Being a (Mostly) Shiksa in Brooklyn

A Pedi Sukkah in Downtown
Brooklyn last year

More than any place I've ever worked, New York City is very aware of Jewish holidays. Last month I had to meet deadlines before colleagues took time off for Rosh Hoshanah. During the high holy days parking for the synagogue on my street spilled down the block. Now it's time for Sukkot, and the Pedi Sukkah guys are out in force again. It's really an ingenious setup: they pedal portable booths around Brooklyn and offer passersby the interwoven tree branches and citron for the traditional Sukkot blessing.

"Are you Jewish?" The question is inevitable if I make eye contact, and sometimes even if I don't. I always feel like I'm letting them down when I say no.

I try for an ecumenical encounter instead. "Hey cool, religious devotion in public! I like Psalms too. High five!" But they're interested in member retention, not evangelization. Chabad-Lubavitch groups remind me of Opus Dei at times - well funded, well connected, trying to inspire their coreligionists to embrace traditional devotions. Likewise, the Hasidic schoolgirls I sometimes see on the subway are always clad in the universal homeschooler uniform of long skirts and layered tops.

For the record, I'm not entirely a shiksha. By blood I'm 25% Jewish, but on my Dad's side so it doesn't really count. My paternal grandfather grew up a very secular Jew and then embraced Catholicism when he met my grandmother and her devout Italian parents. Probably the most Jewish things about my LaVigne great-grandparents were that they ate schmaltz as children and eventually retired to Boca Raton. Still, my relatives and I have never completely lost those roots. Our surname looks French because an Ashkenazi ancestor was trying to avoid persecution, so the story goes. We throw around Yiddish expressions and talk loudly with our hands. My grandpa loves lox and keeps his freezer stocked with blintzes. He grew up in his parents' grocery stores, and the family passion for finding good deals is deep in my DNA.

Especially before I took my husband's name, acquaintances have often assumed I'm not a goy. Almost everyone on my dad's side has this problem. When I worked at history camp the teenage boys called me "Jew Hair." There have been awkward moments when someone wishes me L'shanah Tovah or asks what I'm doing for Hanukkah. Last Good Friday I had literally been in Penn Station five minutes when a beaming Orthodox woman told me "Happy Pesach!" (I was wearing sensible black shoes with tights and a modest dress, should have seen that one coming.)

So I can "pass," so what? At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I feel a kinship with the children of Israel that I cannot shake. Perhaps my sadness at declining a Sukkot blessing comes from a desire for unity. I wish I knew the Hebrew alphabet and all the holy day traditions and we could pray together to the God we both believe. We already read the same scriptures.

Even if I'm not really part of the club, the Jewishness of NYC gives me hope. In a cosmopolitan city so often associated with secular excess and iniquity, one of the world's most persecuted religious groups has made a home, flourished, and left an indelible mark. The men in sidelocks and yarmulkes boldly striding down the street remind me I don't have to be ashamed of being a religious person. If New York has room for them, it can welcome a "nice Catholic girl" too, even if her life is far less exciting than Carrie Bradshaw's. You might seem wicked, Gotham, but deep down you are holy.

People of Costco

Today I'm guest posting for Bonnie at A Knotted Life, talking about religious identity and how I secretly want to make friends with people who follow super-religious dress codes. Her blog is honest, funny, and faith-filled; definitely check it out!

Magnetic cart escalator to heaven?

It's funny how just after I finalized my post for Bonnie, I ran into the very same experiences that inspired it in the first place. We need snacks for a big museum event this weekend, so I was dispatched to Costco, that haven of bulk provisions for large religious families. Most of the time working in Brooklyn I feel like my suburban upbringing is a liability, but not today, hipsters! I knew this place back when it was still Price Club.

The Sunset Park Costco's industrial setting is pretty different from the strip malls of NoVA, but inside it smells just like a Costco. The signs and price tags are the same and the layout is familiar once you realize this store has two levels. The sheet cake order form is unchanged since my 1998 sugar-coma of graduations  and Confirmation receptions.

It brought back so many memories I almost wept with homesickness. I felt like I should be wearing a school uniform and making sure my little brothers didn't wander off in the frozen foods. Bulk grocery shopping is my heritage, dangit.

The crowd of giggling hijab-clad schoolgirls in long black dresses on the R train platform should have tipped me off. Of course this place would be packed with various descendants of Abraham. There were Jewish men in black hats and their wives in wigs. There were more hijabs and long skirts, including one Muslim mom pushing a double stroller while wrangling two other kids.

For once, I didn't feel like I needed to explain to these people that I am sorta kinda one of them. I've logged enough hours in my life traipsing the Kirkland Signature aisles in a plaid skirt to be certain of my identity. I come from a Big Catholic Family, and my people can feed a crowd with the best of them.

7 NYC Quick Takes

Linking up with Jen Fulweiler at Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes. Her new memoir, Something Other Than God, just arrived in the mail and I am super pumped to read it!

It's been a while since I've told any commuter stories, so here are some random NYC-ish things that have happened lately. If you're curious what life in New York is really like, Nathan Pyle's Basic NYC Tips and Etiquette pretty much nails the good, the bad, and the strategic positioning of it.

by Nathan Pyle

1. I gave a man directions on my subway ride to work, then he got mad at me for not knowing where the station's elevator was. 
   
2.  Lest you think all New Yorkers are rude, the next day I bonded with the man who got stuck in a traffic median with me waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. He joked that he would witness for me if I got hit by a bus; I helped him locate the nearest ATM. Meanwhile another man across from us decide to try and outrun the crossing traffic. "Hey, you wanna hit me mofo?!"
   
3. The subway is always a weird combination of high and low social brackets. One night at Chambers Street, a smelly/probably mentally ill guy got on and proceeded to stumble around the car belching and yelling at random intervals while clutching a Powerade bottle.  At one point he stood right over me. I alternately kept repeating to myself "This person is the Face of Christ, this person is the Face of Christ" and "Please don't vomit on my head."
   Then he got off at 14th Street and was replaced by a chick carrying a Louis Vuitton bag. She also skittered around the car, but because she couldn't keep her balance in her Louboutin heels.
   
4. A few Saturdays ago I hit up some places on Museum Mile and rode the NYC bus for the first time. Taking the M1 ten blocks from the Whitney to the Met took just about as long as walking. As an added bonus, I got to fight Upper East Side older ladies in structured jackets for personal space. They do not mess around.
   
   
5. Speaking of uptown women, yesterday I got a call from someone looking for weekday (?) brunch recommendations near my museum. For a group of 20 "ladies." The way their leader said "I don't really know Brooklyn," we might as well have been discussing Afghanistan. She practically gasped when I mentioned the new (and expensive) Hill Country Barbeque up the street. "That doesn't really sound like brunch."
   
6. Don't worry ma'am, the women of King's County still keep it classy, even if we do sometimes eat peasant cuts of meat on our lunch breaks. In Duane Reade last week I overheard someone telling her friends how she's overdue for her weekly manicure. "I was gardening at my mom's and now my nail are all farkakte!"
   
7. For us working stiffs, the endless cheap ethnic cuisine options are one of the best things to love about NYC. My office's best kept lunch secret is the local Hare Krishna temple vegetarian lunch buffet. It's like any food made with love by church ladies, only with more Indian spices. No one tries to hand you a flower like in Airplane, they're just all "Do you want cheesecake with that?" It's amazing.
   Sadly, the building is up for sale and some developer will probably make it into a hotel. Oh well, complaining about long gone favorites is practically the national pastime in this city.

7 Commuting Quick Takes

Thanks to Jen for hosting the link-up! Head over to Conversion Diary for more quick takes! 

By Sophie Blackall for MTA Arts for Transit

1. I'm no stranger to commuting. My high school was a 45 minute drive from my house, so my family developed a complex "No Child Left Behind" carpool system to get there. During my volunteer year in St. Louis, every morning I would bail out of my roommate's car at a strategic red light and then hop on the Metrolink train. When I worked in DC I took my car, then a bus, and then the Metro Orange Line to get to work from my parents' house.
   
   But now I have become something else  - a New York commuter. On Christmas Eve I got the call offering me a museum job in Brooklyn. So now I finally live in the same state as The Betrothed (hooray!) and travel between New Jersey and NYC every day. E.B. White once wrote about "the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night." Gee thanks. If you had to deal with post-Sandy PATH train closures too, you'd appreciate our scrappiness more, Mr. Charlotte's Web.


2. It's funny how my attitude about working in NYC has evolved. As I was packing to leave, I was all panicky. "Ahhhhck I work in the hippest borough and everyone around me will have a fabulous Sex and the City life and all my clothes are uncool!"
   
   Then I actually rode the subway, and realized that New York is full of ordinary people just trying to get to work in practical puffy coats. Phew. 
   
   My emotions then went through this weird adjustment cycle that I've noticed every time I get to know a new city. First I am nervous and scared of dangerous things lurking around every corner. Then after a few weeks I get jaded and homesick. "This place isn't that special. They have Chipotle like everywhere else!" Then I finally do some exploring and the place starts to feel like it's mine. Maybe it was my umpteenth trip to the Trader Joe's in the 1923 bank building on Court Street, but at some point I've realized this is my town too now.


3. This piece about "How to dress like a New Yorker" is absolutely true: people choose accessories for their functionality. After a week of commuting I knew I needed to invest in some sturdy booties and a huge bag to stuff my lunch, tea thermos, and reading material in. I always scoffed at designer purses, but now I get why women invest in a solid leather handbag.
   


4. My office has been involved with a lot of the events for Grand Central Terminal's 100th birthday. It's definitely one of the best public spaces I've ever seen. The Main Concourse is so lovely it makes me cry - not just because of the gorgeous ceiling, but because I have to deal with ugly Penn Station every day! Did you know there was an earlier Penn that was also gorgeous? Legendary Gilded Age designers McKim, Mead, and White made it beautiful, and then in the 1960s they tore it down. Thanks, Madison Square Garden, thanks a lot.
   
   

   

   I could be hanging out here every day! You're killing me, smalls!

   
   The only happy ending is that Penn became a martyr for the historic preservation movement, inspiring the City to protect Grand Central from the same fate. The Garden's permit is soon up for review, and some groups are pushing for an overhaul of the whole complex.


5. I've been playing morning Tetris with my train times, trying to figure out where I can hit up daily Mass on my way to the office. Our Lady of Victory near Wall Street is close to the subway with lots of morning options. St. Francis on West 31st is famous for its convenient confession schedule. Because of when my train rolls in to Penn, I can either be early or late for one of their morning Masses. On Wednesday I caught the end of the 7am and then the beginning of the 7:30, like a kid in an old-timey movie theater. At the Offertory I ran off to work, thinking, "This is where I came in."



St. Francis of Assisi Church, from jimcintosh's Flickr stream



6. I've gotten hooked on transit maps, especially this Tumblr of them. A few weeks ago I got to hear a talk by Massimo Vignelli, the modernist designer who made a controversial NYC subway map in the late 1970s. He made an uncluttered geometric diagram, but people still wanted the twisty, wavy spaghetti strands they were used to. As he put it "When you are taking a train, how it gets from Point A to Point B is none of your business!" He was recently vindicated when the MTA realized his design was the only one that would work for a digital app. Ha.
   

   

   Via Minkwell.com

7. Of course, I see all kinds of random people on the train. In the morning on my NJ Transit platform, I hear lots of bougie First World Problems like the architect coming to fix someone's door or how there was NOWHERE to get decent lamb shanks on Friday night. The subway is more diverse, of course. Sometimes there are hipsters, sometimes packs of school kids. I wonder about the conservatively dressed lady with the black Korn backpack. Did she steal it from her son? To the similarly mom-like lady rocking the fuchsia House of Dereon bag from Newark to the World Trade Center - respect.
   
   One night taking the R train to Park Slope, I saw a guy in Timberland boots reading a book by one of my favorite college professors. "Omigosh I know that guy!" I cried out. The reader was nice but a little weirded out. I had better luck with a well dressed older couple going uptown on the 2. They reminded me of my Mom's parents. The wife was wearing a killer pair of black boots with gold sparkly rivets all up the legs. I kept sneaking peeks at them without staring. As I got off at Penn, I just turned to her and said "Ma'am, your boots are freaking awesome." She smiled and thanked me. I was glad to be a part of her own commuter stories that day.