SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: CHANGE OF TIME FOR MEMORIAL FOR FLORENCE DEUTSCH MOED

The Memorial has been rescheduled to 11:00 am on December 20th, Saturday.




Please join the family of Florence Deutsch Moed at the Henry Street Settlement Abrons Arts Center in commemorating her life on December 20th, Saturday. A memorial of story and music will, in Florence's words, commence at 11:00AM. Cake and tea and coffee will be served before, after and during as eating is good during times of any emotion.

If you would like to share a story or play a piece, please contact me. We look forward to seeing you there.

Best, Claire

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Abrons Arts Center
Henry Street Settlement
466 Grand Street at the corner of Pitt Street
New York, New York

Directions:

The Abrons Arts Center is located at 466 Grand Street at the corner of Pitt on Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

SUBWAY

The Abrons Arts Center is subway accessible by taking:


* the F train to Delancey

* the J or M trains to Essex Street

* the D or B trains to Grand Street

BUS

The Abrons Arts Center is also easily accessible by bus:

* M15 to Grand Street

* M22 to Montgomery Street

* M9 to Grand Street

* M14 to Grand Street

* B39 to Essex

CAR OR CAB

Take the FDR Drive southbound and exit at Grand Street. Northbound FDR does not have an exit for Grand or South Street. Use the Houston Street exit.

PARKING

Parking lots are available on Suffolk Street between Broome and Delancey; and East Broadway and Clinton Streets.

This is Her New York

This is one of my oldest friends. We met when we were twelve.

Before that I was on Grand Street, which was tough, and she was on 109th Street and Riverside, which was dangerous. We didn't know any different and if you ran fast enough it really didn't matter.

How my then 17-year-old sister decided we should meet and how she, with me in tow, traversed the many bus and train lines from the lower east side to the upper west side to make sure we did I don't know, but within minutes of meeting one another this other twelve year old and I became the best of friends.

In the ensuing three decades we spoke all the time, we didn't speak for years, we survived a new age spiritual community together, we recovered from that community apart, I visited her when she ran away to the then delapitated Fifth Avenue Hotel to be a 15 year old groupie, she was the only example I had of successful defiance, I was a bridesmaid when she married a man, host to her and her young girlfriend at the time after she left her husband and then host again to her and her current boyfriend, and during the recent New York City blackout in 2003, even though we hadn't spoken in years, stranded, she knew to come my house and spend the night.

So during my own blackout where the lights in my heart disappeared I knew to come to her and on a rainy night at the tiny French restaurant older than how long we knew each other, just as worn and welcoming as the home we felt for one another, the food as comforting as our affection for one another, a relief spreading across a tiny table, we were reminded that 40 years of friendship held dear and strong through loss and storm and and change.

No new words were said. But walking down the streets of our shared history, an emotional neighborhood that hadn't been obliteraged by sudden and not-so-sudden events, an internal city we didn't have to explain to one another, old familiar words offered new hope.