I find myself in one of the most exhilarating cities around the world, yet one of the coldest at this time of the year. I couldn't believe it either, but yeah, San Francisco is cold. Despite the chilly breeze that makes one mutter "zezezeeeetszee", I am inspired to go explore, find new places, meet new people and experience unforgettable experiences.
Friday nights are a bit different for me, though. They have always been. I was born and raised in Venezuela in a Jewish Orthodox home. My parents always left it up to us to decide the extent of involvement and dedication we would give the religion, while imposing in our upbringing strong values and traditions. Not surprisingly, my brothers and I chose to pursue the path of our ancestors and celebrate our heritage.
Many have a passion for their religion; I myself try to get involved not only in the spiritual side of things, but in the community building opportunities and practice of traditions. At the University of Chicago, I am the President of the Chabad Student Board, back in High School I was one of the student directors of Maccabi Tzair Miami, which a group of community members and I developed from its grassroots: Olam Hayeled.
On Fridays, Jewish people celebrate the Shabbat (Sabbath); it is customary to pray in the evening and follow by performing the blessing of the wine and the bread and having a Shabbat meal. Living in San Francisco this summer, I took advantage of the opportunity that there are numerous synagogues around and picked one of Sephardic tradition (the one that my family practices from their origins in Morocco). Temple Magain David is 40 minutes away in public transportation from my apartment! Regardless, I decided to go and check it out.
I finally arrived. 7:40 marked my watch; I was already 10 minutes late. As I entered the harmonious temple, everyone shushed and the main guy, whom I later learned was the rabbi said in a loud voice "Shabbat shalom" (good shabbos). I thought it was funny he did that so I smiled and took a seat somewhere in the middle row. Without making eye-contact with anyone, he proceeded by repeating the phrase, twice more. In seeing that no one answered, I realized that he was actually talking to me and wanted to make sure I had come to the right place. I immediately responded three times the same phrase, and everyone laughed. The prayers continued without other interruptions all the way until the end.
After the prayers, the rabbi asked me in Hebrew if I had a place to eat that night, and I said no, so he claimed that they served dinners downstairs every Friday and that I was welcome to come, eat and share whenever.
The rabbi didn't stay though. I walked down to the basement and helped a guy I was introduced to, to cut some vegetables. While I did that he took out 10 plates with different foods on them and put them on a side table, while another man helped him setup our plates. The two of them and I would have dinner together every Friday thereafter for the rest of the summer.
It's a different experience. All three of us are young, one has a room in the synagogues on Fridays and the other camps out in the backyard- it's their way of not having to walk over 2 hours to get to temple on Fridays. The food is magically there every Friday- always different, in abundance and hot. The fellows- one is an accountant who migrated from Russia, the other one is the son of two Holocaust escapees who got married when they were 15 years old and went through Argentina and Chile, until they ended up in San Francisco.
I could probably find another synagogue, with more people to eat dinner with, not in a basement… but it wouldn't make this summer as special as it is. I have my musketeer Fridays, and I wouldn't change the laughs, stories and sense of independence for anything out there.
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