Hospitality for a Stranger

Roberta Finkelstein

Minister, Unitarian Universalists of Sterling, Virginia

My father was a first generation American whose family came from Eastern Europe to escape the anti-Semitism rampant in that region in the early 20th century. Much to the consternation of that family, he met and fell in love with my mother—a Pennsylvania Lutheran whose ancestors came over on the Mayflower. When he first brought her home, they were a little bit flummoxed. Many of them had never had a conversation with a Gentile before; but they loved their Moisha and wanted him to be happy. All except for one cousin, who was hostile to the idea of intermarriage and was flagrantly rude to my mother that day.

A few days later, my father received a summons from a rabbinical court on the Lower East Side of New York. He assumed that they were going to try to prevent him from marrying my mother, though this was of no concern to him, as he didn’t consider himself beholden to them. But it turned out he was to come and testify against his cousin, who was accused of failing to extend hospitality to a stranger.

He didn’t want to go; in fact, at the time he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. But his mother was adamant. So he went and recounted the incident. The rabbis instructed his cousin to apologize to my mother. And they all lived happily ever after. Well, maybe not quite.

At the end of his life, my father was in the habit of recounting over and over again the stories from his early life that meant the most to him. His adventures in the Pacific during the Second World War. The horror he experienced the first time he was served a bologna sandwich with butter on it. And the story of the rabbinical court. It became one of his favorites. Even though he had, at the time, considered the whole thing ridiculous and old-fashioned. Even though he had rejected much of his heritage in his desire to assimilate and be seen as a red-blooded American, with bloodlines more like my mother’s. In his last year, he would tell the story, and then say, reflectively, “Imagine that. You know, they didn’t do it because they cared about Jeanne. Or me. I know they all wished I would drop her. But they cared about the quality of their community, and that was more important.” I can still hear his voice, somewhat amazed and slightly wistful, “Imagine that.”

Imagine what it would be like for us, Unitarian Universalists in the early 21st century, to reclaim that ancient Israelite tradition, established in the Torah, of gathering in community to ensure the quality of the community. Imagine if hospitality to strangers mattered again. Imagine if we could organize ourselves to gather, as in ancient times, to hold each other accountable for the basic practices of justice, fairness, equality and open-hearted hospitality.

Imagine that.

To see the original article go to Quest, November 2004