High Holidays

There was a different feeling on the street today when I got up at the crack of 10:30 and took the dog for a walk. At first I couldn't decide what it was about: the cloudy humidity? The quiet? It did seem oddly quiet. More working-age people than usual on the streets, dressed up but looking slightly aimless. By the time I had reached the synagoge nearest to my apartment and seen the police barricades outside and the people streaming in I had already figured it out: duh, Rosh Hashanah.
It's always a curious feeling to be caught up in an holiday that isn't yours. I had a sudden sense of guilt as the dog and I walked past the synagoge, like we were disrupting the sanctity of the day by our very existance. I also felt somehow betrayed, like this was a secret I had been left out of. This isn't Borough Park; nobody seems to observe, or even notice, the Sabbath. Now suddenly, months after my arrival, it turns out that lots of my neighbors are Jewish! Who knew. They have certainly kept it under wraps until now.

In an unrelated matter, the mystery of the tree barge has belatedly been solved. It turns out it was art.