Just to Say My Name
(C) Rabbi Menachem Creditor

I sit at the cafe, overwhelmed from just listening to the names being called to pick up each order. How many times have I had to spell my name (or invent a more anglo-sounding one) when ordering something?

And here I sit, unable to even begin a delicious coffee through my tears for having my name recognized, accepted, pronounced correctly?

Suddenly, at Cafe Aroma at the Malcha Mall in Jerusalem, crying into
my coffee, I remember I'm home.

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