Elana Sztokman
2 בנוב׳ 2022
I'm trying to understand the rise of the religious right in Israel. It takes me back to my roots.
When people ask me where I’m from originally and I say, “Brooklyn”, I usually have to follow up with, “Not THAT Brooklyn.” Not the hipster Park Slope where one may bump into Matt Damon or Michelle Williams over pumpkin spice lattes and rainbow pride bagels. No, no. I’m from Orthodox Brooklyn. Where the streets are lined with shops featuring human-hair wig stylists, kosher phones, and tznius clothes. Where flyers advertise Orthodox candidates for local elections, shiurim about hilkhos Shabbos, and diets and gyms that are targeted for women only. THAT Brooklyn. A long beard and black hat meant only one thing, and real estate prices rose in proximity to the nearest shul. The other Brooklyn, the one that so many people people pine for today, didn’t exist when I was growing up in Flatbush in the 70s and 80s. Who would have dreamed that our borough would one day become this, you know, cool….
I moved to Israel in 1993, so it’s been a while. But some days, I feel like the Brooklyn of my youth has followed me to Israel. Today is one of those days.
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There are certain things I sometimes miss about Flatbush.
Sundays at the flea market shopping for $1 earrings.
School plays.
Riding my bicycle down Ocean Parkway — a flat street with no massive Middle Eastern hills — to the boardwalk on Coney Island.
Coney Island. The roller coaster. The Ferris wheel. When my spouse and I got engaged a million years ago.
The pizza….. Oh, I know, there is some great pizza in Israel. But there is a certain smell…. There is a pizza place in the flea market in Jaffa that smells like the pizza places of Avenue J. (I know, I know, it’s probably all the oil.) It doesn’t matter. Every time I pass by, I think for a minute that I’m back in Brooklyn.
So, yeah, Brooklyn. In some ways, it’s deep in my soul.
And then there are things I don’t miss. Things I walked away from, actively discarded and don’t want back in my life. I have written about parts of that journey in various forums over the years.
And yet…… there are times when I am reminded of where I come from. Not in the aroma of pizza. But in the way that I wish I could keep in the past.
Like today. Today, I have been flown back to Flatbush of the 1970s and 80s. The Orthodox Brooklyn of my youth is weighing on me like an oil drill, pressing into my brain, digging deep into my core trying to pull out things that I wish would stay buried deep.