Marc woke up and said Modeh Ani, the wake up prayer. He slurped down a glass of Tropicana while wolfing down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He put on a grey dress shirt, black pants and sneakers. He’d change into his dress clothes when he got to work.
He grabbed his bag containing his teffilin, talit and siddur and exited his apartment. He opened his shul and put on his religious materials and began to pray while awaiting a minyan.
Slowly folks strolled in. Prayers were said. People left.
Marc took off his kippah and went to the train. Marc is a good Jew. He doesn’t classify himself. He certainly isn’t a Chasidic or Ultra-Orthodox. But an observant person. Many people don’t even recognize him as a Jew. He looks like your typical New Yorker. Half the time he’s wearing his Yankee hat and t-shirt. The other times he’s in his usual Lacoste shirt and Gap jeans or dress pants.
He hopped on the train and went to Midtown to his office. He exited the M train and began to walk down Avenue of the Americas. The usual breakfast carts were bustling with customers. New Yorkers moved in their hurried way to them and raced to their offices.
Marc bumped into a friend on the way to his office. They chatted momentarily. “Hey, Marc Russo, what’s up my bud?”
“Nothing, Jimmy, you?”
“Marc I was invited for Pesach dinner at a friend’s house? What kind of wine do I need to bring?”
“Just make sure it is Kosher for Passover. To be safe get a bottle that is also mevushal. I doubt the people that invited you are ultra observant. I’m willing to bet they don’t know what mevushal means. But go that way to be safe. Bear in mind, we have so many dietary rules, we don’t even understand them all. Someone at the Seder might,” chuckled Marc. They fist bumped and went to their offices.
Marc’s friends ranged from Chasidic to secular Jews and people other faiths. He is always happy to explain customs to his friends. He’s a firm believer that understanding each other will promote a healthier lifestyle. Most goyim know of Chanukah, Rosh Hashanah and Pesach. But the reality is they really don’t understand the customs and meaning behind the holidays. Or Yom Tovs as Marc and his fellow Yids would say.
He got to his desk and tried to login. Of course, the network was down. That’s the routine in his office. He checked in with his IT buddy. He was told they expect to get things going in about 20 minutes. He waltzed over to the kitchen for a glass of water and grabbed an orange. from the fruit tray.
He did a little work. He put on his Yankees jacket and decided to jump on the train to get a haircut at lunchtime. The people he works for are clueless. He was sad when he saw the number of homeless on the train’s platform. And really disgusted when he saw a rat on the tracks. They usually come out in the evening. But the city so overrun that they come out anytime. Two late aged male teens started harassing a homeless man.
They started taunting him and laughing at him.
“Why don’t you kids shut up. If you only understood my situation maybe you’d have some sympathy,” blurted out the homeless man, who was about 30, frail with blonde hair.
The kids just teased him and said he’s probably a junkie.
“No, I’ve never touched drugs. A beer or a shot of Vodka once in a while, but I’ve done nothing else. My brother and uncle sexually abused me. When I spoke up about it, I was beaten and thrown out of the house. I’ve lived here and there all of my life.”
The teen huddled and one yelled out, “Great story sounds like a load of BS.” Then they opened a Coke and poured it all over him.
Marc was pissed. He hated the way these obnoxious have it all, never worked for anything kids acted. They were walking around with $1,000 iPhones and the latest in everything else.
“Why don’t you guys leave this poor soul alone and jump on the approaching train,” Marc bellowed out to the kids. “Shut up you dumb Yankee fan. Boston rules.”
Marc decided not for to get too crazy walked down the platform. He was surprised he even opened his mouth that much. He normally was not confrontational. He thought he was done with the chaos when a Coke bottle hit him in the head. He turned around and saw the belligerent kids approaching him.
“I’d get walk back to the other side of the platform if I were you guys. Or better yet, exit the station and forget about your little episode,”
“Why Yankee what are you going to do? There are two of us and we are bigger than you.”
“And stupider,” chuckled Marc.
The teens ran toward him. He moved away and they fell on fell on their butts. But were up quickly and readied themselves to throw punches at Marc. The taller kid tossed a punch. Marc blocked the punch. The other kid tried to kick Marc in the stomach.
Marc laughed harder. The two kids started screaming. A small crowd gathered. Someone dialed 911. But lost the connection on their iPhone. The crowd continued to gather. But no one approached any of the three. They were a captive audience. All had their phones out ready to shoot away. It says little about our society. That people would rather snap photos of criminals than trying to help the victim. But Marc was no victim.
The kids lunged at him. All of a sudden Marc tensed up, his muscle toned arms got bigger. His head started to shake. His huge legs stomped down on the platform. He quickly reached his enlarged left hand into the pockets of his jeans. In his hands was bright red oversized pomegranate. He held it up to the sky. Then he let it loose with the precision of a game closer waiting for the third out in the World Series. While airborne it split in half and nailed each kid in the knees. The kids fell down. One started to cry. He reached back into his pocket. As he reached in he heard the kids beg for mercy. Another pomegrante magically appeared. He wound up and let it loose. It nailed the first kid in the face and ricocheted off and smacked the one in the arm.
“Now boys, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Let this be a warning if you ever harass anyone, I will unleash the other weapons in my arsenal. I don’t want to get into fights. But I won’t stand for troubled people getting hurt.”
The kids nodded in acceptance. The R-train pulled in and those on the platform shoved their way on.
Danny (aka, “Blubber boy”) woke up. He had his whole grain English muffin and a small glass of Orange juice that he mixed with water. Today was a big day. He was going to run a little at the Forest Hills High School track and then go into the City to hang out.
Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc. 