“Do me a favor, Abby,” said my girlfriend to me as we had a little snacky-snack on Emek Refaim a few hours before Shabbat.
“Just give the next guy a chance. Whoever he is…”
I nodded as I took a bite of my pizza. (They charge by the weight. Not of the person, you fat-o-phobe, you! By the weight of the pizza. Which means: Most Jews buy small pieces.)
People zipped by us. Which is another way of saying, it was only a matter of time before people we knew stopped by to say hello and catch up. Which is really another way of saying, who knows what goes on in other people’s homes. In their heart of hearts. Because all we see if what they carry around on the outside.
And what of my outside? Which is another way of saying, what of my inside?
And so I told my fabulous firm friend that I would heed her words. That I wouldn’t have a coffee with the Phd student from Haifa just yet. Or with the son of the cabbie who works as a cook at the hummous place on Emek.
But that I would focus, for now, on the one currently on my path.
And that I will give him a chance.