Thanksgiving came and went. Marc and Alana had a turkey and all the usual fixings. It was quiet at Marc’s place. According to tradition at noon they listened to “Alice’s Restaurant.” For the remainder of the day they played a mix of everything from classic rock, goth and new wave.
Anat celebrated her first Thanksgiving since she used to go to her grandparents and be tortured by her mom and dad. She reminisced about those days and was still considering reaching out to her parents. Dan did a doubleheader on Thanksgiving. Anat’s for turkey with falafel and hummus and his folks for the more traditional meal.
Jerry ate lots. He smiled the whole time. He had no idea what this holiday is. Anat got him a few coloring books and they colored in the pilgrims and Indians. He was learning. This was his first real Thanksgiving. It was his first real celebration of any holiday. His parents were always too stoned no matter what day of the week it was and had no idea if it was a holiday or not.
Anat and Jerry drove out to Annadale to meet Dan’s parents. Dan grew up there. She was nervous. But she loved the guy and figured she had to meet his mom and dad. She brought flowers and a cake. Dan was already there when she arrived. She hadn’t been to Staten Island in years. She thought it was cute.
She and Jerry walked in. Dan’s mom greeted them. She picked up Jerry and gave him a big kiss. Dan’s sister, Ellen showed up a few minutes late. She’s loud. But sweet. She’s a typical Staten Island girl.
Anat went through the abridged version of her life story. Ellen thought her kid would love Anat. He’s a die-hard Yankee fan. Anat mentioned she went to school with Mike Mussina.
Mom figured they’d order a few pies from Gino’s Villa Monte. That happened to be Marc’s favorite place. There was a Giants game on television. Dan and dad were watching, while mom, Anat and Ellen chatted away. Jerry rolled around on the floor with Casey, Dan’s parents Labrador. The two instantly became friends.
All was going well. The pizza was perfect. Everyone got along well. In her heart, Anat was sad. She wished she could do this with her folks. The food would be different. It would be just as good. Anat’s mom despite her shortcomings was a great cook. She was leaning towards trying to make amends. But wondered if she went through enough of a transformation.
Meanwhile, Jay was riding his motorcycle down Amboy Road. He stopped near the Annadale Train Station, just a few blocks from Dan’s family. He turned in their direction and started to ride over.
I am thankful that when I walk into the gym my eyes are overwhelmed with signage informing me of its new policies to prevent the spread of Covid-19. The same situation exists in our stores and subways.
Similar material is found everywhere else, i.e., barbershops, parks and religious institutions. Hopefully, they stay open as the next rounds of closures are being determined. They are essential for our well being.
In most cases, the health club signs directing one to wipe off each machine before and after usage have always been present. Now they are more visible in both placement and amount placed. Social distancing is new. They even have social distancing signs at the sinks and urinals in the restrooms.
The Staten Island Ferry has social distancing signs noting where you can’t sit. I wish the subway did. While cleaner than ever before. In many cases, it is still every rider’s game. For the most part, people are following the rules concerning masks. People are trying to social distance. You still have your panhandlers. On Thanksgiving Day, I was on the “R” line from Forest Hills to Whitehall Street. For most of the ride, I was alone in the car. There’s nothing like a private subway ride. We had our one panhandler. She was asking for money to buy face cream. That was a new one. Usually, they say they need money to buy beer, cigarettes, coffee or a sandwich. We had our “entertainer.” She was dancing in the car and taking selfies with each step. She seemed to like to spin around the poles and grab the handrails. Imagine if we still had the straps? She could have had more fun.
The ferry terminal and Spirit of America vessel was empty. I spoke to a deckhand about the John F. Kennedy boat, which is being retired by year-end. A loss. It has been a reliable mode of transit since 1965. According to the deckhand still runs better than most of the other boats.
The cleanliness of these facilities, sites, etc., is great. But it does raise several questions. Around two decades ago, my mom was riding the ferry. Roaches were all over it. She called Staten Island Borough Hall. Mom was transferred to the “roach lady.” They had someone designated to handle these complaints. Thankfully this situation seems to have ended. The subway stations and cars have always been filthy. Not anymore. When riding the train, I now see MTA employees cleaning both the cars and stations. Plus an overnight shutdown is in effect to allow the MTA to super-sanitize.
The health clubs were generally clean. Of course, that also depends on whether the members do their part to keep it clean. Much of that is true with mass transit. Gym goers and riders must keep their area clean. In other words, people should have always been wiping down machines before and after use. We don’t need Covid-19 to smack that into our heads. Yes, there are still gym members who sweat all over the machines and walk away. Most are following the rules.
The containers from the food you wolfed down on the subway need to go in the receptacles in the station. Not the tracks. You might not get the chance to record a rat eating a slice of pizza and getting thousands of hits. Sure it made for entertaining news stories, t-shirts and NY moments. Hopefully, most would rather keep our environment cleaner and reduce the risk of disease.
Stay clean. Stay safe. Let’s work together to reduce the risk of our current pandemic and stop others in their tracks.
Original Post, 11/6/13 former ELEM-Entry NY — Sadly the problems still exist. Message me if you want to volunteer or donate, I can put you in touch with staff to make a difference.
When you think of Israel, the first thing that often comes to mind is the crisis over the disputed territories. Or perhaps, you think of pious Jews spending their time learning Torah. But how often do you think of the Holy Land’s growing problem with teen and adult age prostitution?
Probably not much.
While rarely spoken of or addressed, every year prostitution in Israel increases at staggering numbers. According to ELEM Youth in Distress in Israel, there are thousands of youth involved in prostitution. Most of Israel’s prostitutes were sexually abused while growing up. They came to believe that rather than staying in a home where they were forced to have sex with family members, they could get earn a living by entering the field of prostitution.
Their ages generally range from 12-24. In most cases, they are 16-20. Many still live in the homes they were abused in. These girls perform numerous sexual acts for their clients But in most cases they receive no or very nominal amounts of money for their service. Generally, close to 90 percent of the payment goes back to the pimps. The women work for food and drinks. In many cases, this is more than they got at home. Just recently, I spent time in Eilat at ELEM’s Erem Balayla (Awake at Night) house, which helps build feelings of trust that the girls working the streets have never felt. The small house, which just opened, is adjacent to a high school. Several nights a week ELEM’s volunteers gather there before they walk the streets to find women in need of their help. Currently there are about 10 volunteers at Erem Balayla and 15 working with other ELEM outreach projects in Eilat.
About 1,700 people volunteer with ELEM throughout Israel. Hila, a female volunteer in her early 20s, who is studying social work gave me a quick tour of the facility and we hopped into a taxi to go to the area where the prostitutes work. Upon exiting the cab she showed me the bars where the pimps send them to find clients. The streets were scattered with their “business cards”. These cards showed the prostitute’s photo and contact information.
I saw similar on the boardwalk at Frishman Beach, Tel Aviv. We strolled the streets and Hila told me that the working girls usually hang out in the bars. They know which guys will buy them drinks or something to eat. Once the hook up is made and the drinks and food are done they usually walk to the massage parlor or other locations. The bottom floor of the massage parlor is the Grand Central Station for Eilat’s prostitutes. It contains many doorless rooms and a shower or two. A person could walk by numerous rooms and witness sex acts being performed. The girls then will take a shower and move onto the next client.
The ELEM volunteers often wait in the bars or at the massage parlor. They see the girls exiting their shifts and approach them. ELEM has changed the paradigm of how they work with these people to change their lives. They never chastise them for working in this profession. They become their friends. They become a person they can talk to about any topic. The girls get cell phones from ELEM staff to use to call them. It is not uncommon for girls to meet with a volunteer once a week just to chat or have coffee. The volunteers call these girls regularly. They call just to say hello and to build trust. It takes some time for the girls to begin trusting ELEM’s volunteers. But eventually many do. It is not unusual for the girls to see 20-30 clients over the span of 10-12 hours. So in other words they don’t rest on Shabbat.
Sadly, Motzei Shabbat (the conclusion of Shabbat, when the work and other restrictions are lifted), it is not uncommon for many Orthodox Jews to go visit these girls. They line up at the massage parlor or in bars. They usually travel in teams of two. One will take off his kippah and long black coat and give it to his friend to hold. He will find a girl and when he is done, the friend will find a girl. And the one who just finished seeing a prostitute will hold his religious effects. Muslim dads will take their 13 year-old sons to a girl to ensure they lose their virginity. While some of the girls use drugs, very few become addicts. They may smoke a little or pop a pill or two. This is done to help them escape what they are doing.
Hila and I sat in the Beatles bar sipping beer waiting to see if any prostitutes would enter. None did. But that’s because we were there too early. We left the bar. I went back to my hotel. Hila went home. But somewhere on the streets of Eilat were young girls that needed help from ELEM’s volunteers and professional staff. Thankfully these people are out there donating their time.
Yes, I know it is the wrong poem. But to quote Rush, “I will choose free will.” So what are you doing tonight? “Thanksgiving Eve” for the last 20 or so years has been one of my favorite nights.
Tonight I was supposed to be at Lincoln Center to listen to the Philharmonic’s performance of Beethoven, Bronfman and Bruckner. Instead, I’m home writing and listening to Peter Katz, a Canadian folk singer I discovered during one of Jeff Pulver’s Zoom Zulas. I’ve seen Katz on Pulver’s Zooms several times. Always worth it. It’d be great when this over to see him at a venue in NYC. I’ll get some classical on soon. This is just the warm up. Or maybe a similar style of what I’d be listening to, while in PJ Clarke’s Lincoln Center.
Last Thanksgiving Eve, I was at Lincoln Center. The one before that, you guessed it, Lincoln Center. Years before I made Lincoln Center my venue the night before turkey day, I’d be somewhere in the city. It might be the theater district for one of Broadway’s dramas or musicals. Years ago, when I was much younger, my boys and I would meet up at the original Clarke’s on 55th and Third. One of the gang was a friend of the bartender. We got great deals. We had fun.
In 1996 we started there for a buddy’s bachelor party. We got back to my former home on Staten Island around 2 or 3 a.m. I had to be up in a few hours to go the then Newark Airport to surprise my dad, who was residing in Houston on his 50th birthday. For business reasons, he just moved there from San Francisco.
He knew people were coming for Thanksgiving and his birthday. But my sister and I were the last people he expected. We spent a few days in Houston and San Antonio and flew back to the rock. We had a nice holiday. Dad was thrilled we were the ones who arrived in the Lone Star State.
The night before Thanksgiving is always fun. The next day is, too. My favorites included ones when I was very young at my aunt’s house in Brooklyn. She served franks-in-blankets as an appetizer. I think I like that better than the turkey. My mom did it a few times. She followed my aunt’s routine. I spent many Thanksgivings at my cousin’s home in Manalapan. That was like going to a five star restaurant.
In 2011, I decided to skip Thanksgiving. But guess what? You can’t. I spent the holiday in Tel Aviv. I sat on the beach and called my family. At night I went to volunteer with ELEM Youth in Distress in Israel. That evening, I arrived at 9 Reshit Chochma Street. After hanging out on the street for a few minutes, the ELEM van loaded with social workers and volunteers who coordinate the “Someone to Run With” program arrived. Shortly after, teens and young adults who needed help from ELEM arrived.
As they were chatting, volunteers began preparing sandwiches. They asked me to join them. I was really excited when they handed me a turkey and hummus sandwich. My sketchy Hebrew and their sketchy English made for interesting conversations. Not really understood. But they passed me more turkey. I smiled.
In 2013, I went to my sister’s. She just moved into her new home a week before. Dad flew in from his last place of residence, Florida. We had a great dinner. We lost him a few months later. Thanksgiving was the last time we saw each other.
Well, this year I know that the night before and day of Thanksgiving is different for all of us. Most of us are stuck at home. Some are with family. Some are on our own. It has given me time to reflect on Thanksgivings of yesteryear and remember those who left us and those who are still here and trying to make the best of it. It’s tough.
As I close this piece to Mozart, I wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.
Original posting, December 9, 2011 by Mitchell Slepian, ELEM-Entry. Sadly the problems still exist. Message me if you want to volunteer or donate, I can put you in touch with staff to make a difference.
On Thanksgiving Day, I arrived at 9 Reshit Chochma Street. At first I was unsure where I was. I was not in the prettiest of neighborhoods. After hanging out on the street for a few minutes, the ELEM van loaded with social workers and volunteers who coordinate the “Someone to Run With” program arrived.
I introduced myself to Natalie, a social worker who has been running this program for the last four years. She and her dedicated volunteers work arduously to improve the lives of adolescent and young adult immigrants (ages 18 to 25) who came to Israel alone or whose families disintegrated after they arrived. These young people are often drug addicted and wander the streets without knowing how to find help.
Natalie and company began setting up tables with food, unloading suitcases filled with clothes, games and musical instruments in a small park across the street from a building that within the next few weeks will be an ELEM therapeutic home.
Pretty soon a handful of adult males walked into the park and were greeted with hugs by the ELEM activists. Most looked clean. Some looked like the average person you’d find hangin’ out in the East Village. But they all walked over to the suitcases to look for clothes. A few women arrived, too. These people live on the street. For many, the only help they get is from ELEM.
ELEM is Israel’s leading non-profit organization dedicated to the treatment and rehabilitation of abused, neglected, and adjudicated Jewish and Arab Israeli youth. While we can’t solve everyone’s problems, a lot of preventive help is provided to the youth. Many of the people in need are drug addicts or prostitutes. Needles and condoms are given out for protective needs.
Those in need gathered around the picnic tables. They started chatting about their lives and what they wanted to change. Some wanted to find employment, stop using drugs or get out of prostitution. Many were sexually abused at home and ran away. But they realized that they could make money in exchange for sex. ELEM activists listened to them. The volunteers were the only people they had to talk to. They played chess and music together. It gave people leading the kind of lifestyle I could never imagine a chance to feel better.
As they were chatting, activists began preparing sandwiches. They asked me to join them. I was really excited when they handed me a turkey and hummus sandwich. So it was hummus and not cranberry sauce. But this was the best way to spend Thanksgiving. Rather than sitting around the table with a football game blasting in the background, I witnessed people in need get help. Yeah, I explained the U.S. Thanksgiving. Not really understood. But they passed me more turkey. I smiled.
Natalie and I jumped into Karen’s car and drove to South Tel Aviv. It kind of reminded me of Times Square in the 70s and 80s. Natalie saw a man ELEM’s been helping. She walked right up and gave him a hug. Yes, he was high. He was alone. Nobody but the ELEM workers acknowledged him. He was given food and water. This was the first real meal he had in some time.
We then walked over to a vacant lot that formerly served as a bus station. It was the place your mother warned you not to go anywhere near. Thankfully, my mom was 6,000 miles away eating turkey and hadn’t the slightest clue where I was.
Everyone in the lot was high. Natalie started approaching people to see if they needed help, some water or food. Sadly, one of the lot’s residents was a 27-year old woman who had received help from ELEM in the past. As we approached, we found her engaged in an act of prostitution.
She spoke to Karen and Natalie. She said she’d been drug free for over six months. But she was treated so poorly at the coffee shop she worked in, she started using again. She then began trading sex for money or drugs.
Next up was meeting Sarit and Vered on Habanim Street. The ELEM van was parked near a courthouse and art museum. Approximately 30, 14 year-olds were there. They came every Thursday.
Some of these kids either came from poor families where their parents didn’t care about them. Others came from wealthier families. In these cases, their parents were too busy and outsourced raising their kids.
Many of these teens found their escape in beer. Most have poor concentration skills. But every Thursday, the ELEM volunteers are there for them with snacks and support. Vered and Sarit gave each teen personal attention. They also sat in groups and talked about what was going on in their lives.
Most had common teenage troubles, issues with boyfriends or girlfriends or school. But they all shared neglect from their parents.
One female proudly came with a bottle of Coke and was pouring cups of it. She made sure the ELEM crew knew about this. It was not so long ago she would show up with a six-pack and give out beer. Clearly, this was a step in the right direction. I happily sipped a cup of Coke.
Others took solace in the chance to hang out with others sharing similar problems. My sketchy Hebrew and their sketchy English made for interesting conversations. But I understood that these kids have more problems than most at their age and that they really need the work of ELEM.
Around midnight, Sarit, Vered and the other activists hopped into the van and rode around town looking for other kids in need.
This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful that I spent the holiday watching ELEM’s social workers and volunteers helping young adults living on the streets of Tel Aviv, and teens in need in Herzliya.
After witnessing first hand the lives these young people lead, I am also thankful that I have been part of making a positive change in their lives over the last nine months.
There are too many teens and young adults all over the world in similar situations. Groups like ELEM are making a difference and saving these kids one soul at a time. If more people would give their precious time to helping these people, we could change the world.
Today was the big day. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving. Anat jumped into her BMW to pick up Jerry. She figured it’d be easier than walking him to his new home. He had a few things at the children’s center that he would want to take. He knew he was going to go somewhere. But didn’t know when.
Anat also felt the car offered better security. If Jay came after them, she’d hit the gas and drive away. If he stood in front of the auto she would have no problem running him down.
She asked Alana to trail her in her Infiniti. Marc secured the grounds on the streets. He was first in the line of fire. He remained outside in front of the center as the women parked. Alana stayed in the car. She cranked the Sisters of Mercy.
Dan was on patrol in another neighborhood. He would be spending Thanksgiving with Anat and Jerry. He wanted her to meet his parents. She said yes. But had reservations about that. Mostly because of her relationship with hers. The other two would be with each other.
Anat exited her vehicle and was humming “Walking down Madison,” by the late Kirsty MacColl, written by her and Jonny Marr of Smiths fame. His first piece of work after the Smiths disbanded. A sorry time. But today should not be sorry.
Anat checked in with Ann. She had tears in her eyes.
Jerry was dressed in one of the outfits she bought him. She picked him and said it was time for him to leave this place. She packed his belongings in a small black valise.
She filled out some paperwork. Jerry smiled. But he saw some of his friends. He started to cry, as did they. Ann came over and gave him some tissues. She told him it was ok. He looked at his friends. They looked back. He walked over to Anat and jumped in her arms. He said, “Time to go.” He promised his friends one day they’d see each other again.
Ann hugged him. He walked out of the building and never looked back. Anat opened the car. He jumped in. She put his seat belt on and drove off.
As she was driving glass was flying into the car. She knew this would happen. She saw Jay flying by on a motorcycle. Jerry was shaking.
This was not a great beginning to motherhood. She kept driving. She saw Alana cut Jay off. He started to lose control of his bike. She kept going and got onto the FDR Drive. Marc shot honey at Jay. He responded with a sneer and glass. Figs and barley were lodged into the bike’s wheels. Anat seemed to be in the clear. Jay fell off the bike. Marc jumped onto of him and fired pomegranates into his eyes. Both were wearing masks. Several landed in his ears. Alana broke off from trailing Anat. She parked by Jay. She saw Marc beating him. She shot wine out of her eyes into Jay’s. She then hit his bike with it.
Anat pulled up to her building. Jerry calmed down. She pulled into the garage and the attendant parked her car. She took his valise and they went upstairs.
His eyes opened wider than they ever had when he saw his new bedroom. He was overwhelmed by the size of his new home.
She held him tight and cried. He asked why. She just said, “because.”
Some of us spend our free time exploring the galleries of the Guggenheim, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the galleries on the Lower East Side. Many have benches to sit on and ponder the art. We think about the artist and what went through their minds when they were painting.
As a member of several, I’ve been fortunate to go to many opening nights for new exhibits and participate in other happenings at our city’s fine museums. “Thanks” to Covid-19 they were closed for far too long. They recently reopened. Sadly all are subject to potential new shutdowns.
I’ve been fortunate enough to go to the Guggenheim twice, the Jewish Museum and the Whitney. As always the artwork is spectacular. For the most part, all of the galleries are viewable. There are some sections of the respective museums that are closed.
I remember on many visits talking with a Guggenheim employee about a Monet. I didn’t see her in my two recent visits. The Monet has been pulled out of the gallery and substituted for another piece by a different artist.
When I was at the Jewish Museum on a Sunday, early afternoon, I was one of about five people roaming the museum. My first trip to the Guggenheim with mom the museum was deserted. That was on “Member Welcome Back Day.” The next time it was slightly busier. No different at the Whitney and MOMA PS 1, which only had one exhibit open.
Is this good? Well, I always wanted to feel like a king and get my own private tours of our world’s fine art. It is a pleasure to walk through the galleries and be able to view a Cézanne, Monet, Picasso or Van Gogh for a great length of time. And not have to worry about taking up too much time and forcing others to wait. For the most part over the last few weeks, it was just the art and me. Alas, that’s not how it should be. The museums should be bustling with New Yorkers and tourists from all over.
The Sunday of Labor Day weekend was my first trip to Coney Island since February of this year. Normally, I am there a lot. During the winter, I like to watch the Coney Island Polar Bears swim and take photos. They are a beautiful group.
Once Luna Park opens, I like to ride the Cyclone many times. When my uncle was about 17 he rode it 18 or 19 times in a row. It was about fifty cents a ride back then. Now it is $10. I usually ride it four or five times in a row. Go elsewhere and come back for a few more rides. It is fun. I love to walk the boardwalk and see the characters. Over the last few years, I’ve come to know many. Even shared a beer or two with some at the Coney Island Brewery.
Exiting the subway station on my Labor Day weekend visit, I felt something was missing. Coney Island is a spiritual place. For me the most spiritual place is Chappegat Hill, the greatest summer camp. Sadly, its last summer was ’88. There was no reason for it to close. But that’s another story. The original Yankee Stadium is another place very high on the spiritual list. It should still be there. Again, that’s another story.
Coney Island offers an amazing feeling. So many people are just out to have a good time. Whether they are swimming during the summer or in frigid winter, riding the Cyclone, fishing off Pat Auletta’s Steeplechase pier and of course, grabbing hot dogs at Nathan’s. It is the people’s place.
I was there that day to go to Gargiulo’s Restaurant, another one of Coney’s icons. It was for my birthday. Several family members met up. Never did patio dining there. “Thanks” to Covid-19 that’s all that was available. It was grand. The food is always perfect, the weather was great for outdoor dining and I got to sit next to my nephew. What could be better?
A lot could be better. As I walked along the boardwalk I was in tears when I saw no line at Nathan’s, Tom’s Coney Island and Paul’s Daughter. Seeing a dormant Cyclone was harrowing. Same with the Wonder Wheel at Deno’s Park. And of course not being able to walk through Luna Park to enjoy its rides, carnival games and arcade sucked.
Auletta’s pier still had some fisherman. But they were not out in droves like usual. My Nikon was snapping away as I strolled an empty boardwalk. I met up with the family for lunch.
As always I loved walking the boardwalk. But I was sad. It was Labor Day weekend and empty. In 2018, I spent my birthday on the boardwalk.. I rode the Cyclone countless times. Bought a Cyclone t-shirt in the Luna Park gift shop. And met up with a Polar Bear or two. The boardwalk was bustling. The lines for the rides, food and other attractions were lengthy.
No one wants to wait in lines. We all want to get right into our seats on the ride. Or get our greasy hot dog and fries. These days, I’d give anything to stand on an annoying line.
Alana was back to being herself. Her ankle was fine. She went out for a run along Queens Boulevard. She was fine. She and Mac hopped into her car to drive to the City for Anat’s baby shower.
Alana decided Aunt Solica would host it. Anat was delivering groceries to her. The only people attending were Alana, Ann and Jen. It would be a small party. Alana’s aunt was okay having people to the penthouse. Everyone going had been tested negative for Covid-19.
Alana decided to serve fish, bagels, cheeses, falafel and hummus. She would provide red and white wine. Aunt Solica always had a bottle of Arak. So the ladies would toast with a shot or two.
Anat walked up to the building with a few grocery bags. The concierge said she could bring them up. She never happened. She always left them with him. Many times Alana was there and brought them up. She was nervous. She hoped she looked okay. She knew she was going to her once mortal enemy’s aunt’s residence.
She exited the elevator and knocked on the door. A member of the house staff opened the door. She took the bags. She was invited in. Anat gingerly waits in the hallway. The next thing she heard was the beat of the Sisters of Mercy. She thought that was strange for an old lady. But maybe Alana was there.
Seconds later the member of the house staff directed her to the living room. She was nervous. She had been doing well and hoped this wasn’t a trap. She didn’t think Alana would try to fight her again. But she was always on her guard. She entered the living room and was in tears when the ladies yelled surprise. This was the first time anyone threw her a surprise party.
Alana led everyone in a toast. Shots of Arak went down their mouths. Solica thanked Anat for always being on time with her groceries. Jen walked up and thanked her for the woman she used to abuse for helping her when Jay was attacking her and her kid. Anat smiled.
The ladies sat down to eat.
Meanwhile, Marc was posted at the building as a watchdog. His eyes scanned everything. All was quiet. Marc and Alana would probably provide security when Jerry was brought to Anat’s home in three days. Anat would be too busy to fight. But they knew she would if she had to.
Anat got some nice baby gifts. More important she got a warm feeling in her heart. She knew things would be fine when she officially became a mom.
Since the outbreak of Covid-19 much has been said about essential workers. Much should be said about the dedication they take while putting their lives at risk. I have several family members who are doctors and nurses. I have heard stories from them. A few contracted the coronavirus.
I have friends who are EMTs and members of the NYFD and NYPD.
Thank you. Everyone has gone way beyond duty. I also have a few friends who work to keep our mass transit system running. Thanks for helping us get from point A to point B. We know the risks everyone is taking.
All of these folks are essential to our everyday lives, whether it be during today’s times or before.
But are there more essential workers? Can we redefine it? Yes. Last Sunday, I was at Central Park along Museum Mile. A sign read, “I didn’t think my job was essential. But everybody thanks me every day.” That quote was from a groundskeeper. He may not be part of the official list of essential workers. We know he’s not an emergency responder or providing us with our groceries. But he is essential.
The groundskeepers are keeping NYC’s legendary park in shape. We always need our parks to be well maintained. But in today’s times, that’s paramount. For safety reasons, we need parks to be clean. We always do. Today more than ever. With all our traditional sources of entertainment shut down, our parks offer a nice respite.
In addition to parks, some of NYC’s fine museums are partially or fully open with rules in effect to keep people safe while gazing at a Paul Cézanne, Claude Monet or Camille Pissarro.
Having been through the Guggenheim, the Jewish Museum and MOMA PS 1, I can attest that’s its employees are working hard. They have provided answers to many questions from visitors and are helping to keep our city alive in many ways. They are essential.
Thanks to our musicians for your Zoom streams. Many are at no cost. We’d all rather be watching you at the Garden. But thanks for zooming. I’m glad to have been able to listen to new bands this way. Here’s to Brewester Moonface, kind of Janis Joplin sound. I discovered them in Coney Island. And the gothic Weird Wolves. Found them online. The shot of the Wolves is a streaming show. The shot of Brewster was taken at the Coney Island Brewery on January 1 after the Polar Bear Plunge. Live music in the venue with fans is essential. One day it’ll be back. Thanks for giving us hope.
Today, I did my last haircut at Astor Hair. Sadly, Covid-19 is causing the close of this NYC legend. The barbers are essential.
I know I left out many others who are essential. I apologize.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 