On Being a New York Jew

Ralph Lauren.
Perhaps the best-dressed New York Jew.
Or maybe second only to Calvin Klein.

I usually consider the Urban Dictionary to be a definitive authority on any topic from the war in Iraq to definitions of scientific terms like fauna. But while perusing Urban Dictionary in front of a roaring fire on a recent chilly evening, I found one entry that was blatantly false and so poorly researched that it represents a serious hole in the dictionary's otherwise limitless knowledge.

The Urban Dictionary couldn't be more wrong on the subject of the New York Jew. In short, the dictionary defines a New York Jew as a fickle, uptight person who keeps a tight grip on his or her purse strings, and likes to push paper.

Well now, that's not very nice.

My experience of being a New York Jew points to a decidedly different definition, a definition that was made much clearer to me over this past weekend. You see, Becky and I traveled from our home in Saratoga Springs to her parent's home in Rhode Island for her mother's 50th birthday party.

Now, my own parents passed their 50th birthdays back in the Bronze Age, so it had been a while since I'd been to this kind of event, but I was still excited to meet some of Becky's mom's friends and family. That is to say, I was excited in theory. In reality, all I wanted to do was hide from strangers by staying home. But this was an important family event for Becky, so I got myself dressed up in skinny jeans, a stylish pink shirt and argyle sweater (go Team Slipstream!), and got into Becky's car for the ride to the Ocean State.

Although I think I made an honest effort to schmooze a lot of party guests, I quickly spotted the one person I really wanted to talk to from across the room. A middle-aged man with an attractive Latin-looking woman on his arm.

He was wearing black jeans, a blue shirt and dark sweater. On his face, he wore a thin natural mustache and thick Buddy Holly glasses. I could have guess from the tuft of chest hair poking out above his collar, or his sizable schnoz, but it was his thick eye brows, combined with the stylish cut of his clothes and the way his dark eyes coolly appraised the other party-goers that gave him away. Sure as my legs are shaved more often than Becky's, this was a New York Jew. Our eyes met for a brief second, and, as if we'd exchanged a secret signal, we both knew. He gave me a shallow nod. I nodded back, and we both resumed talking to other guests. It's important to be cool in such situations, especially when surrounded by goyum.

A few minutes later we had both maneuvered our way to the beverage table where I was cracking open my third beer and he was pouring himself a glass of wine.

We quickly introduced ourselves. It turned out that he was originally from East New York, and later Boerum Hill and Staten Island. He had an MSW from Columbia, but had attended a few years after my Dad, who holds the same degree from Columbia. He was a federal parole officer, and had spent most of his career in Florida, before moving to Rhode Island when he was given a promotion. He still had friends and family in the city, and visits often. In fact, he and his wife (the attractive Latin woman) had been in midtown for New Years Eve.

We spent the next several hours talking about Brooklyn. He was very interested to hear how the neighborhoods had changed, especially once he realized that I'd grown up blocks away from his former home on Pacific Street, and I was very interested to hear about how an internship he'd served with the Port Authority Police in the Port Authority bus terminal had led directly to his career path. We talked at length about the value of interdisciplinarity in education and about choosing a life of public service versus a life of wealth and prosperity, choices that my own father has also wrestled with in his life, and I now contemplate on a daily basis.

It turned out that he and his Dominican wife, a fifth grade teacher, had made the decision to leave New York largely because they wanted to give their daughter a better standard of living.

We didn't once talk about being Jews, unless you count our exchange of last names, which in Jewish circles, is equivalent to gang members flashing their high-sign. Our conversation helpped me to reach a much better definition of New York Jew, which I will be submiting to Urban Dictionary in short order:

New York Jew, noun
A group of individuals bound by an unbreakable bond rooted in a common ancestry, impeccable sense of style, irresistibility to members of the opposite sex, intelligence, generosity, economic savvy (but not greed), large noses, and thick eye brows.