LUNCH AT THE MEIR PANIM RESTAURANT –
REALLY FINE DINING AND FUN TOO

"Am I dressed shabbily enough?", I thought to myself as I got ready to go out to lunch at the new restaurant called Me'ir Panim that was opened in the poorest area of Tzfat, the south, by Yaakov Avni, the newly religious brother of perhaps the most famous actor in Israel, Akni Avni.

"This is only the third time I'm wearing this caftan and my sandals are very new too", I thought, concerned that it would give me away, "but I'll take this old brown handbag. The thin leather is worn and the color patchy."

Adorned in these glad rags I set off.

How shall I explain the many layers of meaning of the name of the restaurant? Taken together they mean an endearing welcoming, but it is so much more than that. 'Me'ir means to 'enlighten' or to 'brighten' both physically and as a result of bringing joy. 'Panim' means 'face', but spelled exactly the same way yet punctuated differently it also means 'innards'; 'the internal part of'; innerness', inwardness; 'internal depths'.

I arrived at the Me'ir Panim Restaurant just at opening time. Uncharacteristically for Israelis, the people waiting outside in the heat for the door to open were patient, soft-spoken and mindful of one another's rightful place on line. I recalled the evening not long ago that I waited on a line with the well-heeled of Tzfat for the gates to open before a Margalit Tza'anani concert at which wine and cheese was served at every table. How rude they were, despite the fact that they greeted those who were important to them with "How are you dear?", a phony smile and a dry peck on the cheek. How galling was their sense of entitlement and self-importance as they vied with one another to get to the gate first in order to get the most desirable seats. Now, waiting for the Me'ir Panim Restaurant to open, there was no tussling, no disrespect, no arrogance. They spoke in a familiar and good-natured manner with one another. There was no posing.

The doors opened and we filed into the simply-appointed, but immaculate, dining area in an orderly manner.

I paid the two Israeli Shekels (48 cents American) that were asked of me for lunch and received a chit of paper with a number on it. True to what the write-up of the restaurant said, no questions were asked. No one inquired as to whether I was in real need of the soup kitchen that treats those who come to eat lunch there as though they were in a restaurant, or if I was hustling them. No one looked at my dress or sandals in a way that would make me feel that they looked just a bit too new. No one looked me up and down at all, as do the people I am sometimes obliged to associate with.

I went to where the food was being served. No less than six volunteers were working. There was a tray in front of me with a roll and corn with dill and pickled vegetables on it. I turned to the man behind me and said: "Excuse me. This is my first time here. I do not know what I have to do. May I take this tray?"

He said: "First pay at the door", not having noticed that I had done so. I told him that I did. Satisfied that I paid the establishment their due and due respect, he became very helpful and said: "Don't worry. They'll do everything for you." Suddenly a number of people were around me helping me and showing me what do to. One man said: "There is a first time for everything. I hope this won't be your last time here", in a manner that meant: "Consider yourself one of us."

One of the women volunteering serving the food is a long-time acquaintance of our family. Upon seeing me she greeted me warmly and served me my food carefully, lovingly: chicken noodle soup, two chicken wings, couscous, the cooked chick peas and vegetables in gravy that accompany couscous. This was in addition to the roll, corn and pickled vegetables on the tray. She did not so much as ask me to surrender the chit with the number on it that represented proof of payment. On the table was a bowl of apples as well.

I understand from what I read about the restaurant that they vary the menu quite a bit.

One of the volunteers called out: "Does anyone want macaroni?" She held up a 500-gram bag of macaroni, one of many in a large pile. I should mention that the cheapest those bags of macaroni sell for retail is four for eleven NIS.

She also came around with candy bars and gave each of us one. Those candy bars sell for two shekels a pop in candy stores.

Later the woman who served me the food, who has known my family for years and whose father is friends with my husband ,came over to me and discreetly asked: "How is your financial situation? Alright?" I answered that we are fine. She did not believe me. It is well that she did not. I did not want her to. She wished me a healthy and prosperous year.

I ate everything on the tray in order to know how satisfied the meal would leave me. It really was quite good and very filling. It is now some nine hours later and I am still not hungry. One could, if one had to, live on that one meal per day.

Looking around I liked the people I saw: men and women, young and old, a mother with a baby, a mother with a youth, Russians immigrants beside born Israelis. One of the volunteers, who looks as though he might be a convert, spoke only English.

Just as I was making my way out I saw Ya'akov Avni on his way out too. He had, despite being the owner and operator of the restaurant, been serving along with the volunteer staff. The door was positioned such that none of the diners still left there could see him going out. The moment I had anticipated came. I seized the opportunity that I had been waiting for. I walked over to him and said: "Reb" quietly so that the other diners would not hear. He looked at me kindly. I said: "The meal was very good, the service excellent and the ambiance unlike any other." He thanked me. I went on: "That meal was really worth more than two shekels and I put a hundred shekel bill in his hand. Our eyes met as he understood why I had come.

Doreen Ellen Bell-Dotan, Tzfat, Israel
DoreenDotan@gmail.com