Making kiddush when you’re left by yourself is as much fun as playing tennis with no one on the other side of the net – although sometimes you have no choice. True, you can go about practicing your serve, or, in my case, perusing a stack of articles printed out from sources ranging from Lehrhaus and Mosaic to The New Yorker while I’m tasting my bourbon, herring, and coffee. But there’s something missing. As the sign says, ‘Group therapy practiced here,’ which sort of explains what it’s all about. Yes, you need a group of participants to make a go of it, and it just so happened that ‘the group,’ currently Ezra and sometimes Shoshana with occasional add-ons, was off to Eilat that particular Shabbat, leaving me alone with memories of kiddushes from bygone days. Maybe there’s something to learn from all this; maybe there isn’t. Either way….

Let me start at the beginning of my learning experience, with our happy days in Teaneck, or, better still, the pre-beginnings in (sigh…) Passaic. There, I had recently transferred my shul attendance from The Tif to The Ahavas (skipping over The Adas and the many other davening spots bereft of a ‘The’ at the beginning of their names). Someone, one of those great unsung heroes, had the idea of starting an early minyan Shabbat morning, which I joined with some enthusiasm. Things went well for a while, until the shul rabbi realized that the early minyan had become too popular, drawing too many guys from the main attraction. What do you do if something becomes too successful? Cancel it, of course.

Once I returned, kicking and screaming to the main minyan, it became clear to me that, after getting used to the no-frills, let’s not waste time davening of hashkama, the glacial speed that most folks accept as appropriate on a Shabbat morning was more than your A.D.D. correspondent could happily handle. And when we thereafter relocated to Teaneck, it was a foregone conclusion that I would show up at Beth Aaron for the snappy early minyan as close to the 7:30 starting time as I could manage.

Then, after a while, it happened. You wanna join us for kiddush? That was probably Arvin’s suggestion, on behalf of the rest of the chevra, Tzvi, Avey, and Mark. (These stalwarts were slowly nearing the conclusion of a project that would wind up taking more than twenty years, going through Tractate Kedushim every Shabbat morning after the early minyan, beginning with a round of liquid refreshments and baba ganoush and a few minute of chatter.) At first, I only stayed through the actual kiddush, but after a while, I started to hang out for the actual learning. And after Avey moved out of town, I was sort of moved into the fourth slot, meaning I would participate in the whole shebang and offer the use of our kitchen once a month, which I did until we made aliyah several years later (followed a few years later by Arvin and a few years after that by Tzvi, so that when they finally finished Kedushin, they made a siyum over Skype or Zoom).

By the time we arrived in Ma’ale Adumim, I had a good idea about certain things, like how long davening should or shouldn’t take; why Learning is better when you’re not racing through, trying to complete two sides of a page of gemara in one hour – never mind remembering any of it; why Shabbat morning is improved when you have coffee in one hand and some spirits in the other. And why a kiddush in which you are standing, trying to hold a cup and a plate and not get knocked over by some overexuberant young ‘un trying to garner some more candy is not the most pleasant experience.

It took a while to get started in a new shul in a new community in a new country, but a year after we arrived, Michael and Tehilla showed up, and it didn’t take much persuasion to entice Michael to join me for a snort or two (or three?) on a Shabbat morning while he shared some of his experiences and opinions. It took some time, but at some point, Ezra decided we were having too much fun without him, so he got himself invited. (For a short time, Irwin was able to show up, but…) At first, it was just for some form of whiskey, over which we could make a ‘shehakol,’ but at some point the need for caffeine to balance out the alcohol became evident. And you gotta eat something. I think it was Ezra who first provided the herring – or at least the suggestion.

I’m glad Ezra volunteered to show up because – wouldn’t you know it – Michael and Tehilla wound up leaving for the wilds of Beersheva. So at least I wasn’t normally by myself, alone.

Now that we had the basics for a successful kiddush, what could we do to up the ante? Let’s make some cocktails!!! Which is what I began doing, sticking to recipes that I can replicate with what I have in my home bar. (By popular acclaim, the winner is the Minnesota Rut, a riff on a White Russian, replacing the usual dairy component with Bailey’s Irish Cream. This drink was created by a Minnesota bartender in honor of a moose found wandering in the north woods of that state searching for a mate.)

In Teaneck, there was a certain seriousness to the endeavor, a strong emphasis on Learning. Here, we are more relaxed, with the conversation centering on more personal matters, limiting our concerns about World Events, over which we have no control. I am more than happy to sit and ‘chill,’ providing word of solace and inspiration when appropriate and refilling everyone’s glasses when necessary. When we moved into our new apartment, Ezra and Shoshana gave us a cardboard sign to hang up: ‘Group Therapy Practiced Here,’ with a picture on it of glasses filled to the brim. We do our best to comply. So welcome to all: Ezra and Shoshana; my charming wife Barbara, who will partake of a liquid refreshment if she’s in the mood; my son-in-law, Gil, when they are with us; Barbara and Richard Levine, when they descend from their mountain top; Iris, when the mood strikes her; and everyone else who shows up from time to time. Bring your best conversation, and I’ll supply the rest.