Happy Ramadan

This morning on our daily trip to the park, E and I stumbled upon something rather impressive—a giant throng of Muslims gathered in celebration of Ramadan. He played happily for an hour while the Imam at the podium talked of peace and celebration.  And he watched, captivated, as the crowd chanted, bent and knelt in unison.

I am so proud to to be raising my son in this city. A city where the call to prayer is not a strange sound, where he takes his Saturday morning nap to the sound of Hare Krishnas singing in the courtyard of the Methodist Church next door and where Every Single Morning after walking my husband to the subway we pass four Buddhist monks that wink at E as he smiles and waves.

New York, sometimes you frustrate and exhaust me, but today, I love you.