I

f it’s almost impossible to describe Shabbos in Yerushalayim it’s truly impossible to describe Shabbos morning davening at the Kosel. The feeling of kibbutz galuyos — the ingathering of the exiles — is tangible and real. There are Jews of all stripes and variations there.

You can daven Shacharis with chassidim hear the Torah read by a Yemenite Jew daven Mussaf with religious Zionists catch Kedushah for Mussaf with Moroccan Yidden and be bentshed by Kohanim from ten different kehillos.

There are Jews with shtreimlach and spodiks young chassidic boys wearing kolpiks and thousands of other Jews with yarmulkes of every color size and shape.

I enjoy just wandering among my people inhaling the atmosphere of kedushah and spirituality.

A recent Shabbos morning was no different as I seamlessly cascaded from Sephardim all decked out in white garments to chassidim with their long wool talleisim. After coming back to earth from my ethereal journey among our people I realized that dehydration could set in if I didn’t rehydrate from my morning’s spiritual “workout.” The day was warm and I really wanted a cold drink and some refreshments.

The only problem was that I had none.

With hesitancy and bashfulness I approached a group of Sephardic Jews celebrating a bar mitzvah in the shaded area at the back of the Kosel Plaza.

As I walked closer to the table my mouth began to water as I noticed the richly adorned tables full of Shabbos delicacies.

There was delicious looking shafka (similar to our kugel) and dozens of bourekas alongside my two personal mouthwatering favorites: sambusak (semicircular pockets of dough filled with mashed chickpeas fried onions and spices) and date-filled maamoul.

I quietly davened that I would be so grateful if even one morsel would remain for me to satisfy my hunger.

The grandfather lifted a silver antique Kiddush cup and began to chant the long Sephardic Kiddush. My eyes were tightly closed as I davened that I too would be included — at least minimally as an uninvited guest — in the family simchah.

After he finished he paused and announced “Wait no one eat! Before we all can eat there’s an essential guest who must make the first brachah. Please let’s make room for our important visitor.”

Everyone looked around and as I opened my eyes I did so as well. Suddenly I realized that everyone was looking at me!

Soon it was evident even to me that I was the “essential guest”!

I looked at the elderly grandfather with disbelief. He had no beard and did not appear extremely scholarly. Nevertheless without missing a beat he announced “We just commemorated Tishah B’Av a month or so ago. The reason the Beis Hamikdash was destroyed was because of not allowing an uninvited guest to attend a simchah. In our Sephardic tradition we have a custom that we search for an uninvited guest at all of our simchahs and he must eat first! This is our most effective tikkun for Tishah B’Av.”

He then grabbed me in a loving bear hug as he bellowed “You obviously are not part of our immediate family but you’re a part of our larger Jewish household and as an uninvited guest you must make the first brachah — only then can we partake!”

I made my brachah and bit gratifyingly into a delicious piece of baklava. As I said a l’chayim over a brimming glass of arak I turned to look back at the Kosel.

It was clear as day that the Beis Hamikdash was a bit closer now than it had been when I first arrived that morning