Picture this. It is Dec. 25 and we have just sat down for dinner with dear friends. The wife is a devout Catholic and the husband, an atheist. A brother and his friend who was originally from Scotland are visiting from Australia. A church family is also at the table. Everyone is ready for the Christmas feast of roasted duck and too many side dishes. (I have a cheese pizza for my son and myself).

Someone announces that we need to say grace. There was a pause when the eighty year old woman from Scotland says, “Let the rabbi do a prayer.” I politely decline. Does anyone REALLY want the rabbi to lead the prayer before eating on Christmas Day?

Someone asks if there is a traditional blessing we do. I look to either side of me where my husband and son are sitting and we decide to sing our version of the motzi. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the friend from church cross herself.

We sing the English/Hebrew version and I briefly explain the meaning in case it was lost in my out of tune singing. Dinner is served.

I was completely surprised by this invitation. Except for our friends whom we met about six years ago, no one else had met a rabbi before that evening. Two of the individuals spent much of their childhood in Lebanon. Certainly, I am not what is pictured as a rabbi. This was a memorable Christmas Day for all of us.