Recognizing that going to synagogue for the first time can be a challenge, we offer you our booklet, What To Expect At A Synagogue. In it, you will find an overview of what Shabbat is, and how it is celebrated in synagogues. Language is explained, the prayer services are broken down, and many common questions are answered.
Mishkan is a social and spiritual community in Chicago reclaiming Judaism's progressive edge and ecstatic spirit. We believe Judaism is a vehicle for bringing more goodness, more justice and more joy into the world. Mishkan is inspired, down-to-earth Judaism.
InterfaithFamily Shabbat is an opportunity for your synagogue or organization to join with other welcoming communities in a bold statement that we will continue to build an inclusive Jewish community in our local areas and across the country.
A great way for Jewish professionals and volunteers who work with and provide programming for people in interfaith relationships to locate resources and trainings to build more welcome into their Jewish communities; connect with and learn from each other; and publicize and enhance their programs and services.
This year is a bit more typical, with Hanukkah starting on December 16 and ending on Christmas Eve. With six weeks to go before we dust off the Hanukkiah (Hanukkah menorah), I think we have just enough time to keep December from being a dilemma. Like many things in parenting, and life, your best chance to make this happen is to start planning now.
The December holidays are a wonderful time. The lights, be they candles in our windows or lights around our trees, are beautiful. The music is joyful, and the food is both plentiful and sweet. Families and friends are together in celebration, filling homes, street corners and hearts with love and togetherness. The themes of our holidays remind us about some of religion’s most important lessons – faith, hope and the potential for miracles.
The December holidays can also be challenging. Expectations are high, and as parents we are often harried in our attempts to make magic for our children. Feelings of loss sting a bit more strongly for those of us missing a loved one, or out-of-touch with someone with whom we’d like to be in touch. With Christmas movies at the box office and schoolyard chatter a flurry with talk of gifts to be received, there can be a special tension for those of us whose families try to integrate multiple traditions.
I imagine that even if you and your spouse grew up next door to one another, going to the same house of worship and marrying after a long high school courtship, you can find yourselves mismatched in your expectations for December. For interfaith couples of any stripe, these mismatched expectations can be amplified. And for parents for whom being of different faiths doesn’t feel like a big deal from January to November, December puts their different backgrounds front and center. Even if you stand firmly grounded in your personal choices about religion, your kids are bound to throw you off base with a question about why you do or don’t do the same thing as another family they know.
Today, I would like to advocate that you make a plan. It does not need to take up all of November, but better an hour of planning in November than four hours of frustration in December. Here is what I propose.
Buy a bottle of wine. Or better yet, call a sitter. Carve out an hour of time with your partner to talk about what your Hanukkah through Boxing Day calendar will look like, and what you’d like it to be. If you’re not sure, look around your community or online for articles, classes or friends who can help you plan to make the time a period of fun, giving, relaxation and maybe even a little learning.
Some questions that I have seen come up for our family and others during this time, in case you don’t know where to start:
Do we want to exchange gifts? For both Hanukkah and Christmas, or only for one?
How important is it that we light the menorah for eight nights? If the answer to this means you’ll need to have a menorah in multiple locations or on a destination vacation, how will that happen?
Do we feel strongly about what grandmas and grandpas give (or don’t give) to our kids?
How do we want to talk to our kids about Santa Claus? What about the Christmas tree that we do (or don’t) have?
How would you like to talk with your children to help them understand your choices in relation to the choices of their cousins’ families? Their friends’ families?
And most important, of course, what do you want to get out of this holiday season for yourself, and how will you make it happen?
Do that, and then call your own parents. Talk to them about what they hope for, and share what your own hopes are. If you can’t do that, at least share your feelings with whomever will help make the holiday spirit bright for your family.
And then have fun. Eradicate the dilemma from your December, and bring on the holiday cheer. And let me know how it all works out.
My memories of religious school are pretty varied. I remember visiting the sanctuary in first or second grade, a room whose enormity overwhelmed me, watching a few old men daven in the corner while our teacher pointed out the ark and the eternal light. I remember great conversations in our Jewish Studies sessions in later elementary school, reading coming-of-age stories about Jewish children and discussing them together. I remember lots of bagel cafe sessions, too many, if I recall, designed to drill down on how to order cream cheese in Hebrew.
I also remember a few teachers who seemed old-fashioned and way too strict. I remember some social dynamics between middle school students that hardly seemed to reflect the Jewish values we were learning in class. I remember some unfortunately contentious conversations during Confirmation class with a rabbi who didn’t seem to understand us teenagers. Like my secular school experience, there were things I liked, and things I didn’t. When all was said and done, I think I would say religious school was important, and I learned things that have stuck with me. There were people and things I loved about it, but I am not so sure I would ever say I loved it.
We are only two months in, but Ruthie loves Sunday School. I didn’t expect that. I hoped she’d like it. I hoped she’d learn some things that would stick with her. The big surprise of this school year is less about her Monday-Friday school experience, and more about how much she loves Sunday School.
There are a few reasons why Sunday School had a step-up in the likeability scale before she even started. She has a Sunday School best friend, who she met last spring, who not only clicks with her beautifully but even shares her name (another Ruthie!). Unlike many of her peers, Ruthie started in public school in pre-kindergarten, so her Monday-Friday school is old hat, but this is her first year in Sunday School, so there is a shiny newness to it. And Sunday School is something that only Ruthie does – Chaya isn’t old enough for it, so her Sunday morning obligation also solidifies her position as a more mature sister.
But that alone isn’t enough to create love. I give the majority of the credit to the reality that her Sunday School is loveable. The temple where we are sending Ruthie is one of many where I have seen a commitment to make religious school awesome, recognizing that a lot of the parents dropping off kids on Sunday morning did not love Sunday School. The curriculum is varied and current. Once the kindergarten crafts are done, Ruthie’s class engages in Hebrew Yoga to connect themselves to Jewish concepts and spirituality. Learning about Torah is so fun that we have overheard Ruthie bragging to her non-religious friends about how cool it is that she is learning about it.
A friend with older kids assured me that Ruthie’s love is likely to wane, that I can expect an adolescent girl at some point that I’ll have to drag to temple on Sunday morning. I don’t doubt that that may lay ahead. But for now, Ruthie loves Sunday School, and it is a pretty great gift.
By now hopefully you’ve had a moment to read about Jane Larkin’s RoshHashanah parties, which I plan to crash if I am ever in Texas for the Jewish New Year. This year my family started a new Rosh Hashanah tradition, too, although we hardly invented it; it was just new to us. At a family program at Ruthie’s Sunday School, the Rabbi taught us about the Sephardic tradition of the Rosh Hashanah Seder (which you can read about here on InterfaithFamily). I had never heard about this tradition, but figured it was worth a whirl. It was not only fun, but it brought with it a great chance to explore our hopes for the New Year in a new way. And it had the added bonus of being a very tasty addition to the celebration, as well.
The Rosh Hashanah seder is a seder of word plays, so the order is a series of foods that you eat, each of which has a word play that expresses our hopes for the New Year. For example, the Hebrew, or Aramaic, word for beet is related to the Hebrew word for beat, so when we eat it we can think about beating our swords into plowshares, or beating a path to free ourselves from our enemies. They are word plays that force a chuckle or a smile but also beautifully represent hopes for a sweet, peaceful and fulfilling year.
The spirit of the Rosh Hashanah seder is lovely, and the eats are good (more details on what we ate at the end of this piece). But it also offered something else to my family. As a parent of young kids, it is hard to find space to connect to the holiday. I derive joy and spiritual connection from watching my girls discover their Judaism, but sometimes it is hard to find time to remember my own Judaism. My time in the synagogue is a mix of reading, reflection, and making sure Chaya is coloring only on her coloring sheet, and not the synagogue furniture. The chance to extend the day’s observance to the intimate setting of our own home, where my kids can vacillate between the table and playspace, gives us all another inlet for observance. So our first Rosh Hashanah seder was a wonderful addition, and hopefully the first of many.
And in case this all sounds nice, but like too much to coordinate, here’s a shortcut to our seder:
We used the Sixth & I Historic synagogue seder book, which can be downloaded here (IFF’s Benjamin Maron also recommends another book in this 2012 article).
Here’s what we ate:
Dates straight out of the container. These were Chaya’s first dates, and she loved them, so I’d suggested getting them without pits to prepare for 2-year-old-date-inhalation.
Pomegranate straight from the fruit, although our Rabbi had the chocolate-covered ones, which would be a big time saver in a pinch.
This week, our faithful, energetic, tremendously creative, and incredibly smart editor, Lindsey Silken, is getting married. We know this is the parenting blog, and not the wedding blog, but as two experienced married folks, we thought we’d take this special opportunity to offer some advice to Lindsey and her betrothed. Following are a few things we, InterfaithFamily parenting bloggers Jessie Boatright and Jane Larkin, have picked up in our collective 21 years of marriage.
Jessie and Eric, 2005
Our Wedding Advice Greatest Hits
We thought we’d start off with a few of our favorite tips about the big day. So here they are, in no particular order:
1) Stand up straight! It’s a small thing, but a little good posture goes a long way, especially given that there will probably be more pictures taken of you on your wedding day than just about any other day of your life.
2) Don’t forget to eat. Better yet, assign someone to remind you to eat. You’ve likely spent hours picking out menus and cakes. It is easy to get so overwhelmed with all of your guests and the joy of the day that you’ll forget to try anything you so painstakingly selected. So take a break to have a few bites or, better yet, sit down and enjoy a whole meal.
3) Once the big day arrives, there will be only one to-do item remaining on your list: have a great time! Let the event coordinators worry about the details, enjoy your day.
Getting Serious – A Few Thoughts about Making the Most of Marriage
Jane and Cameron, 2002
1) If interfaith couples have anything to teach inmarried couples, it is the importance of not making any assumptions about religion or traditions. Since Jewish tradition is wide and varied, don’t assume that anything is a given. Talk, talk and then talk some more. Or, in Jewish tradition, wrestle, dialogue, disagree, and then figure out the path that works for your family.
2) Pick something you really like doing as a couple, and remember to keep on doing it. Whether it is dancing into the wee hours of the morning or a shut-in board game night, it is important to keep coming back to a space that is uniquely yours throughout your marriage.
3) There is never a “perfect time” for anything. There is no perfect time to go back to school, or to have children, or to buy a home. You will always be able to find an excuse to delay big (and small) decisions. Sometimes you and partner will know when the time is right; other times you’ll need to “Just Do It.”
4) Bring Shabbat into your lives. Starting a Shabbat tradition is a way for sacred encounter to enter into your relationship. It is also a tangible way for you to start to build your Jewish home together.
5) It’s okay to go to bed mad. It’s hard to look at an issue clearly when tempers and emotions are high. Even a bad night’s sleep can help you see a situation from a different perspective or deal with a problem in a calmer fashion. Another trick: count to 10 before responding to a temperature-raising comment from your spouse, in-laws, or parents.
6) Your spouse may have some habits that you think you will be able to change after marriage. Most likely that won’t happen, so learn to live with them and laugh about them. When you find these lovable behaviors nagging at you, recite to yourself American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can, And the wisdom to know the difference.
7) Have your families read Jessie’s “A Charge to the Families.” There are some lessons in it that will help them support your partnership.
Lastly, remember that marriage is a journey, not a destination. There will be many peaks and an equal amount of valleys. If you remember that you and your spouse are a team that is at its best when it works together, you will have an easier time navigating the smooth surfaces, as well as the bumps in the road. Marriage’s treasures are not revealed all at once, but rather all along the way.
Best wishes for a life together that is filled with joy, happiness, strength, support, teamwork, and love. Mazel Tov!
Happy Labor Day weekend! Every year, I anticipate Labor Day weekend with both a smile and a bittersweet taste in my mouth. It always brings some kind of fun celebration, but in so doing it marks the end of summer (a particularly big deal for those of us who live in New England). Unlike last year, when the Jewish New Year collided with the start of the school year, we still have a few weeks to go before Rosh Hashanah. But for parents of school-aged children, Labor Day marks a transition into another kind of new year. A new year of earlier school day wake-ups, school uniforms to keep clean, and new groups of teachers, parents and children to get to know.
We have had a lot of fun this summer. It was Ruthie’s first summer at real “big kid” day camp, and a huge developmental period for Chaya. We had a great vacation in Maine, and a lot of weekend adventures. We made wonderful memories with family and friends.
As I prepare to for this last summer weekend, I thought I’d take a moment to count some of the blessings of the summer, and think about how I might carry them into the next three seasons. Here are some things I’ll remember:
Every once in a while, its okay to stay up late to sit around the campfire, or run around like crazy monkeys with a gaggle of cousins.
Every once in a while, it is good to go to bed early to make up for the late nights.
Try not to sweat the sand in the bottom of the backpack. It is a measure of how great the day has been. And as long as you are careful it won’t ruin your plumbing.
Similarly, relish the mud on your face. Cake some more on, while you are at it.
Never underestimate the power of a breath of fresh air.
Don’t let the rain scare you from going outside.
Every nook and cranny can be a stage for singing “Let It Go,” as long as you have a vision for it.
Those are a few of the gifts from our summer. What are yours?
The night before I left for my family vacation, I paid a shiva call to a friend who had just lost her sister. In the middle of my visit, a rabbi friend-of-the-family led those present through the first night’s shiva minyan. Before we began the Mourner’s Kaddish, the rabbi explained that this night was a very special Shabbat. It was Shabbat Nachamu, the Shabbat of Consolation. After the somber observance of Tisha B’Av, Shabbat Nachamu begins seven weeks of consolation, of shifting from mourning to comfort as we clear our minds and prepare for the New Year. It was a beautiful frame to put around this heartbreaking time, and gave those of us present a sense of purpose in being with my friend’s family in that moment. It also fortified me as I prepared for my annual trip to the Maine lakes, a trip that my Mom organized for 29 years, including 2012, the year she, like my friend’s sister, lost her life to cancer.
When I arrived at the lake, I sensed so many things that were missing, so many things to mourn. The plastic bins she packed neatly with games and crafts were missing, replaced by a mish-mash of last-minute items I had thrown into canvas bags. There was an empty seat around the campfire, and no easel set up on the dock, waiting for a sunset to paint. When I think of my mom in Maine, I see her smiling in the oversized neon green and blue plaid shirt she inherited from an old high school friend of mine, and her laughter echoes off of the lake. There are so many ways in which she is not there, and I mourn them all each year that I go up without her.
Sisters discovering a new farm for picking blueberries together. Credit: Eliza Berman
But this year I carried the rabbi’s words about Shabbat Nachamu with me, and tried not to look back quite so much. There were consolations and small comforts all around me if I opened my eyes to the present. The beauty and tranquility of the lake are gifts that live on. My Dad, siblings, and our kids and partners are still a family: a family that treks hours through weekend summer traffic to be together, to cook hot dogs on an open flame and then to find a new stone to overturn – a new farm to visit, or a new craft project to undertake. I can see a paintable sunset and relish it, even if I can’t paint it like my mom could. My nephew, whose entire life began after my Mom died, is making his way fiercely in the world and reminding me of how much of life remains for all of us to discover.
And then I found another new joy that surprised me. My girls are becoming friends. Not in the way it’s been, where I can get Ruthie to distract Chaya with a book while I change my shirt, or where the girls sit beside each other at the table but interact on separate mental planes. A real friendship is blossoming between them, one which is uniquely theirs, and in which I am only a supporting character. While we were on vacation, they created their own games together, skipping rocks in the pond side-by-side and enlisting my sister and me for hours of “beauty salon” activities. They sought each other out to try new jokes and held hands in the backseat of the car. And there was nothing as consoling as this friendship, which has to be one of parenthood’s greatest gifts.
One of my favorite Jewish notions is that of sacred continuity – that we must remember our past in order to best be in the present and plan for a better future. Shabbat Nachamu is a bridge from a recollection of loss to an appreciation of what is around us. During my week on the lake, I made a small pilgrimage over that bridge. And with the New Year approaching, I will carry the clarity I found in Maine and continue to seek out consolation and joy.
My little Chaya turned two this month. Two is a lot of fun. She is developing language at lightening speed, and even though I feel that Eric and I already know her better than anyone else (except, I must admit, her sister Ruthie), it feels as if I get to meet her anew every time she throws another new sentence together. She is just learning how to make a joke, and she loves figuring out how to make us laugh. She is firmly committed to figuring out her place in the world, which sometimes means she shows a glimmer of a “terrible two’s” tantrum, and can be a bit bossy, but overall is just a fascinating study in human development. And on that note, in honor of her birthday, I wanted to share a little story of a deliciously 2-year-old thing she did at Shabbat this month.
A few weeks ago, we were stuck in the throes of a typical Friday night. The girls were both exhausted, and attempting to eat their way through the kitchen cabinets in a race against my ability to get a balanced dinner on the table. Eric was home just a few minutes past his planned arrival time, which was hardly a disaster but meant the dog still needed to go out and the table wasn’t really set. I could hear the sound of chaos in our dining room, and was trying to figure out how to transition us into a peaceful welcoming of our Friday night.
I decided to try something different. Instead of attempting to commandeer everyone into their seats at a nicely set table, I waited until everyone was in the general vicinity of the dining room, made my Shabbat-commencing-confirming eye contact with Eric, and lit the match for the candles. Aha. I had everyone’s attention. I lit the candles, covered my eyes, and began to say the blessing.
Just as the blessing came out of my mouth, Chaya started to dance. I gave up on peeking and just uncovered my eyes. We all looked over at our smallest family member, who was watching the candles with a huge grin on her face, dancing to the melody of the blessing.
It may be a little trite, but this two-year-old was trying to tell us that Shabbat is something about which we should be dancing. More than that, it felt like a bit of a parenting victory. I often feel like when I start a ritual I never know how long it will take to stick, or even if it will stick. This goes across the board, from something as big as Shabbat or as small as teaching the girls to put their clothes in the hamper when they’re dirty. When Chaya danced, it felt like I wasn’t teaching her about Shabbat – she got it, and in her own way, even better than what I tried to teach her.
I doubt Chaya is going to dance every week, or even that I can transition our house from chaos to commonality every Friday like I did that week. But I am thankful for a two-year old who teaches me to see things in new ways, and whose gifts to me will always outnumber what I give to her.
I love a good wedding, which almost all of them are, in my experience. Last weekend I had the privilege of being a guest at a really powerful wedding, with a ceremony that was not only joyous but also left me with strong food for thought about the power of marriage, partnership, love, family, and community. I especially loved the way the ceremony charged family and friends to play a role in the couple’s marriage, so much so that I thought I’d share it with you.
Keeana and Marc’s wedding was special because they are a lovely couple – they are both remarkable people who are head-over-heels for each other in an infectious way. They are connected to and with their faith and their clergy in way that made it impossible to not feel spiritually connected to their ceremony. And the fact that five of their friends came together to form a choir just for their ceremony, or that Keeana’s mother, a reverend herself, led the final step of the ceremony, only sweetened the pot.
But what I really loved were the three “Charges” of the ceremony.
As I understand it, the Charge is the officiant’s chance to tell the couple about the responsibilities they are taking on as a married couple. In a Jewish wedding, I think these charges tend to be a bit more understated. In Keeana and Marc’s Christian wedding, the Charge was not only explicit, but it was said three times in three different ways. First to the congregation, then to the families, and finally to the couple themselves.
In the first charge, the pastors from Boston’s Bethel AME Church (who happen to be married to one another), told the congregation that the couple’s goal for their ceremony was to celebrate their love, to encourage unmarried guests to think about getting married, and to remind married guests about the power of marriage. This is such a lovely way to attend any wedding – to remember not only to notice the wedding dress and to listen to the couple, but also to reflect on your own relationships as you participate.
The second charge was the one that really stood out to me. I can never do it justice verbatim, but following are the Cliff Notes. The reverends took pause from the flow of the ceremony to speak directly to the bride’s and groom’s families. They reminded them that Keeana and Marc were standing before them and before G-d to enter into a holy partnership, and that moving forward their primary relationships would be with each other and with G-d. Because of the sacred nature of the commitment they were making to each other, the officiants implored the families that the best way to support these two individuals going forward would be to support them as a couple. This included supporting their ability to (and perhaps need to) forge their own path as a unit, sometimes stepping aside to let them stumble together. The reverends promised that if the families supported the couple’s partnership, they were gaining a respective son and daughter, and that respecting the partnership was the way to be close to the adult child who they raised themselves.
This was not striking because it was a revelation to me – Eric and I have always felt great support for our marriage from our parents. As a parent myself, now, I feel like I am one step closer to understanding the potential challenge of this charge (although not nearly close enough to really get it!). After nine years of marriage, I am unmeasurably appreciative of the ways in which our families have supported our marriage journey, even when we’ve made choices that have been very different from those our parents made (or might have made for us!). The way Keeana and Marc’s pastors laid out the charge reminded me that this is never something to be taken lightly, that it is work, and that it is sacred work. And while this post may read as more about marriage than parenting, the truth is that all of this only becomes more important when children are in the mix, and the dynamics present and decisions to be made feel even more complex than before.
So it reminded me, especially on the eve of our anniversary this week, to say:
Thank you to Mom and Dad and Mom and Dad!!!
(and the rest of our families, too, of course), and to remember that the successful union of two people is all the richer when we have our friends and family holding up that union.
The final charge, to the couple, was a lovely statement about love and commitment. And all of the wedding guests will remember the way that two pastors emboldened them to maintain a passionate marital bed, but that is for another kind of post for another kind of day.
So Mazel Tov to Keeana and Marc. Mission accomplished in helping me reflect on the power of love and marriage. Thanks to you two, too.
Boatright Family Rules (Draft Form). Rule # 10 says "Be Kind to Other People"
Shavuot came at an interesting time in our parenting journey this year. In addition to cheese blintzes, the main event on Shavuot is a commemoration of when the Jewish people received the Ten Commandments and the Torah. It is a holiday to renew our commitment to the Torah, to study on the Ten Commandments, and to celebrate the many stories and mitzvot that the Torah contains. This celebration of the rules that G-d gave to us at Mt. Sinai fell at a time when the role of rules in our family is at the forefront of our interactions.
At 5, Ruthie is in a period where her primary developmental focus is to test the boundaries of the world around her. This manifests itself in a constant engagement with Mom and Dad’s rules, as she uses her (of course exceptional) intellect to try to sneak around rules, to push the boundaries set out for her, and sometimes to ram head-first against a decree that Eric and I think is completely non-negotiable. As we try to support her through a series of transitions–the end of the school year, the beginning of an unknown summer camp, and the anticipation of kindergarten–what I hear in her words is a complete disdain for rules, but what I see in her behavior is a need for structure even more than she’s needed before.
So in the middle of a somewhat involved parenting moment, Shavuot rolled around. I was lucky to take the girls to two wonderful Tot Shabbat services the week before and after Shavuot, where they (and I) got two different perspectives on how to celebrate the holiday. And my mind was soaking it all up, particularly when we talked about the Ten Commandments. I spent a lot of the week of Shavuot thinking about those rules, and about what they provided to the Jewish people. While the commandments are not simple to follow, they are reasonable. They give us a framework to use in relating to one another and to G-d, and a lens for understanding “right” and “wrong.” For the most part, they do not confine our every movement, but they do give us enough direction to frame the way we interact with the world.
So Shavuot seemed like a great way to hit a reset button and try to redefine the role of rules in our family. A wonderful parenting expert recommended to us that we rein in the rule-pushing by restarting with a set of family rules that the four of us make together. The weekend after Shavuot, Ruthie, Chaya, Eric and I sat down to make 10 family rules.
They are not exactly like the Ten Commandments, in that they did not come from G-d, or even from a single authority figure, but they came from all of us thinking collectively, in our case an important step for helping Ruthie feel like she has a role in defining her world. Unlike the Ten Commandments, they are not steadfast–they reflect a moment in time, and hopefully we can conquer these 10 as we all have some mastery and our family changes.
But they do apply equally to all of us, just like the Ten Commandments. And I hope that they show Ruthie that rules do not confine her every movement, but provide enough direction to guide her in interacting with the world, and hopefully even to find a feeling of safety within that. And for us, Shavuot marks a new start on rules, just as it has for the Jewish people for more than 3,000 years.
A couple of months ago, a friend invited us to Friday dinner for their little one’s birthday. I could tell in her invitation that, since it was his birthday, she was looking forward to hosting. I paused for a minute – it takes real effort to make Shabbat dinner happen, but it is a tradition I try not to skip as much as possible. So what’s a girl to do when a non-Shabbat observing friend invites you over on Shabbat?
We are not just a part of a multi-faith family – we live in a multi-faith world. And we have assembled a web of friendships that are wonderfully different in terms of religious upbringing, practices, and beliefs. Finding the time to maintain those friendships can be a challenge, especially on top of working full-time, keeping our girls engaged in school and activities, and trying to carve out some good old-fashioned family time.
I’ve written a fair amount about Shabbat and how much and why I like it. It is a heartbeat in our comings and goings, a moment to pull out of the crazy hecticness of the week and breathe before the onslaught of weekend activities. When we are in the right headspace, it offers somewhere between a moment to a whole evening to spiritually connect to ourselves, to one another, to the world, or to God. On top of that, the candles add a classiness to the table, and breaking bread and sharing a drink is a lovely way to start a meal.
When my friend invited me, I paused for a moment, thinking about whether I should give up Shabbat that week, or decline and recommend another time so that we could be around our own table on Friday night. Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she expanded her invitation:
“How about you come over, but bring candles and challah, and we can do Shabbat at my house?”
And so we did. And it was just lovely. The night before, I put our candlesticks in a bag by the door, and Ruthie put her Gatewaysblessing sheets in the bag. We picked up a challah on the way over, and Ruthie and Chaya relished in showing the rituals off to her friends. We had a fun, yummy dinner, celebrating Shabbat, blowing out birthday candles, and connecting with our friends in their home. It reminded me of Jane Larkin’s piece about celebrating Shabbat on vacation, and I thought about how lucky I was to be able to take Shabbat on the road, but just down the street, without the hassle of packing up the car or getting on a plane.
A few weeks later, another friend who isn’t Jewish invited us over on Friday night.
“We’d love to,” I said, “Do you mind if I bring Shabbat?”
“Great,” she said. And our Shabbat tour continued, to a similar but also wonderfully different effect.
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