Last Shabbat, my wife Karen was out of town. Close friends, unwilling to let yours truly endure a Shabbat dinner alone, invited me for the Friday night meal.
Also present was a family from Los Angeles: a physician, his mother and his two daughters.
The physician, Dr. M., was born on the Tunisian island of Djerba, but his family immigrated to France in the 1960s because of Arab Muslim persecution of Jews.
More than anything, I look forward to Friday night Shabbat dinner.
Frequently, Karen and I are invited to friend’s homes where we and other guests talk, eat, and sing sweet Shabbat songs. But when I’m alone with Karen on Friday night, there is a certain magic that happens — and I never know what form that magic is going to take.
This past Friday night, Karen and I discussed the book covers our teachers in Yeshiva Flatbush elementary school insisted we use.