Riding the rails

Last week I had jury duty. I was so excited. Two whole days of being captive in a room where all I have to do is sit and read a book and wait for my name to be called! And the firm pays my full salary! What could be better?

On the second day, I didn’t get seated on a jury so I was released. And I didn’t have to go to work that night so I was free to do what I wanted. At about 6:45, I decided to rush down to see what Broadway shows were on half price for the night. Shows start at 8:00 so I knew I’d be cutting it close.

I decided to take the 1 train. It is a little closer to my house but it runs local whereas the A runs express but is a little farther down the street. It was sprinkling rain a little and I decided to go for the shorter walk.

I got to the subway and the 1 train promptly pulled into the station just like it had been waiting for me to get there. I got on and sat down comfortably with my book. Three stops later, the train pulled into the station at 181st Street and we didn’t move. After a few minutes they made an announcement that because of police investigation at the 168th Street station, no trains were moving in either direction. It was now 7:10 and it was going to be tight for me to make a show.

But not to be outdone by the Metropolitan Transit Authority, I decided to walk the three or four blocks over to the A train and I headed for the stairs.

I guess I looked like I knew where I was going because a young Jewish guy, I’d say he was about 20 years old, caught up with me. “Do you know how to get to the A-train?”

“Yeah, it’s just a few blocks west. I’m going there. I’ll show you.”

Just outside the 181st Street Subway station is Yeshiva University, the Modern Orthodox Judaism school which combines Torah study with secular studies. It is about a mile from where I live so there is a large Jewish community not far from where I live. It is fun on Friday evenings to walk the streets in the Jewish community and catch a glimpse of them celebrating shabbas.

So, we walked and chatted. I asked him if he lived up here (because I thought it odd that he didn’t know how to get to the A Train). “You might call it living. I live in a dorm room with four other guys at Yeshiva. It’s not Brooklyn.”

“I love Brooklyn,” I said, “I used to live there. But I didn’t think I was living in New York unless I lived in Manhattan. So I gave up a really great apartment to move up here. What was I thinking? I’m sure I couldn’t even touch that apartment now.”

“Yeah, Brooklyn is the best.”

I asked him what he was studying. “I’m doing general studies right now. I’d like to study history. But then there’s the Jewish guilt. My mother wants me to study law or medicine.” We both chuckled at how stereotypical it was. Every Jewish mother, you know, wants want her son to be a doctor or lawyer or maybe a rabbi.

We came upon a beggar, a black man. The beggar said, “Guys, can someone spare a little change, a tzedakah, for a hungry man?” My young friend put his hand in his pocket for change. Of course, I couldn’t let the Jew outdo the Christian in charity so I dug into my pocket too.

We gave him our change and went on. “Did you hear what he said?” my Hebrew friend asked, “he said ‘tzedakah.’ That’s the Hebrew word for charity.”

I had heard the word before. An attorney at the firm where I work was mad at her mother because her mother decided one year to give tzedakah instead of giving her children Christmas presents. And anyway, anyone who lives in NYC has to at least know a few words of Hebrew or Yiddish to get by.

“Well, I give the beggar points for knowing his audience well.”

“That’s true,” my friend said.

By the time we got to the A train, it was almost 7:25 and I was almost sure I wouldn’t make a show. But it was a great, rainy New York night and I could find something to do.

We went down into the hole in the ground. The 181st Street station is very deep. When we got to the platform, it was awkward. I know what was going on. I wanted to read my book. And he wanted to read his book. We both felt a sort of obligation to keep talking but just because we walked to the train together, didn’t mean we were going to be blood brothers. So we both kind of shuffled around on the platform and slowly drifted away from each other. When the train came, we both got on the same car but sat across from each other, not beside each other. I read my book (oddly, my book was about the Jews during the Nazi era).

Our A train flew down the tracks. We were at 42nd street by 7:50. We both exited at the same door. “This was way faster than the 1 train any day,” he said.

And that was it.

I ran up three blocks to TKTS and got a great ticket to Spring Awakening. It won the Tony for Best Musical last year. I wasn’t that impressed.

I was more impressed with my little encounter on the subway. I love New York.