Shabbos in San Fran
It is Friday evening (well not really, but just pretend with me). We are in a 2 story condo that is 2 stories off the ground in downtown San Francisco.
My husband has chosen this urban, loud, smelly, dirty location because of its convenience to a very small shul 2 blocks away. Our condo has become our home-away-from-home and one of our favorite activities is people-watching. We can see people getting ready for their "night-out", people walking, talking, shouting. We are just about ready to take on shabbos when we see a gathering down on the street near a small clothing shop. At this point, I say, "You know, Shlomo Carlebach would have invited those people in for a shabbos meal." Well that's about all the encouragement my husband needed. He started toward the door when my teenagers say, "NO!". This is not only NOT a deterrant, but encouragement for my husband. So down he goes to the street (bekesha, black hat and all) and crosses over to the crowd. He is easy to spot. He approaches the first "brother" and says, "Hey, my holy brother, do you know any Jews in this crowd?" He is told there is one and my husband then invites this lost soul and his roommate up for kiddush. It takes a bit of encouragement, but they come. My little boys are giggling and my teens are trying to be unnoticed. Well, up come Ezra and Jordon. They witness kiddish and tell us that they recognized it. We talk with them a while and then they decide to return to the safety of the street and free beer that is being offered in the small shop. We ponder this experience and wonder what impact if any this has had on them. Maybe none, maybe some or maybe the impact was on us. I know for sure, my children will remember this shabbos well. Shlomo, we did you proud.
My husband has chosen this urban, loud, smelly, dirty location because of its convenience to a very small shul 2 blocks away. Our condo has become our home-away-from-home and one of our favorite activities is people-watching. We can see people getting ready for their "night-out", people walking, talking, shouting. We are just about ready to take on shabbos when we see a gathering down on the street near a small clothing shop. At this point, I say, "You know, Shlomo Carlebach would have invited those people in for a shabbos meal." Well that's about all the encouragement my husband needed. He started toward the door when my teenagers say, "NO!". This is not only NOT a deterrant, but encouragement for my husband. So down he goes to the street (bekesha, black hat and all) and crosses over to the crowd. He is easy to spot. He approaches the first "brother" and says, "Hey, my holy brother, do you know any Jews in this crowd?" He is told there is one and my husband then invites this lost soul and his roommate up for kiddush. It takes a bit of encouragement, but they come. My little boys are giggling and my teens are trying to be unnoticed. Well, up come Ezra and Jordon. They witness kiddish and tell us that they recognized it. We talk with them a while and then they decide to return to the safety of the street and free beer that is being offered in the small shop. We ponder this experience and wonder what impact if any this has had on them. Maybe none, maybe some or maybe the impact was on us. I know for sure, my children will remember this shabbos well. Shlomo, we did you proud.
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