Every neighborhood in New York City boasts its own distinct flavor and the Upper West Side is no exception. One of the more family-friendly areas of the city, its residents take pride in the area’s down-to-earth attitude, especially compared to the upturned noses of the ultraposh East Side.

But, this is still New York, where the the air thrums with the pulse of money being spent. Here, “down-to-earth” means something very different than it does in the rest of the world. The designer labels are sported just as much on this side of the park; they just aren’t flashed with abandon. The sidewalks are crammed with nannies of various nationalities (though some Mommies make an occasional appearance) pushing the latest model of strollers into baby boutiques with clothes that cost more than a week-long cruise. Hungry young professionals leave the one-bedroom apartments they share with three other people and scuttle off to work clutching their morning Starbucks hit in one hand and their cell phone in the other, texting furiously about the disastrous date they suffered through the night before. Then there are the random characters, unique to New York, that spend their days hanging around, slupping espresso in cafes or reading newspapers on the benches outside the 72nd street subway stop as the pigeons nip at their shoes, making you wonder how they could ever afford to live in New York City.

And then, of course, there are the Jews. The New York area in general hosts the vast majority of The Tribe’s population, with a plethora of them crammed into the Upper West Side of Manhattan. They’re everywhere here, as prevalent as cracks in the sidewalk. You walk down the street here on Shabbos and it looks like a sea of yarmulkes, black hats and sheitels. By the time you get to your destination, you’re hoarse from saying “Good Shabbos” to everyone you pass. So, mix the wealth and Jewishness of the Upper West, shake liberally, and you’ve got yourself a pretty potent cocktail.

We went to dinner Friday night to friends of my father’s. As soon as I walked into their apartment my mouth fell open. Their apartment, spacious and ornately decorated, felt like I had walked into Versaille before the whole Robespierre mess. The ceiling was painted gold and walls boasted art that looked like it had been lifted from the walls of the Met. Dinner, a multi-course gourmet spread, was served on polished silver that I was almost afraid to touch.

I need to take a detour here for a moment. Meals like this, while awe-inspiring to watch, can actually be a unique challenge for me. Many of you who know me know that I eat in a very specific fashion: no flour, no sugar, and 9 times out of ten my food is weighed on a scale so I know what I’m eating. I eat everything in one sitting and don’t start eating unless the beginning and end of the meal are already on my plate. Since I eat a LOT of veggies, this usually means that my dinner looks like Mt. Fuji, only made of green beans. I’ve gotten used to the sideways glances in restaurants and Shabbos tables; nowadays, people chalk it up to my eating for two and will even cheer me on (if only they knew…). It sounds complicated, but eating this way has pretty much saved my life; when everything else is upside down, I at least know that I’m having my four ounces of protein for lunch.

Anyway, when most people go to a Shabbos table where they present you with a gilded dixie cup of salad, they’ll take a dainty bite, loudly praise the dressing and move on. I regard it with the sentiment of a child who gets socks for Christmas: “What the hell is this?“. It usually ends up requiring me to make extra trips (notice that was multiple) to the kitchen where I ask the hostess if I can scrounge around for leftover salad and pray, pray, pray that there is something more substantial to the actual entree. In this case, I was able to get what I needed after basically lunging on the sugar snaps and carrots and taking an obnoxious amount before and after everyone at the table got their share. One of their daughters regarded me with serious derision when I cut her off en route to the buffet table in order to get the last of the green beans. What can I say? Mama’s gotta eat.

Anyway, it goes without saying that this world is not one I am used to. While I was not raised with nothing, this kind of wealth is as foreign to me as Swahili, as is the general outlook of some of the people who have been blessed with it. There was a woman at the table, perhaps a couple of years older than me, that was expecting her first child in June. She also happened to be a member of one of the wealthiest Jewish families in America. When I asked her what she did, she replied, “Nothing”. I chuckled, pointed to her belly and said, “Enjoy it now”. She smiled back at me and said, “I want to still do nothing and hire someone else to watch it”. I laughed, thinking she was kidding. I felt horror slowly creep in when I realized she was dead serious.

Now, I am certainly not saying that every single person on the Upper West Side is like this. There are actually some wonderful people here, kind, accommodating, warm and humble. But there is also a significant amount of people who look at the world with a view similar to the one I’ve just described. I would be lying if I said I didn’t judge because, quite frankly, it pisses me off that someone with a golden opportunity to stay home and raise her child without having to worry about money would just as soon hand it off to a stranger. I would kill for that. It also makes me really sad to think that we, a people have come from a place of such spiritual richness, have become so entangled in the purely physical we can’t see anything beyond it. Then again, who knows if I wouldn’t be lured into it myself if I found myself suddenly loaded with riches? I’d like to think not, but…