My first article in these pages was about “scruffy hospitality.” Dedicated readers of this esteemed column will recall that I encouraged us all to embrace the dust in the corners and the toys on the couch in the interest of welcoming more people into our home – and thus, our community. (I stand by that, by the way, even as I panicked about the literal dust in the corners only minutes before my Seder.)

Those same dedicated readers must forgive me for harping on the same larger theme.

Our Seder was small by many standards — a mere 12, including two kids who didn’t even require a place setting. Most were related by blood, but three of them, a young family whom we’ll call “The Newbies,” fall in the category of new/potential friends.

Seder hosts will appreciate that it was not an easy choice to include the Newbies. Preparing such an event takes incredible work and no small amount of money. And in the beautiful little homes of Prairie Village, seats are definitely limited.

I have absolutely no regrets for numerous reasons — one particularly relevant for this column is that this was the first Seder invitation the Newbies had received since moving here in 2021.

That’s four years without Seders… in a town that prides itself on its warmth… on the night when all who are hungry should come and eat.

I’m not going to go on about scruffy hospitality again (even as I aspire to make a messy household the guiding light of my reputation). I can admit after hosting a Seder that when time and space are limited and you want to create a particular vibe and the world is full of people you love, it’s no small thing to choose the “stranger” over the friend.

I wonder: would the Newbies have received holiday invitations earlier if someone had first welcomed them… into the park? Or to the pool deck? Or to the pre-pick-up happy hour?

Maybe scruffy hospitality is the second step. Maybe the first step is easier still. Maybe the first step is inviting two families you know and one family you don’t to brunch at the park. Make it BYOB (bring your own bagel) and assign bubbles, balls and sidewalk chalk to each person.

Maybe the first step is using youth sports small talk to mention that you’re dumping the kids in the J pool after this to cool down: maybe you’d like to come?

Or maybe the first step is “there’s this super casual Tot Shabbat on Saturday that my kid loves…”

It is a simple thing to write that it is easy to welcome people into our homes, but I know it’s not. It’s an ordeal to put literally any food on the table at the end of the work week, much less feed people whose tastes/allergies/schedules/interests/blood types I don’t know. I know it’s far more comfortable to fill three seats at the table with people who know me than people who don’t. I know that when Friday rolls around, I want the comfort of the familiar, not the stress of making an impression.

So let us think of this in steps. After you meet the stranger, remember what it was like to not know people. And then remember that, typically, kids are easier when they have each other. My kid at the park with me wants to play with me. My kid at the park with your kid wants to play with your kid. Ready? Okay.

Step one: Invite them to come to the park. If not right now, then over the weekend.

Step two: Scruffy hospitality. “I’m having people over for pizza. My house is a mess, but we’ll light Shabbos candles!”

Step three: Invite the Newbies to the Seder. Because we don’t want to be the community that takes four years to invite people to the Seder.