Three Cups of Cafe and One Good Jew

Three Cups of Cafe and One Good Jew
by Mikhail Salita

There once lived a Jew, in good physical shape, with a clear gaze, upright posture, and a soul so open that even a simple cup of coffee near him seemed to offer life lessons.

He was not just studying Hebrew, he was on a mission. His purpose was not for a diploma or out of vanity. He was driven by a deep desire to pray in the language of the Torah, not through transliteration, not guessing at pronunciation, but honestly—out loud, with precision, with depth, as if entering a conversation that had begun long before him and would continue long after.

He set a realistic goal: to read the tefillah—the prayer—in Hebrew. No shortcuts. No transliterations. Just the sacred letters, face to face. He firmly believed that when you pray in Hebrew, it's no longer just a request. It's the breathing of generations. It's not you speaking—the soul speaks through you, guided by your intention.

He loved coffee. And tea. He didn't choose between them—he united them. As he said, everything in this world is connected. And cafe—Hebrew for coffee—and "Te" is —Hebrew for tea—belong in the same house.

His first cup of coffee, which he had taken from home, was in a plain paper cup. But what was inside wasn't just a drink—it was a morning ritual: a bit of milk, a pinch of cinnamon, and—importantly—a dose of L-theanine.

He had a personal hack. Adding L-theanine to coffee, a practice he learned from his studies, softens the stimulating effect of caffeine, reduces anxiety, prevents sudden spikes in pressure, and transforms coffee into a drink of balance rather than agitation. The taste stays. The energy stays. But what you gain is calm clarity—like a good morning when everything is quietly in place.

Alongside the cafe, there was always tea with character: green and black together, lemon balm for calm, nettle for cleansing, milk thistle for the liver, dill seeds for clarity, cat's claw for defense, chamomile—just because. He would say that every herb is like a Jew. Each has its mission, unique qualities, and benefits. Together, they bring shalom, a sense of peace and wholeness.

One day, a neighbor asked him, a man who feared sugar, salt, and even happiness.

"You drink coffee three times a day! Isn't that bad for your blood pressure?"

He didn't argue. He remembered that morning, before work, when he had checked his blood pressure as usual: 118 over 78. Pulse: 64. That evening, after a long day, it was slightly higher—124 over 86. Pulse: 67. No pills. No panic. Just cafe and te, and a peaceful soul.

He thought momentarily and said, "It's not about how much you drink. It's about how and why. If it's with intention, gratitude, and presence, then it's not harm. It's a blessing, like everything else in this world." His words carried the weight of wisdom, inviting the listener to consider their actions and intentions.

Deep in memory, he heard words that might have come from the Talmud—or maybe from his grandfather.
"A cup, drunk with intention, is more blessed than two, drunk in haste."

And he often repeated:

"Cafe, without kavanah—without intention—is like tefillah without soul. It seems right, but something is missing."

He may not have known all the tractates, but he knew how to drink cafe, how to read tefillah, and how to blend morning, herbs, and Torah into one cup—quietly filled with shalom.