Did you know that a Jew has an internal computer that says "You've got family?" Sadly, many have hit the "mute" button, so they can't hear the message.

We've got family in the Jewish people. I wouldn't have known it if it wasn' t demonstrated to me repeatedly over 20 years.

I first saw it in 1983 on my first trip to Israel. Newly observant, I decided to go to Shabbat services. I must have looked like a foreigner, because at the conclusion of services, a middle-aged gentleman invited me home for lunch. I thought it must have been a surprise for him to return home with a stranger, but I was wrong. His family took it all in stride. This alone should have been a give away, but I wasn't listening.

When we arrived at his home, he turned to his elderly mother, and bent so she could put her hands on the top his head, and give him his Shabbat blessing:

“May G-d make you like Ephraim and Menashe.
May G-d bless you and guard you.
May G-d shine His countenance and be gracious unto you.
May G-d turn His countenance toward you and grant you peace.”

After receiving the blessing, he turned to his seven year old son and gave him the identical blessing. It was a beautiful custom, a weekly linking of the generations.

This so impressed me, that I determined to do it when I had children. Since my daughters were born, I’ve given them a Shabbat blessing, even before they understood what I was doing. If they happen to be away from home, whether in Israel, New York City, or Rochester, I bless them over the phone.

Second, was when I went to the 1988 biennial of the Jewish Community Centers Association in St. Louis. For four days 1,500 delegates from all over North America came to discuss what it takes to make a JCC successful. Old, young, male, female, Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, professional and non-professional, it made no difference.

We’re all family. That's how we treated each other. We were bound by our common commitment to the Jewish community. On returning home, I was asked how the biennial was. "It was like going to a family reunion," I said.

Third, was the Shabbat we hosted Miriam from Brookline, Mass. She had come to central New York to attend a quilting (yes, quilting) conference at a college half an hour from Syracuse.

We had a joyous Shabbat together, plentiful food, and good conversation. By havdalah, we felt that we had made a new friend. We wished Miriam well, and sent her on to Boston, thinking we’d never speak again.

A year later, though, my step-sister, Maxa, had her gall bladder removed in Cambridge, Mass. When we learned that Maxa had been in the Intensive Care Unit for three days without a single visitor, we called Miriam to see if she could help. We recalled that she said Harvard students visit during the holidays, and hoped she might persuade them to visit Maxa. A week later we heard from Miriam that instead of sending Harvard students, she had spent an hour visiting Maxa, herself. It was something family does for one another.

Fourth, was when our daughter Alexis was invited to spend a Shabbat in Cherry Hill, NJ, with a friend from summer camp. As her friend's family was quite large, and their house small, they didn't have enough space to host our whole family. Upon learning this, we asked our rabbi to call a rabbi in Cherry Hill, and arrange a place for us to stay.

He found us a friendly Israeli/Italian couple. That we came from very different backgrounds, and their children were already grown made no difference. We had Shabbat in common. The services at the synagogue are similar the world over. This alone is comforting. At their home, we heard kiddush, feasted, and engaged in spirited conversation. In a short time, we knew we were among family.

Inviting guests for Shabbat gives us the opportunity to deepen our relationship with people we already know, and meet people we otherwise would never know. On more than one occasion, we hosted people my wife affectionately calls "airplane refugees," people caught in a plane on a Friday afternoon, unable to land as expected in New York City. Afraid of not being able to keep Shabbat, they took their chances in Syracuse. Once it was our rabbi's youth director and his wife who emigrated to Israel. A year earlier, it was an ophthalmologist and his son traveling from Cleveland to New Jersey. We felt privileged to have the opportunity to host them.

What I learned as an adult, my daughters learned at a much earlier age. Attending summer camp put them in contact with girls from all across North America. It's amazing to see them encounter people from distant communities. Immediately, they begin playing "Jewish geography." "Do you know...," Alexis will ask. Invariably, they’ll know at least one person in common, but often it is a handful, or more. Our phone bills testify to the breadth of their friendships. More to the point, having family everywhere means they have a place for Shabbat wherever they go.

That's exactly the point. Because Shabbat is universally important, we found people anxious to help us observe it. It's comforting to know that in any reasonably sized community, we have a place for Shabbat. Being Jewish, I've discovered, means that I've got family everywhere.