Liz took this road to synagogue every Friday, and yes, she did try the “hot baked potatoes”—she got one stuffed with cheese and pineapple!

The service ended—I threw on my thick wool coat, doubled up on scarves, said a quick, polite “Gut Shabbes” (“Good Sabbath”) to some of the other congregants and started to make my way to the door, figuring I’d head home, having really nowhere else to go. I had been in Scotland for nearly a week and had just attended my first Shabbat service at the Edinburgh Hebrew Congregation. The Carlebach Kabbalat Shabbat melodies, even though sung in thick Ashkenazi Hebrew with Scottish accents, felt warm and so internally familiar. However, as I readied to leave with no after-service prospects, the notion of finishing up the night with a sandwich and an early bedtime was disappointing.

But as I walked to the door, daydreaming about challah, singing, my mother’s chicken and good conversation, I was intercepted by another Sabbath attendee. Jonathan, who would become one of my good friends in Scotland, asked me if I wanted to go to the rabbi’s house for dinner. Rabbi Rose was the shul’s rabbi, and given that I’d only seen him through the blinds of the mechitza, I definitely had not had a conversation in which he invited me to Shabbat dinner at his home! 

Jonathan seemed to think I’d be welcomed, so I waited lamely at the door, hoping to receive an impromptu invitation and be ushered along. When Rabbi Rose finished talking to his congregants and headed our way, he said, “Are you all coming? Good.” And thus, I was on my way to my first Shabbat dinner in Scotland.

Rabbi Rose didn’t live far from the shul, but any evening walk in Scotland in early January can feel like a hike. What had been rain was now ice and the wind was howling. (Scotland’s wind, on more than one occasion during my tenure in the country, physically lifted me off the ground or blew me into a fence.) 

Upon arrival, coats and shoes came off, and we headed up to the dining room for dinner. Dinner was delicious—vegetables, hummus and Scottish smoked salmon to start, then chicken soup and then the main course—chicken, rice and vegetables. It was wonderful, and for the first time that week, I felt I had found a piece of home in Scotland.

There were about six or seven of us there—mostly other university students and some longtime congregants. We discussed politics, the city of Edinburgh, Torah, sports, the whole gamut—and we talked and talked, and ate and ate for hours. And, of course, somewhere between the first and second courses, I had a truly Scottish experience—I tasted my first whisky. And yes, I choked on my first sip.

Soon, weekly Shabbat services were always followed by weekly Shabbat dinners at Rabbi Rose’s house. I can never thank Rabbi Rose enough for the hospitality and kindness he showed me during my semester abroad in Edinburgh.

Stay tuned next month to hear how Shabbat services and dinner turned into Pesach seder invitations, wild Hebrew-school experiences and more!

Liz Imber is a JVibe editorial intern. She loves singing, Scotland and reading crime thrillers.