We’ve been praying for an affordable, less drafty home here in our corner of the Bay Area for quite awhile now, but the forces above have yet to manifest a cozy 3 bedroom with a dishwasher. In a place where a half a million barely gets one a patch of pavement in the trailer park by the freeway, a pretty clean yellow house with a porch is our Jerusalem. As we burn another chair leg and toss back shots of chocolate vodka to keep warm, we’ve been inspired today by not one, but two stories about the divine Jewish presence in the cutthroat California real estate market:
J.’s Mikal Lev-Ramm knows she’s found her dream flat when she sees a style-y 70’s mezzuzah outside a fourth-floor walk-up in the Haight, then peels back the mailbox labels to discover two Jewish names underneath.
And even though we don’t live in the city, we interpret this article by UC Berkeley journalism grad student Jonathan Mooallem about a former synagogue that’s been broken up into lofts as a sign that we’ve just got to keep the faith. We never know; a sweet cottage with a kosher kitchen could open up just around the corner.