It was not uncommon to see religious Jewish families checking into Miami Beach hotels the week before the High Holy Days. Many of them had family in the area and came south to spend this time with relatives. Often, they stayed in the larger resort hotels on the beach that were within walking distance of local synagogues. These Jewish families were easily recognizable. They had multiple children, the men were clad in skullcaps, and the women were dressed in trendy yet modest clothing. Even in the heat of Miami, their arms and legs remained covered with long sleeves and below the knee dresses. They offered a stark contrast to many other Miami beachgoers, who endeavored to cover as little of their bodies as possible.
While valet staff and desk clerks of well-established resorts were used to large Jewish families this time of year, the young woman at the front desk of the Villa Versailles at the corner of Washington Avenue and Fourth Street rarely saw one enter her place of employment. The Villa Versailles was a very small hotel of twenty rooms. It offered little more than location. Just three blocks from the beach, it served the budget traveler seeking access to Miami’s beaches, shopping, restaurants and nightlife. The Villa Versailles was not among the Miami Beach hotels that advertised in the Jewish community newspapers and magazines in the Northeast. Their clientele was primarily young travelers, adventurers, surfers, and partyers. For those seeking a spiritual atmosphere in which to lodge during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Villa Versailles would have been a curious choice. It was for this reason that the young woman behind the well-worn counter was surprised when two men in orthodox garb entered the hotel. One man was significantly taller than the other. He was carrying nothing but a backpack. The shorter man had a larger suitcase that was now resting by his feet.
“Hello, gentlemen. Welcome,” the young woman said.
“Hi. Reservation for Glickman please,” the taller of the two men said.
He noticed from her name tag that her name was Anna. She had a dark complexion and a hint of an accent. His first thought was probably Cuban, but most certainly Latin. But when she extended her arm towards her computer, he noticed a tattoo with Hebrew letters extending up her wrist. She was petite and pretty, with dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, not unlike so many other young, pretty, Israeli women.
“Yes, of course. Where are you gentlemen travelling from?”
“Georgia,” the taller man answered.
“Oh, from Atlanta?”
“No, about an hour and a half north of there.”
“Oh, very nice. Welcome to Miami. Are you here to celebrate the Jewish holidays?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh, which synagogue will you attend?”
“Is there one you recommend?”
“There are so many around here.”
“We have friends at Temple Brit Kodesh, so we will probably go there,” the taller man said.
“Very nice. It has a great reputation. And it is only a few blocks from here,” Anna said while completing the reservation on the computer in front of her. “You are in room 170. Here are your keys. The Wi-Fi password is Villavers, and if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you so much. We appreciate your help.”