This weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to return to for a grand 39 hours to celebrate a momentous Bat Mitzvah and spend a beautiful Shabbat with friends. Despite Brooklyn's penchant for rapid change, it seemed just as I had left it two months ago, although with a new tenant in our old apartment (I can't believe they didn't renovate the unit) and a new cafe around the corner. But the garbage on the streets, the sirens, and New Yorkers' astonishing ability to love the place anyway were the same as always. It's hard to believe I called it home for six years. The weekend started with a not-quick-enough dash from the airport to my host family for the weekend, where I dropped off my things before running to someone else's for Shabbat dinner, because that's how we roll in Brooklyn. Dinner went late, as Shabbat dinners tend to do, and after indulging on far more chocolates than is appropriate (it's for the baby!), I said my goodbyes and walked back. The next morning at the Bat Mitzvah, I immediately fell back into my old role as Gabba'it, responsible for handing out the various ritual honors and jobs to women in the community throughout the service. I also rehearsed and performed in an impromptu acapella sextet to honor the Bat Mitzvah girl, stood next to her while she read her Torah portion with the cantillation I had taught her, and prayed very little but engaged with G-d in my favorite way - through engaging with people who themselves embody kedusha - holiness. All in all, it was a beautiful service with a huge crowd of people in attendance, nearly all of them familiar faces whom I was thrilled to see. The rest of the day was free of plans or timetables, allowing me to spend as much or as little time as I wanted wherever there was good conversation to be found. First it was in the sunny backyard of friends of the Bat Mitzvah girl who hosted the luncheon, a hundred or so friends and family members packed into the narrow first floor of a brownstone, plates of chicken, deli roll, and salads precariously perched on our knees. I caught up with people whose questions helped me come to terms with just how much had changed in the last two months - zip code, employer, the swelling of my stomach that, at this point, is only slightly more baby than Wisconsin cheese curds and frozen custard. From there I sauntered over to Prospect Park where I had every intention of joining the weekly potluck at the "Shabbat Tree" but where I instead ran into another friend who was also visiting from out of town that week. I unabashedly hijacked her walk with her friends (sorry, Debbie!) because conversations with her are just too hilarious and honest and heartwarming to pass up. Eventually I made it to the Shabbat Tree to snack on leftovers of grapes and cookies and talk with the couple of Shabbat afternoon stragglers whose love of the park supersede their need for a Shabbat nap. One of them suggested a card game and five of us learned how to play "Gloom," which is a wonderfully morbid and beautifully crafted game that I highly recommend to anyone who appreciates the friendly sadism of The Addams Family or Lemony Snicket. By the time we finished our game it was 6:30 and time for the the final Shabbat service of the day, Mincha, which I almost never attend. But hey, I had missed the window of opportunity for my nap and I was walking in that direction anyway, so why not? Off we went to a quick service, a table of snacks, and more relaxed shmoozing with some people who hadn't been at the Bat Mizvah earlier in the day. More catching up, more realizing how much my life has changed since the last time I saw these people. After 8:00, I finally returned to my host family's home, exhausted and happy. I caught up with them a little before heading to bed, planning to catch one last friend for an early coffee before my Sunday morning flight. I felt bad for spending so little time with the family who gave me a bed for the weekend, so they made me promise I would stay with them and share a real meal the next time I come to visit. I agreed, and promised to bring both Wisconsin beer and a Wisconsin baby next summer. Speaking of babies, one of the little joys of pregnancy is watching people not comment on your very obvious baby bump! Over Shabbat I intentionally wore an outfit that would prominently display my countdown toward motherhood (19 weeks left!) just in case people hadn't seen the pregnancy announcement on Facebook in July. But sure enough there were people who didn't know and were terrified of saying anything. I get it, I know the rules that dictate when to comment on a woman's pregnant belly without prior knowledge: not until she's in the delivery room with an OB's hands between her legs. Still, it was pretty obvious who knew and who didn't, and funnier still when I casually mentioned the pregnancy and people responded with "Oh wow! I didn't even realize!" Sure. Sure you didn't. *Eye roll.* At one point I wished I could have jumped onto a table, gotten everyone's attention, pointed to my stomach, and announced a simple "Yes." But we were all there to celebrate the accomplishments of a 12-year-old girl, and some might say it would have been uncouth. Had my entire time in Brooklyn been like this weekend, I might not have complained so much. But in talking about my move to Wisconsin, my job, our neighborhood, our new life, I became even more mindful of just how happy I am to be back in my real home in the Midwest. I was quickly reminded that for as much as I missed the people of Brooklyn, I didn't miss the place, and when people asked "How's life?" there was only one possible way to answer: with a giant smile and a sigh of complete gratitude, "Everything is wonderful!"
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AuthorNashira is a music teacher and proud Small-Town Jew who, after surthriving six years in Brooklyn for her husband's surgical residency, is finally back in Wisconsin where she belongs! At least until the end of the two-year surgical fellowship, that is. It's a wild ride, and she's ready to tell you all about it! Archives
September 2019
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