Her presence bespeaks poise and confidence, yet I wonder how much is a farce, and how much is pure, unadulterated bitachon,
S he’s the first thing I notice as I walk down the stairs of my apartment building onto the block that is pulsing with music with noise with life.
It feels like your run-of-the-mill homey neighborhood hachnassas sefer Torah: The van blares music bright lights flashing so you get the sense you’re visiting a dated disco. A chuppah is set up right behind the disco-van monstrosity and children are running back and forth back and forth under the chuppah taking turns playing chassan and kallah.
A large jolly Sephardic man is going around distributing bourekas and rugelach cracking jokes with the adults (especially the Anglos — he seems to love practicing his English) stroking babies’ cheeks fondly. There’s a drink stand with sodas standing tall and children surround it like moths to a light giddy from excitement and caffeine. Within minutes of the delivery the streets are already sticky from spills and crumbs and bakery wrappers line the sidewalks.
People seem to be streaming in from all directions mostly by foot our small block turning into a game of Rush Hour with the cars. Happy chatter fills the block as more and more families congregate in front of the apartment building from where the sefer Torah will leave to be brought to a nearby shul amid dancing and singing and sweat and joy.
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