Over the past year, Kol Echad launched Meal Coordinators – a paid position to ensure that meals are available to all who could benefit from an invite – in different communities. The official nature of this position spurred some heated debate, so we asked Esther F. and Rachel, two single women who prefer not to share their names, to share their thoughts on the matter:
Esther F.: Can I start with some kefirah?
I think organized Shabbos invitation programs – either the WhatsApp group that people can ask for a meal on or shul-based systems, can make loneliness worse. Not because they don’t feed people or because the hosts aren’t kind. But because everyone involved knows exactly what’s happening. The guest knows they were placed. The host knows they were assigned. And somewhere beneath the warmth and kugel, there’s the uncomfortable feeling that this wasn’t a relationship, it was a project.
Rachel: That’s a very good point. But let me ask you this: compared to what?
Compared to the ideal of neighbors naturally inviting one another or compared to reality?
The reality, in many communities, is that people spend Shabbos alone. Week after week. Not because no one cares, but because everyone assumes someone else invited them, or because people don’t know who’s looking for a meal, or because they’re simply busy and overwhelmed and all the good excuses that exist.
A flawed invitation beats no invitation.
EF: You’re making a pragmatic argument. I understand it.
But communities don’t only solve logistical problems; they also create culture.
Once hospitality becomes someone’s job, everyone else’s responsibility subtly diminishes.
Instead of asking, “Who haven’t I seen at my table lately?” people start wondering, “Doesn’t the coordinator take care of that?”
That’s not building community. That’s outsourcing it.
R: Unless the coordinator’s entire purpose is to remind people to ask exactly that question.
Think about it this way: every healthy community has infrastructure.
We have gabbaim because we don’t trust aliyos to happen spontaneously.
We have presidents because we don’t expect institutions to run themselves.
We have bikur cholim committees because good intentions alone don’t visit hospital rooms.
Why should hospitality be the one area where organization is somehow seen as less authentic?
EF: Because hospitality isn’t a service. It’s a friendship. Or at least it’s supposed to be.
There’s something profoundly Jewish about someone saying, “Come because I want you at my table.” That’s very different from, “Come because you’re on this week’s list.”
R: I think you’re oversimplifying this. Are those really the only two options?
Most meaningful relationships begin with some form of introduction.
Someone introduces you at a wedding.
A mutual friend says, “You two should meet.”
A rabbi connects two families.
No one says those friendships are artificial because they began with structure.
Why can’t a Shabbos invitation work the same way?
EF: All those examples are missing one thing – vulnerability, and that changes the equation. If I’m introduced to someone professionally, there’s no imbalance. If I’m invited because everyone knows I “need” a meal, then that imbalance hangs over all future interactions.
And even if no one else is thinking it, I am.
That matters.
B: It absolutely matters.
Which is why these programs have to be designed with tact. We’ve all participated in events or programs where the tactless coordinator was patronizing. Thankfully, I’ve also participated in programs where I felt seen and respected.
EF: There’s another danger in a system. Imagine seeing an ad in a magazine that touts the efficacy of a meal program and lets readers know they place a hundred guests – and you are one of those guests.
R: Fair enough.
But the opposite danger is equally real.
Communities congratulate themselves on being warm because everyone knows everyone – except for the people no one notices.
I’ve learned to distrust communities that insist they don’t need systems because everyone is cared for. Sometimes they really don’t need any systems, but sometimes they simply don’t know who’s being left out.
EF: I think I’m coming around to your side. But being that you are so systems-oriented, let me ask you this – what does success look like? Is the goal to reach a point where the coordinator is no longer necessary because the culture has changed so dramatically?
R: I’m not sure that’s a goal at all. Some communities are transient and without someone tracking, people will invariably get forgotten. Some communities are enormous and without a coordinator, people will definitely fall through the cracks.
Maybe a system is scaffolding that just never gets taken down. I seem to see that all over New York City…
EF: Perhaps the longer that scaffolding stands, the harder it becomes to build the neighborhood that no longer needs it.
R: Or perhaps without the scaffolding, no neighborhood is ever built in the first place.
What are your thoughts – organic invitations or meal coordinators? Do you have a topic you’d like our ‘single hockers’ to debate? Email us at kolechad@ou.org
