Brooklyn: Ice Cream on Snow

Sam and I make our way through hustling Brooklyn streets, Jewish delis, sidewalks littered with advertisements for the divine teachings of the Rebbe, beat up cars poking their crooked fenders out from piles of snow, subway stops in seemingly abandoned buildings. We go to the edge of the jungle, where the water laps over the rusty rocks and the debris, and we take a pint of soy ice cream out of the back of the truck (which simultaneously serves as a large freezer in the winter conditions) and climb over a footbridge to sit on a park bench and savor the morning. Cold chocolate, a flock of birds floating on the sparkling ocean, and Sam besides me. A form of paradise. My boots are entirely covered by the bright white snow and I have the sensation that my body is floating on the park bench two feet above the earth. In this case, the woman sitting next to me, resting her legs on top of the snow bank, appears to me as an angel. Her cheeks are rosy and she is talking about female leadership, political evolution, family, and telling me all sorts of stories. This is one of those “dayenu” moments, when, if for nothing else, all of creation is enough. On our way back over the pedestrian bridge over the parkway, we grab trash can lids and sled down, both of us bruising our bottoms and yelping with glee.

We emerge into lower Manhattan later that day, and I am instantly absorbed back into the forest of bricks, the yellow river of taxis, the colorful humans converging in lines on the sidewalks like ant paths. That night I go to a Tu B’Shevat seder, where I discover a group of mostly liberal-minded Jews crammed into a banquet setting at the JCC. While the general program leaves something of inspiration to be desired, the friendly faces I am greeted by let me know that this trip to New York will be different than any I have ever experienced.