web analytics
August 28, 2015 / 13 Elul, 5775
At a Glance
Sections
Sponsored Post


And He Created Man With His Mold…

Twenties-110813

I’m driving down Lexington, smirking to myself at having evaded the avenues with either traffic lights or traffic. The only snag here is a four way stop just before the library. I can handle that one. It’s usually fast.

And then I’m slowing down, cause the car in front of me is slowing, and I see a bunch of cars stopped coming towards me, and there’s a crossing guard in the intersection.  What’s a crossing guard doing in the intersection? Groan. Must be some kind of… I don’t know. Oh. Maybe even a bein hasedarim thing. Cool. Except that it means that I have to wait. Not that I’m in any sort of particular huge rush, but it particularly irks me to be sneakily stuck in a place where I’m not supposed to be stuck. Unfair.

As if to drive the screw in deeper, the crossing guard seems smugly intent on keeping me waiting as long as possible. Ignoring my friendly intent to catch her eye and wave (crossing guards here are usually the friendly sort, and will wave back, exchange greetings, and happily accept drinks on hot days), she waved at the cars going left, and she waved at the cars going right, and she waved at the cars going left again, and she even let some cars facing me go!- all the while intermittently holding up her hand towards me in a casual, almost meaningless gesture, teeth-grinding in its insolence of power behind the invalidating dismissiveness.

I wait, and I sigh, and I wait, comforted at least with the knowledge that it’s not my fault, because I could not have known this would happen… and plus, I am the first car waiting, and there is something distinctly preventative to frustration about being the first car waiting. I may be waiting, but I know I’m almost going.

And then it looks clear, and I think she’s about to wave me through, and here comes an older man, about to cross the street in front of me. And of course she gives that tiny flick at me to wait, and waves at him to cross.

As the cars running parallel to him roll merrily along, I watch this man cross the street. He has a grey-white messy beard, a cap pulled low, and a face buried in his chest. Sixtyish, well built, non-Jewish or secular. He walks with a hurried, stooped gait. His clothes are, well… forget it. I’ll just say it the way it is. You know how they look. Those people. The ones that hang out at the library, or in certain sections of town, walking, talking…   There he goes, talking to himself out loud, calling out loudly something which I can’t decipher.

I wonder what medication he’s on. Nah, why medication? Maybe it’s drugs. Or maybe he’s just like that. I don’t know. What makes people like that? I wonder. Is it something they’re born with, or does it, like, just happen? Sad. Does he, like, think? Does he know what’s going on? Or is he, like, totally in dreamland?

And again, I wonder… what medication is he on? Zombie. Whatever. One of those.

He’s almost on the other side of the street when another man comes hurrying along the sidewalk towards him. Black suit, white shirt, dark beard, hat, and tzitzis swinging, he’s running to catch the intersection before the window of “crossing time” ends.

Head down, jogging gait, he’s almost at the intersection, when he lifts his hand, and, without breaking stride, calls out loudly in a friendly voice, “Hi, Steve!”

It’s the voice of casual familiarity, that which says, “I know you, and you know me, and I don’t have to stop for a formal greeting, because we’re friends, and you know I’m running to catch the light, and we’ll see each other tomorrow again, probably, anyway. See ya, friend!”

The man with the old sneakers and white beard and head bent against his chest raises his hand and calls out a cheerful response which I cannot decipher. The yungerman jogs on into the street, reaches the curb, and continues on at a hurried but more dignified pace.

And I am stuck at the stop sign, not waiting anymore, because I can sit here for a thousand years, and just think, and feel, and smile.

About the Author:


If you don't see your comment after publishing it, refresh the page.

Our comments section is intended for meaningful responses and debates in a civilized manner. We ask that you respect the fact that we are a religious Jewish website and avoid inappropriate language at all cost.

If you promote any foreign religions, gods or messiahs, lies about Israel, anti-Semitism, or advocate violence (except against terrorists), your permission to comment may be revoked.

No Responses to “And He Created Man With His Mold…”

Comments are closed.

Current Top Story
Swiss Amb. to Iran Giulo Haas presents his credentials to Iranian Pres. Rouhani
‘US and Iranian Cartoon Doves’ Shown Defecating on Bibi by Swiss Amb to Iran
Latest Sections Stories
Abigail and Elisheva with Rabbi Moshe Gutnick, a member of the Sydney Beth Din and head of the Organization of Rabbis of Australasia.

There is a rich Jewish history in this part of the world. Now the hidden customs are being revealed, as many seek to reconnect with their roots.

Respler-082815

There are times when a psychiatrist will over-medicate, which is why it’s important to find a psychiatrist whom you trust and feel comfortable with.

Singer-Saul-Jay-logo-NEW

On November 22, 1963, Abraham Zapruder created one of the most famous, and valuable, pieces of film and became forever linked with one of the greatest American national tragedies when he stood with his camera on an elevated concrete abutment as President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza in Dallas. Exhibited here is […]

“Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength – carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” – Corrie ten Boom I’ve been thinking a lot about worrying. Anxiety is an issue close to my heart – […]

Don’t be afraid to try something different.

Upon meeting the Zionist delegation, General Wu, a recent convert to Christianity, said, “You are my spiritual brothers.

With the assistance of Mr. Tress, Private Moskowitz tried tirelessly to become an army chaplain.

Dr. Yael Respler is taking a well-deserved vacation this week and asked Eilon Even-Esh to share some thoughts with her readers in her stead.

A dedicated scholar, educator and mother, Dr. Lowy was the guiding light of TCLA since its inception and the entire Touro community mourns her passing.

It’s ironic that when we hear about Arab extremists attacking and killing Jewish settlers, there is quiet from these same left wingers.

It is well known that serving olives with alcoholic drinks enhances their flavor, but you have to know what you’re doing.

More Articles from Chava Adams
Twenties-110813

Those people. The ones that hang out at the library, or in certain sections of town, walking, talking…

Miri was a special child.

I didn’t know that at first. She had thick, dark hair, round face, and a slow smile. “I’m six,” she said.

But then I learned what it felt like when Miri wrapped her arms around you and hugged. Her face upturned, that slow smile spreading across it. Reaching her eyes, that would grow, and grow and grow, liquid ovals of brown above cheeks tinged deep pink.

Another tree is down.

I’m driving down Lakewood Avenue, figuring that maybe, just maybe, the tree that blocked the middle of North Lake Drive has been removed, and I can go through. After all, they had a whole day. I’m sure things have been taken care of.

The taxi driver was old and rather shriveled, with a crop of white hair fringing his head.

Ah, I recognize this one, I thought with relief, hurrying to open the door. If I recall correctly, he knows Lakewood. You would think that a taxi driver, being that his/her job is, well, driving, and being that the town they are driving in is, well, Lakewood…

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/and-he-created-man-with-his-mold/2013/11/08/

Scan this QR code to visit this page online: