By Erin Levi
Over the weekend, I attended my first New York City ball—and first ball, period. While a grand ball wasn’t exactly on my bucket list (save for the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year’s celebration), an invitation to the 64th Quadrille Ball at the Plaza Hotel proved too intriguing to resist.
This event showcases the quadrille, a beautiful 19th-century dance performed by four couples in a square formation, featuring intricate steps and patterns set to classical music. It’s a highlight of the evening, especially for the debutantes.
My friend Paul, a Bukharian Times contributor who works in hospitality and hosts the Telegram channel «Plato’s Parlor,» had been persistent in his invitation—particularly as he was one of the dancers, rehearsing since October. With tickets starting at $950, I initially declined. However, as a journalist, I was fortunate to receive a last-minute media invitation from the event’s publicist.
The Quadrille Ball, a white-tie affair benefiting the German-American Scholarship Association, promotes transatlantic relations through educational grants. The timing felt serendipitous—I had recently written about my family’s Holocaust history for the Bukharian Times (issue 1199), and I had become a German citizen thanks, in part, to a program fostering German-American Jewish relations called Germany Close Up. My story was even featured in a CNN Travel article this past summer 2024 about American Jews obtaining German citizenship.
Upon entering the glamorous Plaza Hotel, I was greeted by a procession of couples in white ball gowns and white-tie tuxedos, each gracefully curtseying as I passed. The cocktail reception buzzed with New York’s so-called high society—Ivy League alumni, diplomats, and devoted Germanophiles mingling over champagne.
I had a brief but memorable exchange with German Consul General Till Knorn, a young-hearted, engaging diplomat. When I shared my family’s story, he graciously suggested we discuss such weighty matters another time, as «a ball is supposed to be fun.» In that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was the only German Jew in attendance.
What I hadn’t noticed in my excitement was the fine print stating media access was limited to the cocktail reception. As the well-heeled crowd migrated to the ballroom, I followed, though without an assigned seat. I stood with other bystanders, watching the New York Merchant Marines’ patriotic entrance and listening to both national anthems. Among my fellow observers, I met a Russian-American Jewish Brown alumnus who works in investment banking—perhaps I wasn’t alone after all.
When Paul motioned for me to join his table, I felt a moment of belonging. But just as I settled in, reality intervened. A young woman who had earlier asked if I was «Paul’s date» returned with a stern-faced man who declared in a German accent, «Media is not allowed here. You must leave immediately.»
And so, like Cinderella rushing at midnight, I was promptly escorted out—though thankfully keeping both shoes (plus a pair of snow boots, which I had left with coat check).
While I unfortunately missed the namesake quadrille dance, I did make it home safely during a major snowstorm, with my parents’ Tesla proving to be more reliable than a pumpkin carriage.
Perhaps not the fairy-tale ending one hopes for at a ball, but a memorable evening nonetheless. After all, how many people can say they’ve been escorted out of the Plaza Hotel in evening wear?