The falls washed over him. They washed over everyone. The screams on the boat, the drenched clothes, and the plastic ponchos that did absolutely nothing—all swarmed around him like a cloud of locusts. He looked at her and she smiled. Nothing like an American-style tourist attraction to lift her spirits. Add a souvenir photo at a price no one should be willing to pay, a fancy ice cream at the exit, and a bus waiting to take you right back to where you came from—and you’ve got a perfect day.
The boat that had slipped beneath the curtain of water docked, and they watched the long line of people eager to replace them on the slick deck—those getting off and those getting on, one before and one after.
They stepped into a packed elevator with a teenager who seemed to suffer from everything teenagers suffer from. He pressed the up button, checked that no one was caught in the doors, and wished them a pleasant day on their way out. He did that for eight hours straight. His misery grew clearer by the minute.
They came out into open air. The wind slapped their faces, the wet ponchos were tossed, and they had an hour of freedom. The crowds surged toward the shops, while the brave stayed on the wall, angling for the perfect selfie.
“Once a girl tried to catch the sharpest angle—and she fell into the water and was swept away. They never found her body,” one parent warned his daughter, who only wanted to squeeze a few more likes from people she didn’t know.
The Israeli couple smiled. The story sounded made up; and even if it wasn’t—it certainly hadn’t happened to a couple as “tough” as they were. A guy who’d been in the army doesn’t fall into a waterfall; it just doesn’t fit. Much more heroic to fall in a daring military operation deep in hostile territory.
They were hungry. The usual suspects waited: burgers, pizza, donuts with fluorescent glazes—and, of course, terrible coffee. They walked a few more meters, hoping for a stand they couldn’t refuse. Off to the side, under a small awning, stood a vendor with a beard—and sidelocks—and fringes at his waist. The last time he’d put on tefillin was at his bar mitzvah, and she wasn’t exactly from the Bnei Brak set; but his friendly smile, even under the beard, drew them in. He sold hot dogs. “A blend of feathers and beaks,” he joked to her. “I haven’t eaten one in years.”
“Me neither,” she laughed. “So why do we want them so badly right now?”
The bearded man handed them two hot dogs. “They’re wonderful, don’t worry. Under the supervision of the Toronto Rabbinate. They wouldn’t let you eat something bad—nor would I, nor would the Holy One, blessed be He. These are the hot dogs meant exactly for you; and when something is exactly for you, even if it’s small and at the end of the world—then it’s the very best. Go in peace, my friends; remember this moment for good.”
They walked off—prize in hand. The first bite, with the roaring falls before them, gave them everything they needed in the world. It was what had been planned for them, here, at the end of the world, in this very moment. “Bon appétit, my children,” God would have said.
