Shabbat Shalom
reflecting on the Jewish celebration of rest
For those of you who may not be familiar with Shabbat, it is a Jewish holiday celebrated weekly on Friday evenings as the sun sets below the horizon. Jews around the world gather with their families and friends to mark the closing of the week. Many celebrate with a feast-style dinner. Shabbat is a deep breath—a collective pause. We light candles and we welcome in Saturday, “Yom Shabbat”. Shabbat at its core is a moment to step away from the grind of daily life, giving us permission to rest.
For me, Shabbat is a permission slip to sit in stillness and revitalize my spirit.
For my whole life, my immediate family lived far away from our extended family. This meant that most of our holidays were spent just the four of us. Jewish holidays were something that we celebrated with our family-friends, and not often. When we moved to Connecticut in 2000, Shalom, Rachel, and their kids Dorit, David, and Debbie extended their robust family traditions to us. Our fathers grew up together in Jerusalem and shared a lot of cultural similarities. Shalom welcomed us into the folds of his family’s deeply Sephardic traditions. I especially loved going to their home for Shabbat dinner.
We would arrive, the women gathering in the kitchen speaking in Spanish and doting over one another, catching up after a week apart. The woman of the house lights the candles on Shabbat. As the creators of humanity and the householder, women hold the blessings of Shabbat in their bodies and into humanity. Rachel lit the candles, and all the women circled their palms atop the flame tips, absorbing good fortune and blessings. Everyone closed their eyes, and cupped their renewed palms over their faces, whispering their own prayers and wishes into them. The kids would pull at the pant legs of their aunties as they turned to them, placing their freshly blessed hands onto each of their heads, in protection. We’d continue blessings with kiddush over the wine and challah at the long table that extended between two rooms. We ate until our bellies were full. Rachel always made the best desserts. My favorite was a magic bar that only her ratios made into an irresistible treat. She and I would chat about baking by the kitchen sink while stacking serving platters with all of her cookies and small cakes she had made throughout the week preparing for Friday night.
As I grow older, I crave this weekly pause more often. Shabbat is an invitation to start a new week with fresh sheets. It invites me to ask myself, “how may I incorporate more of this sweet, intentional slowness into my life?”
The ritual of Shabbat cemented for me in a personal way when I lived in Israel. My University was special because it blended Jews from all over the world together, and we all brought with us unique family rituals and experiences that truly represent the wide breadth that is Judaism. As soon as we all met, we became an instant family. Our class was small—just under 400 of us, and it was the first time in my life that I felt as though I belonged.
Friday mornings had a special feeling in the air—I’d wake up and bus to Tel Aviv with Shelley, Arik, and Tamara, and we’d shop the Shuk Ha’carmel and Nachalat Binyamin buying veggies and handicrafts. People bustled throughout the crowded market grasping onto colorful plastic bags bulging with jewel-toned spices, whole fish, and bountiful fruit. We’d always squeeze in a lunch at a place we nicknamed “the secret garden.” It earned its name due to its hidden courtyard dripping with climbing plants, lush flowers, and birdsong. We’d almost always order the roast beef toast accompanied by large cappuccinos, and finish the meal off with a slice of decadent chocolate cake. We’d sit for a while, relaxing and catching up over the hum of the rotating fans cooling our sweaty skin. But, we’d always keep a watchful eye on the time to not miss the last bus. Inevitably we’d scurry to the stop, busses engorged with people would pull up to the curb on King George to squeeze us in. Holding on to whatever I could, I’d steady myself as the bus lurched forward and back in the Shabbat-eve traffic. At each stop, we’d pick up more and more people—mums with their children, teenagers with long wavy hair wearing low-cut skinny jeans, soldiers in fatigues, and soft-bellied grandmothers with freshly coiffed hair—plastic bags stuffed with produce balancing on their laps. By late afternoon, the whole country would be at a sleepy standstill, just in time to watch the golden setting sun.
Then, it was time for Shabbat dinner. The smell of Shabbat in Israel was enchanting—a comforting blend of sun-warmed dates, sea salt, and chicken bouillon. We’d make simple things, playing music and cooking together. We’d use the fresh fruits and veggies we bought at the shuk to make a chopped salad, and someone would always call on their way over to check if we had dessert, stopping into AM: PM to get a marble loaf cake. The soft clanking of pot lids and jangling silverware wafted into our open windows carried by the breezes, and soft conversation and laughter lingered in the trees. A reminder that everyone around us was engaging in similar ritual. What made this ritual of Shabbat in college so cool was that every week, no matter what, we celebrated together in a joyful, familiar union. After eating, we’d laze around the living room, playing games or guitar or whatever else we felt like doing. There were no phones out. We enjoyed conversations and slowness. There was a general understanding of the restfulness that is meant for Shabbat, and we formed to these ways as we grew into adults in this country.
Saturdays were quiet. They were filled with lazy walks to the beach with packed lunches or a long hike in nature. Shabbat is slow, sensual, and peaceful. and it happens, without fail, every week. There’s something so easy about Shabbat when a whole country is falling into an identical rhythm, and establishing this in America has been tricky. What I know is that I highly value rest, and detaching from the grind of my day-to-day in the week, and Shabbat has become an excuse for me to do just that.
Rest is as important as productivity. It’s a tall order to go against the societal grain and choose to sit in reverence instead of producing something, but what Shabbat has taught me is that being is as important as doing. It’s about restoring the self in a ritualistic, repetitive way that refills the spirit. Shabbat gives me a chance to pause and to reemerge in a beautiful cycle.
Every Friday at sundown, I light two beeswax candles. I warm my palms over the flames and I hold them over my eyes with gratitude. I thank the universe for my prosperity and my health. I pray for my family and the well-being of the earth. I kiss Dan. On Saturday I practice kundalini and I work on the things that bring me joy. Sometimes I write this newsletter, other Saturdays I work on my book, and I always give space to work on calling in my greatest dreams. It’s a weekly invitation to check in with reverence and joyful slowness.
So, on this Friday eve, I invite you to find your own “Shabbat”, and engage in sacred rest in whatever way that resonates for you.
Shabbat Shalom.