Tag: secular

Pomegranate — Book 2

It was partly cloudy Thursday afternoon. Marc was bored at work. He had some time to kill. He usually brings lunch and eats at his desk. He decided to take a walk to mincha services (Jewish afternoon prayers). He liked the spirituality of the services. He also loves the rituals he did in the scouts based on the Lenni Lenape Indians. He quickly walked over to the temple. He often wondered which he liked better and mean more to him.

He listened to the rabbi speak after services for a few minutes and left. He took a call on the walk back to his office. He strolled along Madison Avenue and made it back to the dump he worked in.

About two hours later he went to the gym. He trained and had his usual discussions with his fellow gym rats.

He decided to run to J.Crew after the gym. As he walked through Rockefeller Center to the store, he heard a little girl crying. He kept walking. But her screams got louder. He figured it was nothing. She must have tripped or didn’t get ice cream. It happens every day over there. The kids run around too much.

He went into the store and tried on a few pairs of pants. He bought two and went outside. He still heard the kid shrieking. He heard her saying, “Please mommy. No more. Not again. Leave me alone.”

He turned his head and saw the poor child in a corner near the ice skating rink being slapped around. He was never one to rubberneck. But he did look for a moment. He walked over and asked the kid if she was ok.

“Mind your own business,” shouted her mom.

“No., mister, please help me. I get hit a lot. Mommy is so mean. I miss my daddy. We tried so hard to be a family. But mommy wasn’t nice to any of us. She lied so much. Daddy left,” cried out the little girl.

“He was bad,” yelled the mom.

“No. He went to work every day and was nice to everyone. You spent your days drinking. He tried to ask you to stop. But you wouldn’t listen. I can’t wait to see him this weekend. We are going to Bronx Zoo and getting ice cream.”

“No, you’re not going. I won’t let you,” she blurted out as she punched the kid again.”

“I am going. Daddy gets to see me. And I am going to live with him. And you can never see me.”

The mom stared at Marc. “Why don’t you walk away? My daughter and I need to be alone.”

“No. Please help me. She’s only going to take me home and lock me in the closet. She won’t even let me out to go to the bathroom. The last time I had to go in my pants. And they were the new ones that daddy bought me,” she started to cry.

The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a makeup case. She lunged it at Marc. Onlookers were waiting for what was going to happen next. Someone called the police to report the woman. The 911 operator promised they’d get an officer over there right away.

Meanwhile, the enraged woman tossed more junk from her handbag at Marc.

Someone yelled over to him to see if she is ok. He didn’t hear that. His neck started bulging. His fingers got slightly longer, while the tips of them opened. He swallowed a few times. Then he began shooting date honey out of the openings in his fingers. The honey spattered all over the woman. He shot so much it was strangling her. She lost her grip on her daughter. The girl ran toward Marc. But he shot one more blurb of honey that knocked mom on her butt. The cops were arriving. The crowd made way for them to walk through. As they did, Marc walked away. They never even looked at each other.pomengrante

Pomegranate Man-Book 1

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.