– Justine Vogt
I have a bunch of kids, the numbers seem to keep changing. This includes a bunch of sons. The youngest son lives at home. For the sake of this story, I am going to call him Alvin.
Alvin has a million friends. He's always had a million friends. He has friends from Primary School, from High School, from his Youth Group, from Yeshiva, from the Army, and now from College.
He has one friend I will call Theodore. (These aliases are to protect the innocent - me.)
Theodore is a good friend. I think he's from the Youth Group group of friends, but I don't remember exactly. He's a sweet kid and also has a million friends. After spending a year or so in Germany on 'shlichut', he has a bunch of friends in Germany. He has international friends, something that Alvin does not have. Alvin has an international family, but Theodore has a brother in Los Angeles, so on that score, they are even.
I digress.
Back to Germany.
One of Theodore's German friends has a friend from America. I don't know where in America. I don't know if that friend is currently in America. In fact, I know nothing at all about the friend in America, including the name, except that the friend in America has a friend in Germany. This is all I know.
One day, early last week, the American, whom, at this point, I will call Simon - but it could be Simonne - called the German friend (henceforth called Hans, but could be Helga - really I know nothing at all about these people) and said that he, Simon, wanted to spend a Shabbat in Beer Sheva and see what the community was like. Did Hans, perchance, know anyone in Beer Sheva who could help out?
YES!! exclaimed Hans (it might have been Ja!!! or even Jawohl!!!! - I wasn't there). He did know someone in Beer Sheva!! Hans immediately got in touch with Theodore.
"Do you know", Hans asked Theodore, "anyone who could put some American friends up for Shabbat in Beer Sheva where they could meet other Americans and learn about the community?"
"Yes!!!" said Theodore (since I do know Theodore, I know he doesn't speak in capital letters - also, there are no capital letters in Hebrew), "I do know an American!!!"
Theodore immediately got in touch with my son Alvin. "You're American!!" Theodore said to Alvin (he's not), "do you know anyone who can put Simon/Simonne up for Shabbat?"
"MOOOOOOOM", yelled Alvin, "You're American (I'm not), do you know anyone who can put some Americans - I don't know how many, I don't know if they are girls or boys, I don't know if they are mass murderers - up for Shabbat?"
I knew that Simon and family (turns out it was a young husband and wife) would not want to stay with us, because, well, we're old and grumpy, and they wanted to meet the younger and rapidly growing community of Beer Sheva. And so, I put up a post on Facebook; would anybody be interested in hosting friends of friends of a friend of my son for Shabbat.
Within 12 minutes I had six responses. Within half an hour I had another 5. They were all "Yes!! we'd love to have them!" "We don't have room to sleep, but I hope they can come for a meal!" "We're free this weekend!!" etc. etc. Within half an hour, I had secured a place, which I verbally confirmed later. Nonetheless, the offers continued to pour in. "If they don't mind old foagies, they are welcome!!" "I always make a big cholent, so we would love to have your friends!!!
There was also a stream of questions I couldn't answer: where are they from, how long are they visiting, do they have any dietary restrictions, do they smoke, and are they mass murderers? (if they were, I suppose the potential hosts planned to send their kids to the grandparents.)
I was pleased, but not unduly surprised, at the massive outpouring of hospitality shown by my fellow Beer Shevites. Nonetheless, that cascade of warmth and generosity and friendliness left me humbled.
The hospitality of Avraham Avinu took root in the city he founded, and in which I live 3500 years later, and is alive and well.
What they say is true.
Southern hospitality, there's nothing like it.
Even if you're not American.
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