Wherever we are, whoever we’re with... On the seventh day we rest. Nine tales of Shabbos spent in unexpected spots
Shoshana Itzkowitz
Post-Succos bein hazmanim, 5759/1999.
Still practically a newlywed couple ourselves, we’d just hosted dozens of displaced American expats and their roommates, cousins, brothers, and friends over the month prior.
It was time to go someplace for Shabbos that would allow the Mrs. to sleep in, not cook, not serve, not clean up, and the Mr. to just sit at a quiet table for two, not host, socialize, ask anyone where they were from or where they were learning… in short, we wanted to get as far away from civilization as we could.
I called Pyramid Tours, a company that specializes in great deals around Israel, and asked where we could go that would ensure plenty of peace, quiet, and R&R.
After weighing the pros and cons of three different options, we finally chose the most remote hotel Pyramid suggested. It was a southern locale I’d never been to, and my husband, social butterfly that he is (sooo not), was happy that he was guaranteed to know nobody: This Israeli no-man’s-land was the farthest thing from a typical American getaway destination.
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