Two Hours In Times Square
Within sight of the glass-walled MTV studios where teenage girls usually jump and down waiting for the members of their favorite boy bands, Avraham Fried was performing. The sun shone brightly off the skyscrapers, metal and glass reflecting the light and heat like mirrors as Fried effortlessly danced back and forth. The youngsters who had come from their camps, the boys in orange and the girls in pink, repeated the song after him. Gush Katif, you are not alone. A black bicycle messenger rode by and flashed two fingers in a V — for victory and/or peace.
Orange was everywhere. Orange bracelets, orange t-shirts, orange buttons, even orange pants. One woman had dyed her dark hair bright orange. Girls tore strips from orange cloth and handed them out to people. Soon they were flapping as armbands, bandanas, headbands and neckties and wrapped around pony tails. The strips of orange cloth were passed hand to hand. Above them waved the green and yellow banners brought by Chabad. Poster boards were taken out and hand-lettered signs made. The crowds drifted in, filling up the area as the police continued to set up new barriers to accommodate the overflow.














