If you do live here, you know what it means to choose to believe in the decency— or at least the pragmatism— of most of our neighbors
It’s a bright Monday morning in May and I’m waiting with two coworkers for a taxi to take us to the office.
Down the block, I spot one with the telltale orange sign of the Bar-Ilan taxi company in the windshield, and I flag it down.
Once we’re settled inside the car, I notice that the orange sign is not, in fact, the orange banner of Bar-Ilan — or of any company. It’s a microfiber rag artfully draped over the taximeter.
One of my coworkers notices, too, that the mandatory driver ID card has been pushed as high into its slot as possible, so the driver’s name isn’t visible.
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