The Elevator

I think I know now what Frank Sinatra meant when he sang that he wanted to wake up in the city that never sleeps. He meant this place was never quiet. There's constant noise: airplanes, helicopters, cars honking (don't do it, says the sign, there's a $350 fine!) and hundreds and hundreds of air-conditioners create a buzz that's with you all the time. I crave silence. And have found one quiet place. The elevator. In these Manhattan apartment buildings, the elevator is a very special place. An institution. First of all, you've got a man living in there. He operates it. You never press buttons - unless you're a child fortunate enough to be buddies with him and then he lets you climb onto his tall chair and reach up to press the 'door close' button. Some people know the elevator men by name and have a friendly chat with them and some never speak to them.
The elevator man knows a lot about you and the building. After a few days, he remembered which floor I lived on. Which is great on Shabbat when all I have to do is get in the lift and say no more. No doubtful situation about me asking him to do the job. Still I get guilty and have a sense that my presence is a command in itself and maybe I should just walk up to the twelth floor...
The elevator man takes deliveries for you and delivers them to your door. He also takes bunches of keys from wives whose husbands have left without keys. He also comes to fix things in your flat, say when the toilet gets blocked and the downstairs neighbour starts complaining about a dripping ceiling.
But sometimes the elevator doesn't work. Then you get into an even more special elevator which is much much bigger and is probably meant for moving furniture. It doesn't even have a door so as you're flying up you can see all the floors rushing by. A bit scary, but it's a great system. I've never once had to walk up the stairs so far.

week one

The city was an illusion. We all have this when we listen to Frank Sinatra sing New York New York and it feels like the best place to be, where it's all thrills and fireworks or finding our real selves, the best possible us. But in fact, New York is just a place where people live. Just like any other place, with small shops and pubs and buildings tall or not so tall. We have all the legends of course. We have Central Park, we have Friends and Sex and the City and all the rest but at the end of the day, and especially at the end of the day, New York is a not particularly pretty but a pretty friendly place to have a drink. Or have a run. Or I hope one day go to the opera. The city has many faces I'm sure. But right now I'm looking at one face, the Upper west side of it all. And it's surprisingly relaxed and quiet, and the people go in flip-flops and crocs and the women in shul are not Jewish Princesses at all, it's all very easy to blend into. And then you find that you're in a place where you don't actually know anybody. You want to call a friend and there's no one to call.

School is good. It makes my brain work. Just what I wanted. I'm trying to remember to say a blessing for the good fortune I have every minute possible for being able to spend a year doing nothing but learning. It is a blessing. I'm not sure where it's taking me but it must be a good place. We're all women, younger, older, reformer, frummer, but we all love it, and we love discussing it. And some of us put on tefillin in the mornings, and I guess some never pray. I'll have to locate myself somewhere on this map of feminine observance where you can pick and mix your own personal Judaism, where there are no boundaries and no one approving or disapproving. These guys profess self-expression, and they mean it. Do I buy that?

When you're in the beit midrash, you're expected not to be on your own. You have a partner. No individual study. You have to get used to this constant sharing, constant dialogue, neither the struggle nor the achievements are yours alone. You as an individual are no more. You exist in pairs. You have to learn how to learn from the other, whether she be less or more informed than you, whether you are interested in her as a person or not.
Our teacher is great. She's quaint. She has it all and knows exactly where she's taking us. She seems so fragile and yet she's so powerful. And she'll take us through Sanhedrin, through rebellious sons and death penalties and rabbis struggling to create a judicial system that prefers exemption to conviction.

In New York we get hurricanes. I know this sounds very exotic but by the time they arrive they've already lost most of their power and just bring rain. Lots of heavy heavy rain. Umbrellas won't do. You need the whole waterproof equipment, and there's no way you can get a cab when the rain begins to fall. You walk, and you get drenched. It's just water. But it gets you three times on the same day, and you're wet from head to toe, and your phone stops working as it has also got soaked. And the dollar bills in your purse. But it all dries out the next day when it's sunny and warm again.