Visiting an Orthodox Jewish Community: Etiquette Guide

I want to tell you something that might surprise you: we love having guests. Seriously. Shabbat dinner with new faces around the table is one of my absolute favorite things. My husband once joked that I collect guests the way other people collect stamps, and honestly, he's not wrong. Last Pesach I had fourteen people at my table and only four of them were family.

So if you're nervous about visiting an Orthodox community — whether it's for a Shabbat meal, a synagogue service, or just exploring the neighborhood — I want you to relax. You're going to be fine. But a little heads-up on a few things will make the experience smoother for everyone, so let me walk you through it the way I'd explain it to a friend.

First Thing: We're Not All the Same

This is important and people get it wrong constantly. "Orthodox" is a huge umbrella, and visiting a Modern Orthodox family in Teaneck is a very different experience from visiting a Hasidic family in Williamsburg, which is again different from visiting a Yeshivish family in Lakewood.

My friend Dina is Modern Orthodox. She wears pants, she has a TV, her husband works on Wall Street, and her Shabbat table conversations bounce between the weekly Torah portion and whatever Netflix series everyone is watching. My cousin Malky in Boro Park is Hasidic. Her husband wears a shtreimel, her kids speak Yiddish at home, and there is no TV in the house. Both families will welcome you with open arms and feed you until you beg for mercy. But the vibe is different, the expectations are slightly different, and the level of formality is different.

So here's my golden rule: when in doubt, observe and follow your host. Watch what they do and match it. This one rule will save you from 90% of potential awkwardness.

What to Wear

I'm not going to give you a rigid checklist because it varies. But here's the general idea:

If you're a woman visiting a more traditional community, wear a skirt that covers your knees and a top that covers your elbows and collarbone. I know, I know — if you're not used to it, it can feel like a lot of coverage. Think of it this way: you're dressing for the occasion, like you would for a job interview or a fancy dinner. Nobody expects you to overhaul your wardrobe. Just find something modest and you'll be fine. My friend Lisa visited us for Shabbat dinner and wore a gorgeous long-sleeved wrap dress she already owned. She looked amazing and felt comfortable.

If you're a man, wear long pants and a nice shirt. In a synagogue, you'll need a kippah (head covering) — there are usually extras in a basket by the door, so don't stress about bringing one. My neighbor's friend Dave once walked into shul for the first time, grabbed a kippah, put it on backwards, and nobody batted an eye. Someone quietly helped him adjust it and that was that.

For Modern Orthodox settings, the dress code is a bit more relaxed, but modesty is still the baseline. When in doubt, more coverage is always safe. Nobody in the history of Orthodox Judaism has been offended by a guest dressing too modestly.

The Handshake Thing

Here's where visitors sometimes have an awkward moment. In many Orthodox communities, men and women who aren't married to each other don't touch — no handshakes, no hugs. This is called shomer negiah, and it's about maintaining personal boundaries in relationships. It has absolutely nothing to do with disrespect.

I say "many" because it varies. Some Modern Orthodox men will shake a woman's hand, especially in professional settings. Some won't. Rather than trying to guess, just let the other person take the lead. If you're a woman and you meet an Orthodox man, wait and see if he extends his hand. If he doesn't, just smile and say hello. If you accidentally extend your hand and he doesn't take it, laugh it off. I promise he's not judging you — he's probably more embarrassed than you are.

My friend Rachel tells this story from her office: a new Orthodox colleague started, and on his first day she went in for a handshake, and he sort of did this little wave-bow combo instead. She had no idea what was happening. By week two they had it worked out — verbal greetings, big smiles, zero weirdness. They ended up being great work friends.

Shabbat Survival Guide

If you're visiting during Shabbat (Friday evening through Saturday night), this is the big one. We don't use electricity, drive, carry money, or use phones during Shabbat. This isn't a suggestion — it's how we live every single week.

Here's what that means for you practically:

Don't ring the doorbell. Knock. Or better yet, arrange your arrival time in advance so your host is expecting you. I once had a guest who stood outside ringing the bell for ten minutes while we were all sitting at the table wondering where she was. Now I always tell guests: "Knock on the door. Loudly. We're probably singing and might not hear you right away."

If you need to use your phone, step outside or into another room. You don't have to turn it off — just be discreet about it. Think of it like being in a movie theater. My husband's college roommate visited us for Shabbat and excused himself to the porch when he needed to check something on his phone. Totally fine. No drama.

Don't offer to turn lights on or off, don't suggest driving somewhere, and don't bring gifts that need to be plugged in. Flowers are great. A bottle of wine with a kosher symbol is great. A book is great.

And please — bring an appetite. Shabbat meals are legendary and your host has been cooking since Thursday. If you refuse food, my mother-in-law will take it personally, and trust me, you don't want that.

The Food Situation

This is where people accidentally create problems with the best of intentions. Never bring homemade food to an Orthodox home unless your host has specifically told you it's okay. Even if your brownies are famous. Even if you made them with love. The issue isn't your cooking skills — it's that our kitchens follow specific kosher rules about ingredients, utensils, and preparation that your kitchen almost certainly doesn't follow.

If you want to bring something, bring commercially packaged food with a kosher symbol on it (look for an OU, OK, Star-K, or other certification mark) and leave the packaging intact so your host can check it. Or just bring flowers. Flowers have never caused a kashrut crisis.

When you're eating at your host's home, just relax and enjoy the meal. Everything on the table is kosher — your host has handled all of that. Follow their lead on blessings before and after the food. You don't need to know the words. You can just listen, answer "amen," and dig in.

One of my favorite Shabbat memories is watching my college roommate Jen try gefilte fish for the first time. The look on her face — trying so hard to be polite while clearly not understanding what she was eating — still makes me laugh. She ended up loving the challah so much that she asked me to teach her how to braid it. Ten years later she still makes challah every Friday, and she's not even Jewish.

In the Synagogue

Orthodox synagogues have separate seating for men and women, divided by a partition called a mechitza. When you walk in, someone will point you to the right section. Don't overthink it.

You don't need to know a single prayer. Just sit when people sit, stand when people stand, and if you're lost, the person next to you will probably help you find the page without you even asking. Orthodox Jews are used to having guests in shul who don't know the service. We've all brought friends who had no idea what was happening, and it's always fine.

Don't take photos — especially on Shabbat, obviously. But even on a weekday, photography in an active synagogue service is generally not the move. Save the camera for the architecture outside.

Conversation: Just Be Normal

Here's my most important advice about talking to Orthodox Jews: just be normal. Ask about the food, the community, the holidays, the synagogue. We love talking about this stuff. My neighbor Sarah once had a guest who asked a thousand questions about everything from the mezuzah on the door to why we have two sinks in the kitchen, and Sarah was thrilled. Genuine curiosity is always welcome.

A few things to maybe avoid: don't ask about family size (it's personal), don't phrase questions as "why can't you..." (we can, we choose not to), and please don't tell us you had a Jewish roommate in college who ate bacon, as if that proves something. We've all heard it. Many times.

Also, a small thing — when writing to us, we often spell it "G-d" out of reverence. And we call our scripture the Torah or Tanach, not the "Old Testament." These things matter to us.

You Will Make a Mistake, and It Will Be Fine

I had a guest once who accidentally flipped a light switch on Shabbat. She was mortified. Absolutely mortified. She kept apologizing for twenty minutes. My husband told her, "You just gave us better lighting for dessert," and we all moved on with our lives.

Another guest brought a beautiful homemade cake, and I couldn't serve it because of kashrut. I felt terrible. She felt terrible. We ate the kosher ice cream I had in the freezer instead, and we laughed about it, and she came back two weeks later with a bakery cake from a kosher shop and it was delicious.

The point is: any Orthodox family that invites non-Orthodox guests into their home knows that mistakes happen. We're not sitting there waiting for you to mess up so we can be offended. We invited you because we want you there. We want to share our Shabbat table with you. The whole tradition of hospitality goes back to Avraham Avinu — Abraham — who literally sat at the entrance of his tent in the desert heat waiting for strangers to walk by so he could invite them in for a meal.

So come. Visit. Ask questions. Eat too much. Make a mistake or two. And when you leave — probably with leftovers my mother-in-law insisted you take — know that you have an open invitation to come back. We mean it.