Conversations at a Stoplight

I am a New Yorker.  I was born in NY.  I spent the first 18 years of my life in NY.  It was the place I returned to when not at Brandeis or camp and in between moves with the kids. Sean and I lived there another 7 ½ years between JTS and one of our homes.  Being a New Yorker is in my blood.  New Yorkers are supposed to be brassy and loud.  They are supposed to be rude and crass.  I believe I am none of these things.

Now I live in Toronto. Torontonians have multiple stereotypes.  There is the Canadian niceness.  Yet, Toronto is supposed to be cold and unfriendly to outsiders. We love it here.  We found a welcoming community where we have made amazing friendships.

On Thursday night I returned home from New York.  I had meeting with a colleague and the Rabbinical Assembly Executive Committee.  On Wednesday night I stopped at Estihana Noodle House to get take out.  Yum.  Even though I was ordering take out, the maitre’d gave me a seat and brought me a glass of water.  It was a terribly hot day, and I was grateful for the nicety.  Leaving on Thursday, I was rushed to get to the airport.  I arrived at Penn Station just in time, ran downstairs and jumped on the train, the wrong train.  My train had just pulled out.  It was not a terrible mistake as I could pick up the right train at the next stop.  Three people helped me to find my way, only one was the conductor.  The man sitting next to me offered to list my bag to the luggage rack.  Everyone was very courteous and helpful.  No one was brassy, loud, crude, or rude.

I arrived back in Toronto where Sean was waiting for me.  (Thanks hon for picking me up.)  We left the airport; drove up Bathurst to the second light.  We stopped.  It was a lovely night, and we drove with the car windows open.  Sean (also a native New Yorker BTW) turned to the couple in the car next to us and said, “Hi.  How are you?”  The conversation continued.  They were also coming from the airport.  She had been in Chicago.  I shared that I was in New York.  We were all from Toronto.  After a few joking sentences about what a great city Toronto is (it really is), she replied, “Yeah.  You could never have this conversation in New York.  They’d just look at you and say, ‘F*&% you.”  We all laughed.  The light turned green and we drove on, continuing our conversation at the next light.  We all lived northward.  We were all (now) from Toronto.  When the light changed we went our separate ways with a little more laughter in our evening.

On Shabbat we shared the story.  The response, “Where were they from?”  “Here.”  “No, originally.”  “I don’t know.”  “They must not have been native Torontonians.  Native Torontonians aren’t that nice.” And that response from native Torontonians.

Go figure.