There is an old Jewish idea that the world rests on thirty-six hidden righteous people — the lamed-vavnikim.

They do not know who they are. They do not glow. They are not announced.

They are ordinary — and because of them, the world does not collapse.

Last night, at Eucalyptus, I am almost certain eighteen of them were in the room.

Because in a city as exhausted and incandescent as Jerusalem, showing up is a form of righteousness.

The restaurant was closing. The hugs lasted longer. We lingered. And I looked around the room and thought:

If there are thirty-six hidden pillars holding the sky in place — half of them are here tonight, arguing over arak and passing bread.

The other half are probably washing dishes somewhere, or stuck in traffic on Begin, or texting to make sure someone got home safe.

But eighteen were here.

And they looked like this.:

He greeted regulars like brothers and sisters . Touched shoulders. Adjusted a plate himself before it left the pass. He spoke about wild mallow the way other men speak about grandchildren.

He has fed presidents and poets, soldiers and skeptics. But mostly he has fed people who needed somewhere to sit and remember who they are.

If the world rests on thirty-six righteous people, surely one of them is someone who keeps ancient flavors alive so memory doesn’t starve.

**The Eshes Chayil in sparkly boots**

She is always luminous in that way that feels unforced — like she wakes up already composed.

She remembers who just lost a parent. She texts after shiva. She knows how to lower the temperature when politics creep into dessert.

In Jerusalem, this is a holy act.

**The Waiter from East Jerusalem**

He has worked there........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)