A Different Kind Of Saturday in the Borough Park, Brooklyn

Saturday.

Few white clouds grace the blue sky and bright yellow sun caresses the cheeks. But the air no longer has the careless warmth of summer. Winter begins to fight for what righteously will be hers in a  couple of months and my fingertips can already feel the icy touch.

I get off the subway in the middle of a new untouchable world. My camera is ready, I see a great subject and bring the viewer to my eye. All I see is darkness. I start laughing inside thinking that I forgot to remove the lens cap, again. I bring my camera down and I see a big round hat floating in front of me and blocking the view. The man says something I don’t understand, but his face and tone don’t need translation. I quickly turn and head in a different direction.

That was refreshing. I definitely need to change my tactic. I no longer point my camera where it doesn’t belong. I am using the maximum zoom. I make no eye contact with my subject right before or after I take a photograph. I find myself extremely interested in architecture of the neighborhood, pretending that I am taking photographs of the streets and building, rather than people.

As I proceed I see parents cover their children’s faces, I see families cross the streets, I notice the curious, yet unsure look on the faces of children playing alone: they are curious about a newcomer with a camera, but they don’t know if they are allowed to approach or if they should go away.

As I walk the streets I see a couple of teenagers having a discussion in the middle of the street. I gather myself and point my camera at them. I see one of them notice me, I am almost ready to put the camera down when I see a smile appear on his face and a hand rise in a wave instead of a block. They approach, they pose for me, they are curious. I am afraid to invade their world too much, but it is them that won’t let me go. My friendly informers, I call them. Aren, 13, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and Zaly, 14, brunette with hazel eyes, tell me they are cousins. They both grew-up here and like it very much except for the garbage. “It is not so clean” Aren tells me. They both go to school and are fond of sports. Aren is on his school’s baseball team and Zaly is on the basketball team.

They tell me that Saturday is bad day for me to come shoot their neighborhood – the streets are empty. (As I look around I can only imagine what this neighborhood looks like when streets are not empty.) They tell me that on Saturday they are not allowed to make phone calls, to drive, to smoke, to light a fire, though they are allowed to take from an already existing fire, and are not allowed to turn on the lights. Well, Aren tells me that progress took care of the last part – they just put timers on the night before and lights turn on automatically.

They point out a Sukkah to me. It is a sort of a summer house, a construction outside of one’s home (or on the balcony as I noticed later) that they put up during the holiday of Sukkot. What do you do inside, I ask. We eat and sleep, tells me Aren. He also tells me where I can find some of the best, wealthiest and most decorated sukkah’s in the neighborhood. I later realize that he meant the inside, a place where I am definitely not welcome.

A woman appears at the door across the street and says something to my new friends. Aren quickly explains that his mom made dessert and he has to go, but her face and tone do not spell dessert to me. Both boys quickly go back to their houses without saying good bye.

And I am back to being an unwelcome outsider. I hear happy voices, laughter and joyous singing coming from inside the houses and sukkah’s, but I don’t see any of that in the faces I meet along the way.

As my little invasion into this world comes to an end, I leave with a sense of awe and respect, and a little fear.