I’m always up for a Motzoei Shabbos Maariv in someone’s house. Even when it’s not Motzoei Shabbos. Yet.
People who eat Seudah Shlishis in shul probably don’t know what I’m talking about, unless they’re really committed, or they eat Seudah Shlishis in the house of the neighbor at whom they’re davening Maariv.
The other people who don’t know what I’m talking about are the people who drive to shul on Friday while their wife lights candles. They’re like, “I can’t go to your living-room Maariv with you; I have to go to shul for my car.”
“You can get your car later. I can drive you there.”
“No, I’m blocking people in.”
The home minyan has a whole different vibe than the shul you’ve been davening in the rest of Shabbos. It’s more heimish. For lack of a better word. There’s no membership, no dinner, everyone knows everyone, and no one’s kicking you out of their makom kavua, like, “No, I daven on the third step. You can daven on the sixth or the ninth. Those guys are away for Shabbos.”
And it’s very clear who’s in charge. Though it’s not the guy whose house it is, like you’d think. He did not get into this minyan to do work. He did so he could daven in his slippers. And the guy’s wife likes it because it allows her to clean up from Seudah Shlishis before Shabbos is over. She gets an early start on cleaning, which doesn’t count for much, because she has to be absolutely still in the back of the house while you daven.
But she’s also happy that her husband is home immediately after Maariv, tallis already folded, and isn’t out shmoozing who-knows-where.
“What?! I had to walk everyone out!”
You’re always davening in the room that the kids play, and their toys are everywhere, and you have to make sure that when you back up three steps, it’s not into the puzzle.
And there’s always this odd collection of siddurim to choose from, piled on the arm of the couch. Way more siddurim than the number of people that can fit in the house.
Like what’s with the pink siddur that closes with a zipper? Does his daughter know we’re using her siddur? Why is there a zipper? I can’t imagine a scenario where I would need to zip my siddur shut.
“No more davening now. I locked it. It’s all in the hands of the Ribbono Shel Olam at this point.”
Is she supposed to put a little lock on it if she doesn’t want people to use it? Are there private bakashos written in the margins? Is she preserving her tears in there? Is it that the siddur has weak binding and the pages are always falling out, so they put in a zipper?
I kind of wish yeshiva gemaras came with a zipper, so you can put loose notes in there.
The host also put a Chumash out that no one is taking, because they’re like, “There’s no leining tonight, right?” And he’s like, “No, there’s Shabbos davening in the back. I think. Oh, wait, maybe not this one.”
Everyone is instead going for the Mincha/Maarivs that they give out at bar mitzvahs that have no Viyhi Noam. But they do have Atah Chonantanu.
He also has a whole set of Machzorim out.
“What?! There’s a Maariv at the end! Maariv for Motzoei Rosh Hashana, Maariv for Motzoei Yom Kippur… The only thing you have to say by heart is Mashiv Haruach. And Viyhi Noam.”
There’s also a kids’ siddur siddur that’s lost all of Shacharis, one page at a time, but it still has a decent cushion before it starts losing Maariv. And there’s a Shiloh siddur, and you’re wondering, “When did they make orange Shilohs?”
“I don’t know; my wife brought it into the marriage.”
And then you hear a voice from the back of the house: “It was my grandfather’s!”
And everyone’s davening in a coat. Except the people who live really close, who bdavka don’t bring a coat, to save time, and they come in dark red.
But it’s a nice change. Wherever your shul is, even if it’s closer, you just walked all the way there 3 times in 24 hours. More if there was Avos Ubanim. You want to walk in a different direction for a change. Turn on different motion sensor lights on the way there.
I sometimes walk further to a home Maariv than I do to shul. When else do you get to daven on a couch? Without feeling guilty, I mean? At a shiva home? You can’t daven on your own couch.
The best is actually Friday night Mincha-Maariv in someone’s house. Kabalas Shabbos on a couch? And your kid has to pull you up Bo’i B’shalom? And then again for Barchu?
And you definitely want to be one of the asara rishonim to this minyan, so you could claim the corner of the couch. And also so you can grab a siddur that’s actually a siddur.
People walk in, “Do we have ten? I don’t see.”
“Yeah, Mordechai’s on the couch. We just have to wake him.”
They’re like, “Who wants to go outside and snag a passerby?”
“Not me. I’m on the couch. I’m okay if we don’t start for a while.”
No one’s actually sure what time it’s supposed to start, because there’s no official Zmanim. It’s all word of mouth, like an illegal speakeasy. “Maariv at Roffman.”
“When?”
“After dark? I don’t know.”
You all look at the guy in charge, like, “What time are we davening, again?” And he says a random time that does not seem to fit the cheshbon of what time it was last week.
“Oh, we’re doing 60? I think last week we did 50.”
It keeps everyone on their toes so they all come a little bit early. And then everyone gets to shmooze a little before, and it brings the block together. That’s why they keep it vague, so you can say, “Welp! Got to go to Maariv!” and your wife doesn’t say, “Doesn’t it start later?”
“We don’t know when it starts!”
And then you announce what time Shabbos is over as you leave, because no one else in your house knows how to figure it out. You’re that guy for your house.
You don’t want to be the first one there, though. You want to at least walk in with one other person who doesn’t live there. And you’ll stand outside until that person comes. You show up too early, and it’s awkward. It’s not like a shul, where you can just open up a sefer.
“Where you you keep your Kitzur?”
“I don’t know; our kid needed it in yeshiva this year.”
“Ooh, a Chumash!”
You come early, and all the kids are still on the floor, playing. They do not care that you’re there until they get kicked out of the room to go be quiet in the back of the house with Mommy.
And he always has one Shabbos guest who’s still at the dining room table, continuing the conversation as the table gets cleared around him, and after about five people come in, he asks, “Where are we davening? Oh, here? In this house?” He asked earlier, but he thought they were being sarcastic.
And all the host’s older kids are still on the couch, reading, in your seat…
So you just spend some time wandering the room and quietly doing detective work… “Oh, so the name in the pink siddur is his second daughter… Oh, so they’re a Shabbos-cereal-at-Seudah-Shlishis family… Oh, so they don’t clean their fishtank.”
And then sometimes the host isn’t there for Shabbos, and everyone’s waiting outside awkwardly until 10 people show up so they could walk together to the home of one of the people and surprise his wife. That’s something that doesn’t happen a lot with regular shuls -- that everyone’s locked out for Maariv.
“How do we get in?”
The combination of the guy’s house is not 613.
“Okay, who knows their anniversary?”
Sometimes he just tells the combination to one of the other guys, and you all let yourselves in. That’s awkward. You’re trying to find where he keeps the siddurim…
“Can we turn on the lights yet?”
“No, not yet. We have to wait in the dark until Barchu.”
I don’t know why we can’t have home minyanim for weekday Maariv. Though I guess during the week everyone wants to daven Maariv at a different time. We can’t just make this guy host a minyan factory. His wife has to come out of the back sometime.
But we should definitely figure out some other great time for house minyanim, such as Megillah leining on Purim! That way his wife can benefit directly. Someone is bound to know how to lein it, and the shul has a rule against firecrackers. But this guy’s house doesn’t!
Yet.
Mordechai Schmutter is a weekly humor columnist for Hamodia, a monthly humor columnist, and has written six books, all published by Israel Book Shop. He also does freelance writing for hire. You can send any questions, comments, or ideas to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
