Alef: The NEXT Conversation

The Evolution of a Shabbat Guest

By Yocheved Sidof

I left my family and cozy home in the Midwest at a young age and headed out East to attend Yeshiva boarding school. Gone were the Shabbat meals of steaming rice, choresht, and ush (traditional Persian dishes) and in came plates of gefilte fish, potato kugel, and cholent…. It was a lot to get used to. But more than making gastronomic adjustments, I was forced to perfect the art of being a Shabbat guest: the knack of chit-chat, engaging the ’lil ones at the table and finding clever ways, each week, to answer the question – “So tell me about yourself?”…’Not bad for a fourteen-year-old.

As I moved through my adolescence and went to seminary in Israel, my skills flourished. I wasn’t shy about sitting at a table I’d never been at before, especially not in the Holy Land, where it took little more than a heartfelt “Shalom” to feel like you’d known someone forever. I became an expert at securing invites and finding the “best” places to spend Friday night dinners; “best” being defined as tasty food in abundance, a “cool crowd,” and of course, the makings of a good story to tell my friends at school.

Back in New York, living the single life, the definition of the “best” place to spend a Shabbat meal became even more nuanced. More than the right food and the right crowd, it became a space to share thoughts and ideas, create community, and bond. Shabbat wasn’t complete unless I was with others, at a Shabbat table, experiencing something enchanting together.

I got married in my mid-twenties. I was no longer a nomad, seeking out meaningful Shabbat experiences; I was finally able to have my own Shabbat table, to create my own ambiance. I remember the first Shabbat meal I had guests for; I was giddy with pride. I cooked some Persian food (kuku sabzi) along with the Ashkenazic staples I’d grown accustomed to (always with my own little cumin-turmeric-cilantro spin on them), and invited a bunch of our closest friends.

If I had grown to love being a guest at Shabbat meals, I was head-over-heals in love with the experience of being a host. It was electrifying… The planning, the shopping, the cooking, the last minute calls asking if someone could bring along another guest, or two, or three… I felt honored.

Fast-forward a couple years of steady meals and steady guests. A good friend of ours (and Shabbat regular), Saadya, asked if we could host a meal for a large group of his friends – Jews he met from all walks of life, from all over the world, who now lived in New York. Of course, we obliged.

That Shabbat meal was incredible. About twenty-five beautiful people crammed into our living room space (the most guests we’d ever had!), eating, drinking L’chaims, singing songs, deep in discussion…there were no pretenses, no inhibitions; enjoying Shabbat together with fellow Jews created a camaraderie that was truly uplifting and inspirational.

We knew we had to do it again, and so, the “Big Shabbos” was born. And now, every couple of months, we host another big Shabbat meal. Each meal takes a couple of weeks to plan. We send email invites, create an RSVP list, shop, cook, schlep tables and chairs. It’s a frenzy of activity that crescendos when the first guest walks in the door, and doesn’t die down till hours later. Artists, writers, lawyers, students; Americans, Israelis, Brits, Turks; mothers, daughters, sisters, girlfriends; the whole spectrum of Torah observance…Thank G-d, our Shabbat community has grown, and friends always bring friends.

At times we’re anxious that we’ll be filled beyond capacity. “Maybe we invited too many people?” “What if there’s no room?” “What if there isn’t enough food?”

Call it serendipity if you’d like (I’d call it a message from the Big Guy, loud and clear), but on those weeks when we were nervous that we were overbooked, we’d always “lose” a guest or two (which, despite our anxiety, was always a bummer). My husband and I vowed that we’d put our worries aside; there would always be enough, we could always make more room…Our apprehensions were never worth an empty chair at our Shabbat table. And so, we stopped worrying. (And truly, there always is room for one more…)

As I’m developing identity as Shabbat hostess, I can’t help but remember places I’ve stopped along the way, hosts who influenced me and my home in profound ways: The Mendelsons in the Old City, for example. An elderly couple in their eighties who only spoke Yiddish and Hebrew, yet whose tables were always filled with English-speaking college students. He poured cups and cups of wine for his guests as he spoke animately about G-d, the parsha, and his childhood in Chevron, all in Yiddish – and yet, we understood him. There was no language barrier (and it wasn’t because of the alcohol). And his wife, whose food was always beautifully presented, down to the potato-salad-shaped-like-a-fish with a little olive for it’s eye. Every detail mattered.

And there were the families back in Crown Heights who always welcomed me to their table, even at the last minute, and made me feel like I was a part of their family, like I really made their Shabbat table complete… Of course, something tells me, all their guests felt the same way.

I think back to myself, that fourteen-year-old girl with glasses and a retainer sitting at a table full of strangers, desperate to feel at home. And then I look around my own table these days, full of people who may have been strangers only moments before but who, in the magic of Shabbat, now feel like family. And finally, finally (!), I feel I’m home. So here’s to the guest I once was, the guests I’ve been honored to host, and ones I’ve yet to meet…you’re really something.

If you live in the NY area and would like to come over for a Friday night meal, please contact Yocheved at yochevedsidof@gmail.com.

Read more posts from Issue 18: Friday Night Lights.

Tags: Shabbat

Posted by Sarah, Friday, August 13th, 2010, 2:23 pm, Friday Night Lights.