The festivities started on Friday night, when we attended Shabbat dinner with Alex and her whole extended family and friends, at a family friend's apartment on Central Park West. It was a gorgeous apartment, with an amazing panoramic view of the park. I was a little nervous, because my record with Jewish meals is not good.
My all-time low with Jewish meals is the first time I ever attended a Seder dinner, at Laszlo's mom's house during college. There was no guide or anything, and if you've ever experienced a Seder dinner, there's all this praying and stuff that has to happen before you can eat or drink anything. Coming from a background where we struggle at family dinner to pass things to each other, rather than reach over each other (which drives my mother nuts), I wasn't accustomed to having so much awesome food sitting right in front of me, with no one actually eating it.
I held out as long as I could, and then thought perhaps I could surreptitiously pinch a small piece of bread without interrupting anything. I was wrong.
"What are you DOING?" asked Laszlo's mom.
"Uh, I was just nibbling" I said.
"You can't eat that until we say the [insert named Hebrew prayer here] prayer!" Laszlo said.
"Oh."
So I tried to wait it out. The praying went on. I decided I could mitigate the suffering by taking a sip of water.
"What are you DOING?" asked Laszlo's mom.
"Uh, I was thirsty" I said.
"You can't drink that until we say the [insert named Hebrew prayer here] prayer!" Laszlo said.
Now totally frustrated, I put my chin in my hand and plopped my elbow on the table, right on top of my napkin.
CRUNCH!
All praying stopped, and everyone turned to look at me.
"What was that?" I asked, and llifted up my napkin. Underneath were a bunch of cracker crumbs.
"YOU CRUSHED THE HIDDEN MATZO!!!" exclaimed Laszlo.
"WHAT'S THE HIDDEN MATZO?!?" I asked, "And why is it hidden under the Goyim's napkin??"
So, apparently Elijah or whoever wasn't going to have anything to eat when he came around, thanks to yours truly. I'll be the first to admit I'm a pretty lousy Catholic, but it turns out I'm an even worse Jew.
Given this checkered history, I was a little nervous about Shabbat dinner, but it went pretty well, and anyway I stayed hidden at the back as much as possible. People gave little speeches, and Alex's dad gave a very nice speech in which he devoted a small piece to thanking me for being pretty much all of Alex's science and math education in high school. The UN school, in my experience, is very good at teaching languages, history, and to some extent art. But it's in pretty sad shape when it comes to math and science. Not that that distinguishes it from most other schools.
The next day we went to the U.N. for the actual ceremony. Part of the fun of seeing the UN school's graduation is that they actually conduct the ceremony in the main hall of the United Nations, and they have the reception on the back roof of the building overlooking the East River. I heard one of the most affecting speeches ever, by Ishmael Beah, a young man who had come to the UN school after being a child soldier in Sierra Leone. He has since written a book about his experiences.
The General Assembly room of the U.N., from my seat way in the back, presumably where Tonga sits.
Although it was not rhetorically the best speech I ever heard, it really touched me. He spoke with great honesty and passion about the importance of education, and the impact it can have on a person's life. Hearing Alex's dad's words the night before, and hearing that speech that day, reminded me anew of why being a tutor has been so much more rewarding than any other work I've ever done.
Me and Alex
Me and Alex at the reception overlooking the East River.
After dinner with the usual NYC crew, we called it a night, since I was once again determined to get myself to the airport at a responsible hour. After all, surely this time it would pay off.
Wrong.
I took the usual 540am bus, got to the airport, and within 15 minutes of arrival our flight was canceled due to "weather". I don't know where the "weather" in question was, but it wasn't in NYC and it wasn't in CA. The woman behind the counter had the look on her face that I would have if I were hiding behind a convenient, unassailable excuse and just wanted you to shut the fuck up and deal with it.
Sadly, the evening flight was all full, so I ended up booked on the Monday evening flight. That meant having to cancel all my Sunday and Monday meetings, which was annoying. Plus, I'd gotten up super early _and_ avoided hanging out the night before in an effort to be responsible.
The lesson is clear: folks, don't try to be someone you're not.
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