I used to be afraid of everything and now I still am – except I’m not afraid to cross a busy street in Manhattan.

And then you get to one of the busiest streets in the country – a street so busy it turns into a bridge that takes you into Brooklyn, apparently. Delancey Street. My favorite street in NYC. Not for its great stores, shops or restaurants, but because I saw a terrible romantic comedy back in the 80’s about ugly Jewish people falling in love while crossing Delancey. G-d only knows why my parents wanted me to watch this with them. The film is one yenta away from Fiddler On the Roof. But then again, my parents saw nothing wrong with that either.

I crossed Delancey Street last night, in fact. It wasn’t the first time but it felt like the first time. It felt like crossing the street might be a risk again – it felt very humid, but then I felt a rush of  fresh air. It was pitch dark, but I could see ahead of me crystal clearly. I crossed Delancey Street last night with a stranger. I’m so accustomed to crossing the street alone, I never imagined I would be writing a blog post about ironically crossing a street with a stranger, and reflecting on it today, as it leaves me wondering – what’s next? Delancey Street and beyond? Or is that our first and last crossing? The stop light turns red and we part ways. I really wish a little yenta had been in the background cheering us on. One step across Delancey Street, three steps for Jew-kind, perhaps.

Kisses,

Jessica

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