October Fire - 5. Life Goes On

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Robin Arens was one of the first friends Simon made at the Bronx High School of Science. They were both on the chess team. She’d attended his fifteenth birthday party and although a year older, she’d become a very good friend. How could he have been so ignorant about her being in Israel at the time of the attack?

Neither Simon nor Craig could contemplate having a Halloween party under the circumstances. However, Simon’s parents felt strongly that they should still go trick-or-treating. They already had everything they needed for their costumes. The distraction would be a welcome relief from the agonizing weeks since October 7.

The boys took the bus to Simon’s house after school and grabbed a quick snack of tortilla chips and salsa. Sated, they moved onto other things. Simon’s father was at work where he was an attorney for the NYPD. His mom was in nursing school at Cornell. With the house to themselves, the boys spent the afternoon making out and making love. Remembering that they both had some homework, however, they quickly dressed afterwards. They worked on their assignments until Simon’s parents arrived home.

Knowing they’d be pigging out on candy later, they had a very light meal of tuna melts with Swiss cheese on rye bread, seasoned with dried herbs from Simon’s mother’s garden.

After dinner, Simon’s dad drove them to the front of Craig’s apartment building in their wheelchair-accessible van.

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“No way in hell am I going to watch a stupid parade!” Josh exclaimed as his boyfriend tried to convince him otherwise. Dave meant well, but Josh was in mourning and could think of little else. Dave had been trying to convince Josh to go, ever since Seth invited them, but to no avail.

“Look, Josh,” Dave continued, “no one expects you to go on as if nothing happened. The university allowed you to withdraw without penalty, which is highly unusual so late in the semester. They allowed me to as well, since we told them I’m your fiancé and that your family is my family too. And I am, and they are. You can take that to the bank, but shiva is over. That doesn’t mean you’re done mourning. Me either. We’ll both mourn for at least year, but the sense of loss will always be there.

“No one would question our dedication to Robin’s return. It’s hard to think of anything else. She was my best friend, even before you and I met. Hell, she’s the reason you and I got together in the first place.

“With the start of the ground offensive in Gaza, the hostage situation could drag on for months. Her release will only come as part of a negotiated settlement, perhaps during a cease fire. Sitting home and moping isn’t going to bring her back any sooner. Neither of us has any control at all on this situation. Why not go to the Village parade and forget about our troubles for a little while?”

“How can you even suggest it?” Josh replied. “My father and two of my sisters are six feet under, and my remaining sister is herself underground, being held captive by terrorists.”

“What would Robin want us to do?” Dave threw back.

“Beyond a doubt, she’d want us to go to the parade. No one’s more irreverent when it comes to tradition than my youngest sister. She’d want us to go out and celebrate that we’re still alive. But that makes me feel so guilty. It should be Robin who’s going to the parade while I’m in captivity.”

“It’s not like that’s even a possibility, you know,” Dave responded and Josh nodded his head. “And think how I’d feel if it was you who was a hostage in Gaza. Why don’t we honor Robin by going to the parade? It’s the fiftieth annual parade, you know.”

“I could care less if it’s the five hundredth parade—”

“Um, that would mean the first parade was back around the time of Columbus, you know,” Dave pointed out.

“I don’t know…” Josh went on. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Like you said, Robin would want us to go and have fun. Can you think of a better way to honor her?”

After a thoughtful pause, Josh asked once again, “Seth and Clarke are gonna be there?”

“Along with a friend of theirs from school, and maybe Asher too,” Dave added, hoping he could talk Seth’s husband into it.

“Where exactly is the parade?” Josh asked.

“It runs up Sixth Ave from just below Houston to just north of 14^th Street,” Dave answered.

“So— we’d take the bus there?” Josh asked.

Shaking his head, Dave explained, “The M21 isn’t running and the M14A isn’t going past Third Avenue. We could take the F-Train, but it’ll be crowded. Perhaps the best thing would be to walk. It’s only two miles.”

Sighing, Josh answered, “Okay, we’ll go to the parade. We’ll walk there. It’s what Robin would want us to do.”

“We probably should leave now if we want to get a decent spot on Sixth Ave,” Dave suggested. “Let’s grab something to go from the Ragin’ Cajun, and we’ll eat it while we wait for the parade to begin.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Josh agreed as he grabbed his fall-weather jacket.

Dave was elated. He texted Seth to let him know they were coming. Now, he just needed to convince Asher to go along.

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Freck and Kyle were helping to get the MIT Hillel ready for a Halloween party. Freck was dressed up as Art Garfunkel and his boyfriend as Paul Simon. The party theme was ‘Famous Jewish Musicians’. There were certainly plenty to choose from. Freck hadn’t realized how many until he started doing his research.

Of course, Larry Sanders’ parents were a perfect example. Both of them were well known throughout the classical music world. Itzhak Perlman, Leonard Bernstein, George and Ira Gershwin, George M. Cohen and Barbara Streisand were other well-known Jewish musicians.

Freck was surprised at how many of the top rock musicians were Jewish. He knew that Billy Joel was Jewish, but he’d no idea that Bob Dylan, David Lee Roth, Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, Lou Reed, Leslie West, Daryl Hall, Mark Knopfler and Donald Fagan were also Jewish.

The Hillel didn’t often host Halloween parties, but the need this year was acute. There’d been pro-Israeli protests after the October 7 attack, but those were fading. Frankly, it wasn’t safe to show support for Israel anymore. Attempts to plaster pictures of known hostages all over the campus had become fruitless. No sooner did the posters go up than they were torn down.

Scenes of apartment buildings reduced to rubble and of dead children being carried away had all but erased concern for the hostages. The pro-Palestinian protests were becoming larger, more frequent and more vocal.

A lot of the students protesting on behalf of the Palestinians were Jewish, and they made it a point to disavow Zionism. The protesters went out of their way to claim they were anti-Zionist but not antisemitic. Even so, Jewish students were being singled out and taunted for participating in genocide, to the extent that they no longer felt safe to roam the campus alone.

The vast majority of Jewish students couldn’t understand why they needed to be one or the other. Couldn’t they support Palestinian statehood, even as they supported the right of Israel to exist as the Jewish homeland? It wasn’t as if the Jews had another homeland to return to.

The MIT Hillel represented the one place of refuge where Jewish students could go, free from the taunts and the slogans and the assumption that they were somehow responsible for the children that were dying in Gaza.

As the party got underway, the sounds of protesters outside the building became hard to ignore. The chants and taunts continued to grow louder and more numerous. Freck and Kyle and the other Jewish students who’d come to the party had hoped to spend an evening away from it all. It was supposed to be a chance to have a normal Halloween.

When it got to the point that the building was surrounded and the students feared for their lives, they moved as much furniture as they could against the outer doors, effectively barricading themselves inside.

The rabbi attempted to call campus security. She asked to have them disperse the protesters, so that the partygoers could leave. She was told she’d get a call-back, but it never came.

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Craig’s mom was still at work, so the boys let themselves in. They proceeded to assemble their costumes. Simon was wheelchair-bound and spastic. It only made sense for him to dress as his hero, Steven Hawking. He’d thought he might need a wig, but Hawking’s original hair color was only slightly darker than Simon’s natural reddish shade. With a suitable pair of glasses, a white shirt, a tweed sports coat and a little makeup, Simon looked quite like his hero.

Echoing the theme of famous physicists, Craig had originally planned to dress as Albert Einstein, but he’d have needed to rent a wig and mustache and wear layers of thick makeup. At the last minute, he decided to dress up as Robert Oppenheimer instead. The movie had thrust Oppenheimer from near-obscurity to mainstream prominence and for a costume, Craig only needed to purchase a hat.

Because they couldn’t use the stairs, they set out early. Unfortunately, the only way to see if anyone on a floor was giving out candy was to stop on that floor. That meant waiting for the elevator each and every time. There was no way around it. Waiting for the elevator sucked. Soon, the routine became more tedious than fun.

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“But Ashe, we’ll walk there together,” Dave implored his friend. “It’s an easy walk down Broome Street and up Sixth Ave. We’ll be in SoHo nearly the whole way there. And it’s the fiftieth anniversary of the parade. It’s gonna be the best one ever.”

“But I can’t just leave the restaurant, Dave,” Asher replied. “I already told Seth I couldn’t go. A lot of the people eating here are doing what you’re doing. They’re grabbing a quick bite and heading to the parade. And the party rooms are all full. So’s the tasting bar.”

“And your parents already hired enough staff to manage without you,” Dave countered. “You heard what your mother said. She was shocked you’d told Seth you couldn’t go. She couldn’t believe you didn’t tell her about it. She told you to go out and have fun!”

“And Seth’ll be there,” Josh added.

“Yeah, and he and his friends will be dressed in drag,” Asher replied.

“You didn’t tell me about that,” Josh admonished his boyfriend.

“So what?” Dave countered. “We can play the role of their dates, and everyone will think we’re in costume too.”

“That’s actually a clever idea,” Asher related. After a lengthy pause, he finally said, “Okay, I’m in.”

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After waiting more than an hour for campus security to call her back, the rabbi at the Hillel tried calling again. Asking to speak to the chief of security, she was kept on hold for what seemed like forever. Finally, someone came on the line. She never did get confirmation that it was the chief of security. In any case, they told her that the protesters had a right to protest. There was nothing they could do unless the protesters became violent.

Fearing for one’s life alone didn’t justify intervention. Being unable to leave the building wasn’t evidence of violence. They told her that in no uncertain terms.

In desperation, the rabbi called 911. She explained that the MIT Hillel was under siege. After a significant wait, the dispatcher came back on the line. She told the rabbi what she herself had been told. The police were not allowed on campus unless invited by the administration. The rabbi was told to call campus security.

“Well, if the police need to be invited, let’s get them invited,” the rabbi said aloud. She looked up the number for the university president on her smartphone and placed the call. Of course the office of the president was closed, but there was an emergency number to call. It led back to campus security.

Freck hated to pull rank, but it was obvious they needed to someone who took their safety seriously. Otherwise, they’d all end up spending the night. He dialed Congressman Moore’s direct cell phone number and got through right away.

“Congressman Moore, this is Francis SanAngelo,” Freck said.

“Freck, what can I do for you?” the congressman replied.

“Well, I hate to call you for something like this,” Freck began. “It shouldn’t take an act of Congress for us to leave a Halloween party. Kyle and I are with a group of Jewish students at the MIT Hillel. We’re trapped and getting nowhere with campus security or the police.

“We were hoping to get away from all of the anti-Israel protests for the evening. They just followed us here. There are hundreds of protesters outside the building. We’re surrounded. We’ve barricaded ourselves inside and it’s obviously not safe for us to leave.”

“And campus security won’t do anything about it?” Frank Moore asked.

“They’ve said that until and unless there’s any violence, the protesters have every right to protest.”

“The right to protest doesn’t include the right to take hostages, even if unintentional,” the congressman responded. “Not in Gaza and certainly not in Boston.

“Let me try making some phone calls. It may take me a while to get through to the right people, but we’ll get action on this, even if we have to call in the news media. I’ll keep you apprised.”

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“Trick-or-treat,” the twins called out as they held their bags out in front of them.

Standing behind them, Larry called out a belated, “Trick-or-treat,” as he held his bag forward as well.

Lisa was dressed in white on her left side and in black on her right. Even the right side of her face and her teeth were painted black. Completing the picture were black hair dye on the right side, a black contact lens in her right eye and a black right glove.

Debbie was dressed and made up the same way, except it was her right side that was white and her left side that was black. Standing side-by side and in the darkness, it almost appeared as if they were one girl that had been cut in two. The effect was surprisingly creepy.

Larry was dressed completely in black, with only the fluorescent red lipstick he’d applied and his white teeth being visible. He was truly the invisible man.

There were more than fifty individual brownstones on their block alone, between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue. Many of them had basement apartments. Some were sub-divided into multiple apartment units. Together with Larry’s block, there were well over a hundred houses and apartments that were giving out candy. It was no wonder Debbie and Lisa’s mom wanted Larry to act as their chaperone. More than that, it was a chance to forget about his sorrow for the evening. It was a chance to spend it with a couple of good friends.

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“I can’t believe we had to go through the subway to get to the parade!” Clarke exclaimed as they finally reached Sixth Avenue.

“You heard what the officer said,” Seth chimed in. “Before they used barricades, people drove in, parked on the street and walked to the parade. The resulting backup tied up traffic in all five boroughs. Now, the only way to see the parade is to take the subway.

“Besides which, they have much tighter security now.”

“But I live just three short blocks from the parade route!” Ahmad complained. “I don’t need to take the subway at all. I’m steamed that I had to pay a subway fare, just to enter the subway so I could exit on the other side.”

“Just be glad the officer let us through,” Clarke responded. “It was only because you could prove you live here. Otherwise, they’re only letting people exit from the Christopher Street-Sheridan Square subway station.”

“I guess we should be thankful for small favors,” Ahmad agreed.

“I’m just glad you talked me outta wearing high heels,” Clarke added.

“Been there, done that,” Seth chimed in.

“Can you imagine what it woulda been like to walk all this way in high heels?” Ahmad asked. “Imagine going up and down the subway steps. Buying cheap sneakers and painting them with glitter was a brilliant idea, Seth.”

“I’m happy to take credit where credit’s due,” Seth joked with his friends.

“There are already way too many people,” Clarke complained. “We’ll never see anything of the parade from here.”

“It’s supposedly less crowded at the beginning of the route,” Seth pointed out. “Let’s try walking toward Canal Street.”

The boys headed south on Sixth Avenue and indeed, things thinned out considerably once they crossed Houston. However, as they did so, Seth spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Making a beeline for him, he called out, “Asher, you made it!” Then seeing his friends, he added, “Thanks for bringing my husband and your fiancé, Dave.”

“You planned this?” Ahmad asked.

“Just a short while ago,” Seth explained. “I’ve been trying to get Asher to come, and Josh and Dave too. It took a while, but Dave finally got through to both of the others.”

Squinting at first, Josh finally recognized his friend and said, “Good God, Seth, at first I didn’t recognize you in all that makeup. And is that you, Clarke?”

“I always did look good in red,” Clarke answered, referring to the color of his dress.

“Man, I can’t believe you guys dressed in drag,” Josh responded.

“By the way, this is Ahmad. He’s a classmate of ours and a friend,” Seth said as he introduced the third member of the group. What followed was a moment of awkward silence. Ahmad was clearly a Muslim and he suspected Josh was the boy who’d lost his whole family on October 7.

Finally, Ahmad broke the ice by saying, “Josh, Seth told me about what happened to your family. I know there’s nothing I can say to lessen the pain. I grew up in California but spent high school in Nablus. I have family in Gaza, and I wonder if I’ll ever see them alive again. Believe me when I say that almost no one wanted this. Nothing could excuse what Hamas did. You have my sincerest condolences.”

“Thanks,” Josh replied. It was the best he could do.

“Oh, by the way, we’re your dates for the evening,” Dave added.

“Our dates? That’s a pretty cool idea. But you could’ve at least dressed in formal wear,” Seth pointed out.

“At least we’re here,” Asher countered as he took his husband’s arm. Likewise, Josh paired up with Clarke, leaving Dave to pair up with Ahmad.

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Simon programmed his laptop to say ‘Trick-or-treat’ in a flat, mechanical voice. It was similar to the sound of the communication device Hawking himself had used. A lot of people were taken aback by the wheelchair, let alone by the sound of the computer-generated voice. Craig jumped in and introduced Simon as his boyfriend. He’d grown up in the co-op. He knew many of the long-term residents well. Most of them seemed genuinely pleased to meet Simon.

Inevitably, people asked if the wheelchair was real or just a prop. That led to explanations of Simon’s hereditary spastic paraparesis. Often, a more in-depth discussion Simon’s disability ensued. Of course everyone asked how the boys met.

There were five buildings in Castle Village. The boys had hoped to visit all of them. Thanks to the time spent with each resident, they never made it out of Craig’s own building. The haul of candy wasn’t particularly large, but they had a surprisingly enjoyable evening. After removing all of the makeup and undressing down to their underwear, they enjoyed some of the candy before making love once more and going to sleep.

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Freck and Kyle were beside themselves. More than an hour had passed since they contacted Congressman Moore. They were still surrounded and trapped inside the MIT campus Hillel. The partygoers attempted to make the best of a bad situation. The constant chants and taunts from outside the building made it hard to do much of anything. The music helped to drown it all out, but they could only play the music so loud.

Kyle motioned for Freck to follow him into the chapel, where they held their services. The noise from outside wasn’t as bad there. The music was damped enough that they could hear each other talk. “I don’t know how we can stay here,” Kyle began.

“We can’t exactly leave until someone clears the protesters out from around the building,” Freck countered.

“I don’t mean tonight,” Kyle clarified. “I mean I don’t know how we can continue to attend MIT.”

“You’re in your final year, Kyle,” Freck pointed out. “Surely the situation in Gaza will have been resolved before graduation. The ground assault has only just begun. The IDF will clear the streets and clear out the tunnels. They’ll rescue the hostages and set up a new government in Gaza.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Sheepishly, Freck admitted, “No. The street fighting will be brutal. The bodies will pile up. Netanyahu has shown he’s willing to reduce entire blocks to rubble, no matter how many children are killed in the process. It could well turn into a massacre.

“And the tunnels are a whole other matter. Fighting inside the tunnels would be an act of suicide. They’ll never find the hostages that way. No, they’ll have to fight them from house to house, expose the tunnel entrances and clear the tunnels from above.”

“The entrances will be in the worst possible places,” Kyle pointed out. “Anyplace where they can use civilians as human shields. They’ll be in hospitals, schools and mosques. The IDF can’t bomb hospitals, can they?”

“I should hope not. That would be a violation of International Law,” Freck responded. “It would be a war crime.”

“So’s building settlements in occupied lands,” Kyle responded.

After a brief pause, Freck continued. “It’s ironic, doncha think? The protesters are kids whose parents are paying a $100k a year to send them to MIT, and they’re accusing us of privilege? The Jews have always been the scapegoat of choice. Gays too.”

“So we’re doubly privileged,” Kyle quipped. “Seriously, though, the protesters are taunting us, just ’cause we’re Jewish. They assume we support what Israel’s doing in Gaza, based on our religion and nothing more. That’s antisemitism, pure and simple.”

“How so?” Freck asked.

“They’re making assumptions about what we believe based on our religion – which is not to say that most of us don’t support Israel. You can support Israel without supporting the war in Gaza.

“Hell, even in Israel, Netanyahu’s Likud party got less than a third of the seats in the Knesset,” Kyle continued. “Less than a month ago, Israelis were filling the streets in protest of his attempt to undermine the courts.”

“Let’s not forget that he made a deal with the devil, bringing fringe parties into the government,” Freck agreed. “Parties that support expanding settlements, annexing the West Bank and denying Palestinians their basic human rights.”

“Netanyahu is the devil,” Kyle chimed in. “He’s thrown all of world Jewry under the bus, just to save his own skin.”

“A lot of our friends here with us tonight wouldn’t see it that way.” Freck countered. Sighing, he continued, “The protesters conveniently forget the Hamas attack that started it all. Why shouldn’t we be able to support Israel’s right defend itself?”

After a pause, Kyle went on. “Short of a negotiated settlement, things are gonna get worse. Way worse. And so will the protests. I’m just worried that it won’t be safe to attend classes here.”

“If that becomes the case, it won’t be safe to attend classes anywhere,” Freck noted. “Perhaps they’ll offer classes online again.”

“But what about graduate school?” Kyle asked.

“Let’s not plan on anything until we see what happens in Israel over the next several months. You should still apply, though, regardless of what happens with the protests.”

Just then, Freck’s phone rang. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw that it was Congressman Moore.

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As the last of the participants in the fiftieth Village Halloween Parade passed by, the crowd began to break up.

“What did you think?” Seth asked Ahmad.

“That was wicked,” he replied. “I can’t believe how elaborate some of the costumes were,” he added.

“To me, the most amazing thing is that the parade is entirely made up of volunteers,” Asher interjected. “It’s not planned. Anyone and everyone who wants to participate can do so. They just hafta follow the law and the rules, which are meant to ensure decency.”

“Damn, and I was planning to bring a kiddie pool on wheels next year, and to go as a skinny-dipper,” Clarke joked.

“The hell you were,” Dave responded and Clarke merely grinned.

“I can’t wait to get out of this outfit,” Clarke exclaimed.

“Me neither,” Seth agreed.”

“I think we’ll all want to shower,” Ahmad replied. “Those of us who dressed in drag, anyway. Let’s head to my place, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“So aren’t you glad you guys came?” Seth asked as the group headed back to Ahmad’s apartment.

“Yeah, I am,” Asher admitted. “It’s been a long time since I last went to the parade. I’d forgotten how over-the-top it was.”

“I’m glad I came,” Dave agreed, “but the entire time, all I could think of was how much Robin would have enjoyed being there.”

Arriving at his apartment, Ahmad started to grind the beans for a pot of coffee.

“Yeah, she would’ve,” Josh chimed in, “and I can’t help but think of how much my sister Stacey would’ve loved to have marched in the parade.” Then getting tears in his eyes, he added, “With her punk clothes and her dyed hair, she wouldn’t have even needed a costume. Now, she’ll never ever even see the parade.”

As his tears turned into outright sobs, Dave pulled his fiancé into a tight hug and let him cry on his shoulder.

“If someone wants to take a shower, there are fresh towels in the linen closet, next to the bathroom,” Ahmad suggested.

Standing up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table, Clarke said, “I guess I’ll go first.”

“You gonna be okay?” Seth asked as Josh and Dave’s tears started to subside, and they pulled apart.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay,” Josh replied. “You know, this is the first time since I found out my family was dead, that I’ve actually cried. I thought there was something wrong with me since I couldn’t cry. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel anything, but it was just so overwhelming. I was kinda numb to it all.”

Clarke walked into the living room and said, “Shower’s free.” Wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist and noticing Josh and Dave still in tears, he added in barely a whisper, “I’ll go get dressed.” He headed back and into Ahmad’s bedroom, where he’d left his clothes.

After an awkward pause, Ahmad said, “I guess I’ll go shower next.” With the coffee brewing, he headed to the bathroom.

“I’ve read stories about how people with enormous injuries feel no pain,” Seth related. “I kinda think what you’ve been going through is the same thing, only it’s with mental pain rather than physical pain. I guess the human brain has a way of blocking overwhelming pain so that you can still do what you need to do to survive. You feel numb, but it’s enough for you to go on.

“Now that the funeral is in the past, and Israel is going after Hamas, you can take the time to grieve while you wait for Robin’s return. Now, finally, you can cry.”

The seriousness of the moment was broken when Ahmad entered the living room and announced, “Okay Seth. Your turn.” Unlike Clarke, who’d wrapped a towel around his waist, Ahmad was using the towel to dry his hair, leaving him otherwise exposed.

When he noticed everyone seemed to be frozen, he said, “What, you guys never saw a naked dude before? Look, we’re all guys and were all gay, so what’s the point in hiding it?”

Finally, Seth said, “Yeah, I guess I’ll shower,” and then he started walking to the bathroom.

Ahmad headed to his bedroom to get dressed. Dave followed him and asked, “Mind if we talk?”

“Unlike in Israel, it’s a free country,” Ahmad replied.

“That’s kinda what I want to talk about,” Dave continued. At first, Ahmad didn’t start dressing, waiting to hear what Dave had to say. “There was a lot you said to my boyfriend when we met. I’m not sure you know, but Josh isn’t just my boyfriend. He’s my fiancé.”

“Congratulations,” Ahmad responded, getting out a pair of boxer briefs and putting them on.

“His sister, Robin, who’s being held by Hamas – she was my best friend before Josh and I even met. Actually, we met at her thirteenth birthday party.”

“What are you getting at, Dave?” Ahmad asked, pulling on a t-shirt.

“Well, you’re Seth’s friend, and Seth’s one of our best friends. I’d like to think that we can become friends too, but we’re Jewish and you’re Palestinian. I’m not gonna make excuses for what Israel’s doing in Gaza, but I’m not gonna distance myself from Zionism either. The partition and what you call the nakba happened more than 70 years ago. A half-century before either of us was born.

“I can live with support for a Palestinian state. I can agree with dismantling the settlements and returning to pre-1967 borders. Most Israelis, it seems, cannot. What I can’t condone is the end of Israel. Without Israel, the Jews have no homeland.

“The Israelis and the Palestinians are both refugees and they’re gonna somehow hafta find a way to live together without killing each other. They both deserve to be free. I expect we have vastly different ideas about how to achieve that, but if we’re gonna be friends, we need to respect each other’s viewpoints.

“The reason I’m bringing this up is that Josh is very fragile right now. I think you know that. I can’t afford to let him be hurt, even by someone who means well.”

“You sure don’t mince words,” Ahmad responded as he finally resumed getting dressed. “You know, when I was growing up in Southern California, my best friend was Jewish. Neither one of us was raised with religion. We were two all-American boys.

“Spending my teenage years in Nablus changed me. I learned about my religion. More importantly, I saw how Israel was oppressing the Palestinians. I saw Israeli justice in action, such as it is.

“Sometimes it’s hard to separate the actions of Israel from the Jews, even though I know American Jews are much more like you. If you and Josh can be patient with me, perhaps we can indeed be friends. Good friends.”

Dave extended his hand and Ahmad shook it warmly.

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“Looks like the media have arrived,” the rabbi called out as she looked out the window.

“It’s about f’in time,” Freck exclaimed.

“You did the best you could,” Kyle reassured his boyfriend.

Sighing, Freck added, “At least Seth’s dad had the clout to get the ball rolling. I still can’t believe the friggin’ president of MIT wouldn’t budge.”

“When live videos of the siege appear on network and cable news, she’ll hafta act,” one of the other students chimed in.

“Especially when major donors stop donating,” the rabbi added.

“I’m glad Congressman Moore’s vowing to hold hearings,” Kyle commented.

“The problem with that is it’ll turn into a circus,” Freck countered. “Progressive Democrats will cry foul. They’ll say Republicans are trying to interfere with academic freedom.”

“They are!” Kyle interrupted.

“MAGA Republicans will claim that the protests are blatantly antisemitic,” Freck continued, “but at the same time, they’ll pander to white supremacists. Jews will not replace us meets Am Yisrael Chai.”

“At the moment, I’m more afraid of the leftists outside than of the MAGA Republicans,” another student interjected.

“Gentlemen, it looks like Campus Security is finally dispersing the protesters,” the rabbi interrupted.

Laughing, another student said, “Maybe now we can get a few hours sleep before morning classes.”

“If we can even get to our classes,” Kyle said dejectedly.

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Wednesday, November 22, 2023
Three weeks later

This would be Ahmad’s third Thanksgiving since starting his studies at Columbia University. The first year, he and his brother attempted to spend the holiday with their uncle’s family in the San Francisco Bay Area. It was the first travel season after the pandemic. The airlines weren’t prepared for it.

Their flight was one of hundreds that were canceled just hours before they were supposed to leave. They spent an eternity attempting to log into the airline’s website. They waited hours on hold on the phone.

Finally, they managed to rebook their flight into San Jose instead of San Francisco, via Chicago and Dallas. They missed their second connection and spent the holiday in the Dallas-Fort Worth airport. They arrived at their uncle’s place late on Friday evening. That left them just enough time to feast on leftovers prior to boarding their return flight.

The second year, they decided to prepare their own Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey came out dry and leathery. The stuffing had the consistency of concrete. The sweet potatoes might have been okay, but having failed to pierce the skin, the brothers ended up cleaning them off the inside of their oven.

Ahmed’s brother insisted that 2023 would be different. Still, there was no getting around the fact that it was the worst possible time to travel cross country. Therefore, Ahmed jumped at the chance to spend the holiday in Vermont with his two best friends from Nablus. It would be the first time the three of them had gotten together since they left for college in the States.

Ahsan was in his first year of mechanical engineering at Duke University. Hussein was enrolled in a biology premedical curriculum at the University of Pennsylvania, where he was in his second year. Ahmad, now nineteen, was in his third year in the pre-law program at Columbia.

Ahsan’s cousin and his cousin’s husband were both full-time physician faculty at the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center, in Hanover, New Hampshire. They lived with their three children on the other side of the Connecticut River, on the outskirts of Norwich, Vermont.

The easiest way to get from New York to Norwich was to take the Dartmouth Coach. It was an express bus that left once daily from Grand Central Terminal and headed directly to Hopkins Center, on the campus of Dartmouth College. Since New York was just over an hour’s train ride from Philadelphia, Ahmad and Hussein made plans to travel together.

In retrospect, Hussein should’ve taken the last train on Tuesday night and stayed overnight with Ahmad. However, with a seat reservation in hand, he saw no reason to take an earlier train. Hence he arose very early on Wednesday morning, packed everything he’d need into his backpack and made the short trek on foot to the 30^th Street Station in downtown Philadelphia.

He’d never traveled before on Amtrak, let alone during Thanksgiving. He didn’t realize just how packed the station would be. He didn’t anticipate the maze he’d have to negotiate just to find his train. Once he found the track, the Acela Express had already pulled into the station. The platform was packed with people, and with so many attempting to board, pandemonium ensued.

Hussein made the mistake of trying to find the car where his seat was located. By the time he found it, the train was already pulling out of the station. He wasn’t the only one who was left standing on the platform. Outraged, he joined a group of angry passengers to approach a conductor.

The conductor was exceedingly patient as he explained that the trains were on a strict schedule. As with the airlines, the trains were often oversold. Worse still, a person could board without a ticket and purchase one onboard. The bottom line was that they’d all been bumped. Unlike the airlines, Amtrak didn’t offer free travel vouchers.

The conductor suggested they immediately get in line for the Northeast Regional train, which was first come-first served. It was a local train that made additional stops along the way, but the travel time to New York was only fifteen minutes longer than on the Acela Express. The advantage was that there were no seat reservations. Thus the odds were even for getting a seat, or at least for getting onboard.

A long line had already formed when Hussein arrived. He assumed he’d probably have to wait for the second or third train. While waiting in line, he called Ahmad and explained what had happened. He was going to miss the bus and needed to find another way to get to Vermont.

Both boys urgently explored all other options – even flying to Boston, but he’d have to fly standby. Simply taking the Northeast Regional train all the way to Boston seemed to be a better bet, slow though it might be. Still, he’d need to travel from there to Hanover by bus as a standby passenger. More than likely, he’d end up stuck by himself in Boston with no place to stay for the holiday.

Then Ahmad had the idea of renting a car. In most places, the minimum age to rent was 25. In some states, one could rent a car at a younger age for a price. In New York and Michigan, state laws set the minimum age at eighteen. There was a hefty surcharge, but could he even get a reservation?

Ahmad tried all of the major travel and rental agency websites, but everything was booked. Undeterred, he tried calling the local agencies directly. He hit pay dirt with Alamo Car Rental at Astor Place. It was less than a mile from his apartment. He quickly booked the reservation and texted Hussein that the two of them would be driving to Vermont.

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Thankfully, life for the Jewish students at MIT settled down a bit in the weeks after Halloween. With all of the adverse media coverage, the university president finally took action. She limited the protests to specific areas of the campus.

Security officers were stationed in key locations to ensure unimpeded access to all buildings. The protesters still heckled anyone they thought was Jewish, but so far, nothing more.

Kyle and Freck had a much easier time catching their train out of Boston. They too took the Acela Express, but in the southbound direction. Because the train originated in Boston, there was a lot more time to board. From past experience, they knew things would be chaotic. Therefore, they had planned accordingly.

Because of the shear volume of passengers traveling on the holiday, conductors couldn’t always check that only ticketed passengers boarded the train. Most passengers readily gave up their seats when confronted by those who had a reservation. However, there were always some who refused. Rather than contend with any of that, Kyle and Freck purchased first class tickets. They cost considerably more, but Freck could afford it.

Not only were the seats much nicer in first class, but a decent meal was included. Not many passengers without seat reservations dared to board a first class car. Most of those that did, did so without realizing it. If they were lucky, the conductor would only make them move to another car.

The train pulled out of South Station, right on time. The boys settled in for the four-hour trip to New York.

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Wednesday was just another school day – the last before the long holiday weekend at the Bronx High School of Science. Simon and Craig each got ready for school that morning in their own homes. Although Simon lived much closer to the school, he required much more time to get ready, owing to his disability.

At least now that he had an implanted baclofen pump, his spasticity was manageable. The Steadicam Craig gave him last year for Christmas made a big difference, allowing him to feed himself, to brush his own teeth and to groom himself without any help. However, he still relied on his parents for assistance with getting in and out of the shower, with getting dressed, and with getting in and out of his wheelchair.

Craig also had a disability, but his was much less obvious. With a below-knee amputation from childhood cancer, he relied on the use of a prosthetic leg to get around. He needed no assistance with donning and doffing it and could easily manage his own personal hygiene. It was a good thing too, as his mother was a busy cardiologist at New York Presbyterian Hospital. She’d usually left for work before he got up in the morning and didn’t return home until late in the evening.

Breakfast and lunch at school were free, but he was way too hungry to wait until he got there, so he grabbed a peanut butter and dark chocolate breakfast bar to eat in the elevator, on his way down. He’d eat a more substantial breakfast and more importantly, drink coffee with his boyfriend, in the cafeteria at school. His walk to the bus stop was a long one so he locked up and headed out.

In the meantime, Simon finished getting dressed with a little help from his mom. He transferred into his motorized wheelchair and stowed his books in a bag affixed to the back of his wheelchair. Kissing his mom goodbye, he headed out the door and down the ramp on the side of his house.

Driving his wheelchair around the block to the bus stop, he waited for the bus to arrive. He always hoped that he’d find his boyfriend on the bus, but the buses came so frequently that the likelihood of that happening was small. Perhaps not even once a week, the stars would align and they’d be on the same bus, but not today. Of course they always took the same bus home at the end of the day.

Simon knew all the bus drivers who regularly drove the route and so he said, “Morning, Clay. How’s it going today?”

“Nothing to complain about, Simon,” the driver responded as he extended the ramp that allowed Simon to wheel himself onboard. “Got any exciting plans for the holiday?”

“Me, my parents and my boyfriend are invited to a Thanksgiving party at the Ragin’ Cajun Café,” Simon answered as Clay fastened his wheelchair down.

He continued, “It’s on the Lower East Side. It’s one of the top restaurants in New York. The chef is close friends with a close friend of ours, who’s one of the hostages in Gaza. He knew a lot of us weren’t in the mood to celebrate the holiday, so he arranged for all of us to get together while he feeds us.”

“Wait a minute – you’re talking about Robin Arens, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but how’d you know?”

“I saw her brother being interviewed on TV,” the driver answered. “Everyone else in her family was killed. Her boyfriend barely made it out alive. That’s a hell of a thing to be goin’ through. It’s nice of the chef to do that for all of you. Is he that black-Asian kid?”

“Yeah, Asher Whitmore, the Cajun-Asian teenage chef. You got any plans, Clay?”

“It’s the wife’s turn with the kids, so I’ll be drivin’ this bus. Might as well get the overtime, and I won’t be thinkin’ so much about missin’ the kids. Besides, someone’s gotta do it.”

“That’s a shame, but I take it you’ll have them for Christmas?”

“Yeah, and I’m really lookin’ forward to that.” After a pause, he said, “Looks like a dozen riders waiting at the next stop. Gotta concentrate on drivin’ this bus. Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

<> <> <>

Hussein kept Ahmad apprised of his progress. In the meantime, Ahmad packed up everything he’d need for the weekend, locked up the apartment and set out on foot for Astor Place. It had rained heavily overnight but fortunately had stopped. It was overcast, cold and damp, but at least he wasn’t caught in one of the downpours than had passed through in the early morning hours.

It only took a bit over fifteen minutes for Ahmad to reach the parking garage where Alamo Car Rental was located. It dawned on him as he approached the rental counter that he’d need to show a driver’s license. He had an international driver’s license issued by the Palestinian Authority. He hoped that Alamo would accept it. After waiting his turn, Ahmad stepped forward and said, “I called about a reservation for a car under the name of Ahmad Assad.”

Typing away on her keyboard, the rental agent said, “It looks like the gentleman just ahead of you got the last compact car we have available.” Ahmad was about to protest when she continued, “Let me see what else we have. We’ll give you an upgrade at no extra charge.” Tapping away some more, she said, “Hmm, it looks like we’re even out full-size cars…”

Then getting a smile on her face, she said, “I have a Porsche 911 if you don’t mind driving a two-seater.”

Laughing, Ahmad replied, “I’m sure it’s fun to drive, but my friend and I are driving all the way to Vermont. Don’t you have anything else?”

“Oh! I have a Ford Edge. It was just returned this morning. It’s still being cleaned, but I can have it ready in fifteen minutes if you can wait.”

“That sounds fine,” Ahmad replied, “but what’s a Ford Edge?”

“It’s a standard SUV,” she explained. “It’s actually one of our more popular rentals. I’m sure you’ll like it,” she added as she looked up into his eyes and smiled.

“That’s great!” Ahmad replied.

“I just need your license and a credit card,” she requested. Ahmad handed them to her. She took both and scanned them into her system before handing them back to him. “It’s such a shame, what’s happening in Gaza.”

Sighing, Ahmad commented, “I have relatives in Gaza City who had to flee to the south. Their apartment building was destroyed. Thank God they weren’t home at the time. Most of my family lives in the West Bank. There, settler violence is on the rise.”

“That sounds awful,” the agent responded. “We have customers on both sides of the conflict. So much needless suffering…” Hesitating for a moment, the agent asked, “I think you mentioned something about a friend going with you? Will they be driving as well?”

“Yes, I certainly hope so,” Ahmad replied. “I’d rather not have to drive the whole way myself.”

“Are they here with you now?”

“No, I’m picking Hussein up at Penn Station.”

“There’s a ten-dollar charge per day for the extra driver, unless you’re married?” she asked with a smile.

At first he was taken aback, thinking she could tell he was gay. Then he realized he was still close to The Village. Gay customers were not uncommon there. He shook his head ‘no’.

“You’ll need to bring him back here so we can scan in his license. We need to verify that the picture on the license matches the face of the person carrying it.”

“I guess we can do that,” Ahmad replied.

There were some other details to handle, not the least of which was insurance. Since neither Ahmad nor Hussein had their own automobile insurance, there was no choice but to purchase the optional plans offered by Alamo. Ahmad was shocked that together, they cost more than the rental itself!

Signing all the paperwork, Ahmad finished by saying, “I can’t believe this is costing us well over a grand for the weekend.” The boys’ failure to account for holiday delays had been a costly one, and the holiday weekend was just getting started.

<>

Ahmad had driven enough in Nablus to know the mechanics of driving. He understand the basic rules of the road. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for what it was like to drive in Manhattan. He knew the streets in Lower and Midtown Manhattan as well as anyone, but walking and driving were two completely different things.

Pairing his phone with the car, he brought up the Maps app on his phone. Using voice commands, he laid out a route to Penn Station. It was simple enough – west on Houston, north on Sixth Ave, west on 31^st Street – but just driving up the narrow exit ramp from the parking garage was a challenge. At least the car had an automatic transmission. He’d learned on stick shifts.

As he approached the exit onto the street, he barely missed hitting a pedestrian. How the hell was he supposed to yield the right of way when he couldn’t even see them? It was a good thing he was driving so slowly. The car had excellent visibility, but being so high up off the ground took getting used to.

Turning onto Houston, the traffic was crazy, but Sixth Avenue was something else. Taxis suddenly dashed across multiple lanes of traffic to pick up fares. Bicycles, e-bikes and scooters wove in and out of traffic, sometimes going the wrong way. The buses treated him as a rodent to be pushed out of the way.

Pedestrians were numerous, stepping out into the street without even looking up from their smartphones and crossing, whether or not they had the light. Ahmed found himself having to be far more vigilant than he’d ever needed to be back home. At least there weren’t any goats or chickens on the roadway!

The traffic moved smoothly so it took less than fifteen minutes to get to Penn Station. The circular structure of Madison Square Garden was unmistakable. The above-ground portion of Penn Station had been raised in the 1960s to make way for the Garden and in the process, a great marvel of neoclassic architecture had been destroyed.

More recently, with train travel making a comeback and with historic preservation a priority, the James A. Farley Post Office Building, located across Eighth Avenue from the Garden, was repurposed to become a modern annex to Penn Station. Named after New York’s famed senator and elder statesman, Moynihan Hall was where Hussein’s train would arrive.

Ahmad was still a bit early and quickly discovered there was no place to park on the street. There wasn’t even a place to stand while waiting for his friend. The last thing he wanted to do was to park in a garage and trust it to a valet, especially with exorbitant rates that were priced by the half hour.

Finally, he found an empty spot on 34^th Street that was marked reserved for commercial vehicle standing only. He’d feign innocence if a police officer happened by, or simply move if a commercial vehicle needed the space.

While he waited, Hussein texted him to let him know his train was approaching Secaucus and would soon enter the tunnel to New York. He wasn’t sure if he’d have a signal in the tunnel. Rather than text him back, Ahmad called his friend using the car’s built-in Bluetooth, so that he could talk to Hussein, if necessary, while driving.

“Hey,” Ahmad began. “When you exit the train, head upstairs and look for the signs for 31^st Street. There are several traffic lights between us, so it might take me a few. Just wait out front and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

<>

Just getting out of the city at the start of a long holiday weekend was proving to be difficult with backups everywhere. Ahmad’s phone kept rerouting them around traffic bottlenecks, only for them to get stuck in another one. Then the low fuel light came on and a warning sound beeped.

“What the fuck?” Ahmad exclaimed. “I can’t believe we used up a full tank already.”

“Didn’t you say the car was just turned in this morning?” Hussein pointed out. “Maybe they didn’t have a chance to fill the tank Maybe they forgot.”

“It should be checked off on the rental agreement,” Ahmad noted.

Hussein opened the glove box and pulled out the rental agreement. “They marked the gas gauge as showing only an eighth of tank. There’s an asterisk with a footnote. It says the renter agrees to return the vehicle with at least the same reading on the fuel gauge. I guess they don’t automatically fill the tank.”

“Maybe because there’s only one or two gas stations in all of Manhattan, so it’s up to us to fill the tank.”

Ahmad asked his phone pull up the closest gas stations on their current route, sorted by price and distance. “Gees, gas has gotten expensive! There’s a BP station at the next exit, and it’s close to $4 a gallon!”

“Welcome to the real world,” Hussein responded. “While we’re at it, let’s take a piss break and maybe get some snacks. I’m starved!”

Ahmad followed the directions on the nav screen and then joined a long line of cars waiting for an empty pump. “Why don’t you go piss and grab something to eat,” he suggested to his friend.

Hussein exited the car and returned a short while later, carrying a small bag. During that time, the line had only moved up two cars.“I’ve seen cleaner facilities in Nablus,” he commented, “and it’s pretty slim pickings for snacks.”

Since there were still two cars ahead of them, Ahmad suggested, “You okay with gassing up while I go inside?”

“Sure thing, but how do I operate the pump?”

“You’ll need to insert your credit card, but some pumps let you pay with your phone. Just follow the instructions on the screen. You pumped gas before in Nablus, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but in Nablus, you pumped the gas first and then paid the guy inside, in cash.”

“Otherwise, it’s no different here. Just be sure to use regular. This car doesn’t need premium and we don’t need to pay more for it. The fuel door’s on this side of the car. I checked when I picked it up. There’s no inside release. You just push the fuel door to open it. You think you can handle that?”

“Sure thing, Ahmad,” Hussein assured his friend.

Ahmad went inside while Hussein slipped behind the wheel. Just as Hussein had said, the men’s room looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the morning, if then. The snack items were limited to cookies, chips and candy, all at an inflated price. Grabbing a pack of Oreos and a bottle of Lipton ice tea, Ahmad paid and returned to find Hussein in the midst of pumping gas.

“You were right,” Hussein exclaimed with a grin. “This is easy. I like the car, by the way. It’s so much nicer than what I drove in Nablus. You mind if I drive for a while?”

“Not at all,” Ahmad replied.

Within a few minutes, they were on their way, heading up Interstate 95. Ahmad opened his ice tea and took a gulp, then set it into one of the cup holders. He opened his package of Oreos and began to munch on them.

In the meantime, Hussein had a bottle of coke in the other cup holder and an open bag of Doritos in his lap. “Empty calories,” he stated flatly. “We need to find something decent on the way.”

“I’d like to get a bit further out of New York,” Ahmad suggested. “It looks like the traffic thins out quite a bit once we get to Connecticut. I’ll ask my phone to find something another hour or so into our route. Probably won’t be halal, though.”

“Like you can get decent halal food in America,” Hussein countered. “I’ve given up on finding it. I’ve even eaten pork. It’s pretty hard not to when you go out with your friends for pizza, and everyone else wants pepperoni.”

“There’s plenty of halal food in New York,” Ahmad replied. “Most of the street vendors are halal. When we go out, it’s a given that I don’t eat pork. I’ll eat beef, chicken or lamb that’s not halal, but mostly I stick to vegetarian food. My friends are cool with that.”

“Must be nice,” Hussein exclaimed.

Using his phone’s voice command, Ahmad searched specifically for halal fast food restaurants and diners along their route. There were five suitable candidates. The boys agreed on a Mediterranean diner and added it to their route in the navigation app.

<>

Ahmad and Hussein barely arrived in Norwich in time for dinner with the family. What should have been a 4½-hour trip had taken over seven hours, thanks to stops and delays along the route.

Upon their arrival, the pair of young men were met by Ahsan, who’d flown in the night before. There were hugs all around, and then Ahsan introduced his friends to his cousins and their three children. At the dinner table, Ahmad and Hussein were grilled about their lives and their studies until their eyelids were barely open.

Exhausted, they went to bed early. Tomorrow would be a big day.

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Thursday, November 23, 2023
Thanksgiving Day

It was a crisp autumn day in Vermont, and Ahmad was enjoying a walk with his two best friends from high school, Ahsan and Hussein. The morning had been overcast, but for a brief moment, the cloud cover had cleared and the sun was out. Unfortunately, the clouds were expected to return and the afternoon was predicted to be mostly cloudy if not overcast.

It was a crisp 46 degrees with little wind, which was actually above average for the time of year, yet Ahsan had his arms wrapped tightly around his torso and was shivering. The three boys had been kicked out of the house so that Ahsan’s cousins could put the finishing touches on the Thanksgiving feast.

“I can’t believe it’s so cold up here, and it’s not even winter yet,” Ahsan exclaimed as the three of them walked along the road leading into town.

“But you’ve been here before,” Hussein stated more than asked.

“I visited all summer, every summer,” Ahsan replied, “with the emphasis on summer.”

“It doesn’t get this cold in North Carolina?” Ahmad asked.

“Oh it does, but not during the day,” Ahsan answered. “Not this time of year. I didn’t even think to bring my cold weather clothes. This hoodie is the only thing I have with me.”

“I’d offer you my jacket, but then I’d be the one who’s freezing,” Ahmad chimed in. “It gets plenty cold in New York during the winter, so I came well prepared.”

“It feels strange to be wearing a kaffiyeh,” Hussein exclaimed. “I haven’t worn one since leaving Palestine.”

“Me neither,” Ahmad noted, “but lot of kids are wearing them at Columbia, and not just the Palestinians. There are even Jewish kids wearing Kaffiyehs.”

“Really? In Israel, a Jewish kid wearing a kaffiyeh would be shot,” Hussein exclaimed.

“American kids are different,” Ahsan said. “It’s important for us to wear them. We need to be strong and show our solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Gaza.”

“You know, I haven’t spoken Arabic since leaving Nablus,” Hussein said, slipping effortlessly into his native language.

“Perhaps we should all speak in Arabic for the rest of the weekend,” Ahsan suggested. “It would be good practice for Ahmad, and it would help the three of us to remember who we are.”

Although Ahmad had been raised speaking only English, he slipped easily into Arabic and carried on an enjoyable conversation with his best friends. The three of them had widely differing views of the Israel-Hamas war and on the protests that had erupted on college campuses all over the US. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn’t notice the man coming out of his house, carrying a handgun at his side.