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aliyah rites new york

The twisted mind of an expat.

I’m in New York City for the next three weeks.

On one stretch,  between my office on 35th to the bus on 42nd, I hear not one – not two – but three Hebrew conversations.

I get on the bus, there’s a six pack of hard lemonade in my seat; former passenger leftovers. I drop everything and carry  it over to the bus driver. Then I walk back to my seat and feel guilty that if it’s laced with explosives, I just killed him.

Yeah, that never gets old.