As if going to the Dead Sea wasn't enough, I returned home on Friday unknowingly about to experience some truly Jewish culture. I opened my apartment door, shoes still covered in Dead Sea mud, to find a frantic apartment. Roommates and friends frantically preparing before the clock hit shkiya (the time when Shabbat starts). But the night was still young.
I was invited to join them in lighting the shabbat candles, and even got to light one personally. A few hours later and a couple of borrowed tables and chairs, my apartment was officially the place to be for shabbat.
It was a wonderful wrap up for my first week in Israel. Apartment mates, neighbors, friends, and family gathered around the table for a delicious meal. Sitting there, surrounded by people who were simultaneously strangers and family, I knew I was home. Conversation soared over plate after plate of food and just as much wine to wash it down. English, Hebrew, Arabic, Spanish, French: it was all heard at the table. People from every corner of the globe sat crowded around my kitchen table bringing their own faith, language, stories, culture to this centering tradition that brings it all back and grounds it in the land we're all experiencing together: Israel.
Sitting at the table.
Gathered around good friends and good food.
Our neighbors Tony and Moses bringing their unique personality to the dinner.
Noah talking while I took a photo that apparently no one wanted to be in.
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