Driss-A-Blog

Keneseth Israel is a small shul in downtown San Francisco. The entrance is sunken in, and there's a small room in the back that will hold about twenty men for prayers. But I had a great time. There were some guests who left, since they had food at their hotel. I stayed, though, since I had no food.

The variety of people there was amazing. We had some businessmen from New York and an English couple who were telling stories about their travels around the world. I ended up sitting next to an older black gentleman who, when he heard I was from Detroit, started congratulating me on the Pistons and then started reminiscing about the '68 Tigers.

Although that event was a bit before my time, I still tried to talk sports, which is certainly not my best subject. He talked about how many famous boxers got their start in Detroit, and asked if I knew of a particular famous spot that had a nickname. I had to admit that I wasn't actually from Detroit, but only said I was so that people could get some kind of idea of my origin.

"When I say I'm from Detroit, though, people tend to think of crime and urban decay and things like that, which is a bit of a shame."

"You think that's bad?" he replied. "You don't want to know what people think of when I say I'm from San Francisco."

On my way home, I almost managed to violate the first rule of tourism: don't get hit by a bus. I'd waited to cross Market until the crossing-light turned green. As soon as it did, I hopped off the curb and started walking. A glance to the left showed me a bus that had apparently run the red. The rest of the traffic had stopped, so I ran across the street and didn't stop until I reached the Mosser.

Saturday morning I returned to pray, and I joined them for lunch. The cholent was pareve, and in fact, all three of the meals were. I've never had real ice cream for dessert on Shabbos. An interesting experience.

I wandered back to the Mosser and took a nap. I got up at five, saw I had two hours to get back to shul, and started walking.

I went up Market until the pier, and wandered around there for a while. Looking up at the skyline, I saw the Transamerica building, so I wandered down Clay until I was looking up at it from its base. Then I went down Montgomery to Post, and then west to Union Square. By then it was six, so I sat down and rested.

I pondered my options. It was probably too far a walk back to the Mosser, especially with the six flights I'd have to do (I was on the seventh floor). So I took off to shul.

We did mincha, had seuda shelishi, and as soon as ma'ariv and havdalah was done, I had to head back. I repacked my stuff in the suitcase, set the alarm for 4:45, and went to bed.

The rest of the story is pretty boring. The next morning I showered, finished packing, checked out, took the shuttle to the airport, and flew home.

Home at last.