There’s a reason why it’s worth hosting you even though I find myself exhausted after Shabbos
I spot you on a Friday afternoon as you get off the bus, pull out your maps, and start debating how to get to Rechov Hagufen. I’m waiting at the same bus stop with my husband and children. We’re going away for Shabbos.
You don’t notice me. You think no one around understands your English. My little son is smirking because there is no Rechov Hagufen. There is a Rechov Hagefen. I can’t help but wonder which lucky family on Rechov Hagefen is putting the last-minute touches on the guest room. And which lucky children are resettling in a sibling’s room so they can give you the “guest room.”
As you debate, there’s a part of me that wants to strike up a conversation with you. It’s the same part of me that gulps when I have to call you back on a Wednesday and tell you this won’t be a good Shabbos to have you, but please do call back a different week. The part of me that has to draw on my reserves of self-control to call you back the second time you try and tell you that this week also won’t be a good week, but please, I do mean it, try back a different week.
It’s the part of me that’s relieved when you do believe me enough to try back again, and it’s still the same part of me that calls you back happily to say that yes, finally, this week is a good one.
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