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Another Friday, another city.
Our bus arrived in town much later than scheduled. Luckily, we managed to find a hostel just as the sun was setting. As I grabbed the room key, the girl at reception said “Don’t forget, dumpling party downstairs at 6 o’clock tonight”.
Shabbat must have come in just as P and I dropped our bags in our room. We were both tired and hungry, but I wanted to meet new people. “Let’s go to the dumpling party – we’ll make Kiddush later.” P made a face. “Oh come on" I insisted, "they’re just Chinese kreplach!” P was unimpressed and went off to the bathroom to freshen up. Glancing back, she said “You go if you want; I’m staying here. It’s Shabbos already”. That didn’t bother me; I wouldn't be breaking Shabbat just by meeting people.
I wandered down to the lobby area. About 15 people milled around a large table, all rolling dough. No-one was socialising until I came. I introduced myself and, with a few light comments, the mood lightened. Within minutes everyone was chatting and joking around. The chef brought out some minced meat and showed everyone how to wrap it. At first I just watched, but after much pressure I agreed to join in.
It is a strange feeling, wrapping pork mince in pastry on Shabbat. I was pretty sure that I was not in breach of any Jewish law (although that may be a matter of definition). But even if I was, who (apart from God) would know? Here I was many hours from the nearest Jew.
It was an eclectic crowd, hailing from all over the world. Even though I told them I was from Israel, no-one commented on the fact that it was Shabbat. Anywhere else I would have been sitting down to a festive meal with other Jews. But this all felt so - secular.
A young Chinese woman, about 20 years old, helped me shape my pastry. She flirted with a beautiful innocence, and her face flushed whenever I said anything. I felt like I was being courted by a trained Japanese geisha. She later told me that she works at the hostel and tonight is her night off. She had come to meet people.
Another, slightly older Chinese woman heard that I was from Israel. She introduced herself. “You are Jewish? I am Christian. You are the first Jew I have ever met.”
“Can I show you my horns?” I asked and then quickly apologised, realising that she might take me seriously. We spoke a while, and I felt it important to afford her the opportunity to ask me any questions she may have.
Eventually the younger woman pulled me aside. “She is very beautiful, yes? Much more than me?” I wondered what P would make of all this.
In the meantime our pastry had been taken away to the kitchen and now returned cooked. Everyone who had helped prepare, tasted some. Everyone except me.
“You must eat. You worked so hard. We all must eat”.
With an insistent smile I stuck to my guns; “I cannot eat, I am vegetarian”. A Pakistani fellow walked into the room and sidled up to me.
“You’re the Israeli. You won’t eat pork – I know”. We watched the others tuck in while we both refrained.
No-one was aware that it was my Sabbath. Only the Pakistani guy had any idea that I might not eat pork. I was in a totally foreign world. And although I physically sat there, everyone was oblivious to my reality.
I left the crowd and came back to the room where P and I were staying. The door of the ensuite bathroom was ajar, shedding a sliver of light on the otherwise dark room. P was in bed, reading. “Shabbat Shalom” I said, greeting her.
“Shabbat Shalom” she responded, looking up with a peaceful gaze.
Our bus arrived in town much later than scheduled. Luckily, we managed to find a hostel just as the sun was setting. As I grabbed the room key, the girl at reception said “Don’t forget, dumpling party downstairs at 6 o’clock tonight”.
Shabbat must have come in just as P and I dropped our bags in our room. We were both tired and hungry, but I wanted to meet new people. “Let’s go to the dumpling party – we’ll make Kiddush later.” P made a face. “Oh come on" I insisted, "they’re just Chinese kreplach!” P was unimpressed and went off to the bathroom to freshen up. Glancing back, she said “You go if you want; I’m staying here. It’s Shabbos already”. That didn’t bother me; I wouldn't be breaking Shabbat just by meeting people.
I wandered down to the lobby area. About 15 people milled around a large table, all rolling dough. No-one was socialising until I came. I introduced myself and, with a few light comments, the mood lightened. Within minutes everyone was chatting and joking around. The chef brought out some minced meat and showed everyone how to wrap it. At first I just watched, but after much pressure I agreed to join in.
It is a strange feeling, wrapping pork mince in pastry on Shabbat. I was pretty sure that I was not in breach of any Jewish law (although that may be a matter of definition). But even if I was, who (apart from God) would know? Here I was many hours from the nearest Jew.
It was an eclectic crowd, hailing from all over the world. Even though I told them I was from Israel, no-one commented on the fact that it was Shabbat. Anywhere else I would have been sitting down to a festive meal with other Jews. But this all felt so - secular.
A young Chinese woman, about 20 years old, helped me shape my pastry. She flirted with a beautiful innocence, and her face flushed whenever I said anything. I felt like I was being courted by a trained Japanese geisha. She later told me that she works at the hostel and tonight is her night off. She had come to meet people.
Another, slightly older Chinese woman heard that I was from Israel. She introduced herself. “You are Jewish? I am Christian. You are the first Jew I have ever met.”
“Can I show you my horns?” I asked and then quickly apologised, realising that she might take me seriously. We spoke a while, and I felt it important to afford her the opportunity to ask me any questions she may have.
Eventually the younger woman pulled me aside. “She is very beautiful, yes? Much more than me?” I wondered what P would make of all this.
In the meantime our pastry had been taken away to the kitchen and now returned cooked. Everyone who had helped prepare, tasted some. Everyone except me.
“You must eat. You worked so hard. We all must eat”.
With an insistent smile I stuck to my guns; “I cannot eat, I am vegetarian”. A Pakistani fellow walked into the room and sidled up to me.
“You’re the Israeli. You won’t eat pork – I know”. We watched the others tuck in while we both refrained.
No-one was aware that it was my Sabbath. Only the Pakistani guy had any idea that I might not eat pork. I was in a totally foreign world. And although I physically sat there, everyone was oblivious to my reality.
I left the crowd and came back to the room where P and I were staying. The door of the ensuite bathroom was ajar, shedding a sliver of light on the otherwise dark room. P was in bed, reading. “Shabbat Shalom” I said, greeting her.
“Shabbat Shalom” she responded, looking up with a peaceful gaze.
It had been nice to meet the gang downstairs, to chat with the pretty Chinese women and to learn how to make Chinese Kreplach. But they are not my Kreplach, and it is not my world. I belong here, with Penelope, enjoying a day of rest, Jewish style.
A rather special feeling came over me. After all, were it not for me and P, Shabbat would not have existed this weekend in this small corner of the world.
A rather special feeling came over me. After all, were it not for me and P, Shabbat would not have existed this weekend in this small corner of the world.
I hope you all had a great Shabbat this weekend in your part of the world.
Al
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