Dear Diary:
When a Lubavitcher man sat next to me on my plane from Zurich to Kennedy Airport, I reluctantly set aside my hope of seeing “Magic Mike†during the flight. Instead of watching Matt Bomer bare his chest, I caught a glimpse of my new neighbor kissing his tefillin. With the wing outside the window blocking my view, I prepared for a long journey.
Some time later, as I was eating the last of my Swiss chocolate, I saw my neighbor stare at his less-than-appetizing kosher bagel. Feeling sorry for him, I offered him a square. He politely refused. I politely stopped eating. A beat later, he politely asked where I was headed.
By the time we began our descent, we had discussed segregation in Chicago, the value of an English major and the openness of Americans compared with the Swiss. Then, as our plane made a crescent over the ocean, we fell silent. Outside our window, waves blossomed below us; a flotilla perched on their petals, thecity bathed in sunlight.
Then, an old Israeli Lubavitcher and a young gay Latino arrived in New York, a long journey behind them and many more ahead.
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