It is Friday night. Amid flurries of last-minute preparation, another busy week comes to a close and Shabbat’s calm descends. The day bears different gifts for each of its revelers. For some, Shabbat brings spiritual rejuvenation; for others, it is simply a time for much-needed rest. But spanning the collage of traditional Judaism is the value of family and its inextricable connection to Shabbat. Shabbat is defined by the meals we eat together, by the conversations and stories shared around the table, by making up time spent apart during the hectic week.
Shabbat is a gift, and only we are able to create its atmosphere. Every family member must put away his or her cell phone, schoolbooks, and workaday anxieties for 25 hours, subordinating the needs of the individual to that of the communal. Within each family exists a unique system and customs that help engender this feeling. These customs do not develop overnight; each couple shapes these rituals as they begin to build their life together and evolve into a family. But how does a family with two separate traditions create a new tradition that speaks for both families? How can two individuals, each with their own children, establish a new unity that resonates for both families?
For my family members and me, these questions were both a challenge and an imperative. At the time that Henry and I married 28 years ago, he had been a widower for a year, with four children whose ages ranged from 9 to 18. I had been widowed for four years, with three sons from ages 8 to 13. Our children all attended Hebrew day schools and had shared similar summer camp experiences. But despite our similarities, we were two very separate families whose children did not know each other well. We were faced with the task of building something new. Trust and a sense of family and safety needed to be established.
The day of our marriage was lovely. The children were the wedding party, holding up the huppah and serving as ring bearer, maid of honor, and best man. Family, children’s friends, and our own friends celebrated with us. The day after the wedding, we began to build our new family and find our places, our roles, and even our titles.
I recall one evening, before our marriage, when we had a discussion in a restaurant with all of the children about what they thought we should be called. With laughter, some nervousness, and a sense of relief to be talking about this important topic, we jokingly batted around different possibilities: just “Mom,” or maybe “Mommy #1,” or how about “Mommy #2”? Our goal was to let everyone know that it was OK to take time and explore until some name felt right. We acknowledged that we were all treading new terrain, but that we would work things out over time.
Each one of us has had to find our own comfort zone. Some of the children lost their places as the oldest or youngest sibling. Several of our sons became instant roommates with their new siblings, whom they had met only a short time before. In addition, Henry and I needed to find time to work out our ideas on everything from rules about jumping on the bedspreads, to limits on allowances to daily study rules.
Shabbat, with its beautiful rituals and ceremonies and its 25 hours of family time, gave us a frame within which to work when we were first trying to create our unique, Katz-Sadinoff shape. Shabbat was a time when the stress of trying new things was lessened. We all sat at our newly expanded Shabbat table, conscious of our larger size but taking comfort in the rituals and ceremonies we all shared. The “Abba” at the table, whatever his honorific title in English, made kiddush, and the “Ima” lit candles. The melodies were familiar to us all, as was the food, and the conversation ranged through known terrain.
However, the large number of children at the table did create some tension. Status was determined by how close one sat to Henry’s or my seat. In a small group, people can be equals in taking part in the conversation, but we numbered nine at our smallest. As we sat, multitudinous, around our large table, our chatter would often splinter into many different conversations. Other times, one person ended up dominating the discussion. Unity, our holy grail, was not easily attained; it required that we, as the adults, balance the conversation, stepping in to lead at times while ensuring that each child had the chance to shine. Yet, knowing that Shabbat’s three, sumptuously long meals provided ample spotlight time for all, we were able to relax.
Henry and I both brought into our marriage the tradition of blessing our children on Friday night. At a time when we were just getting close to the children and they close to us, here was an opportunity to reach out, touch, caress, and bless them in a public, formal, and delicate way. Each one of us savored these moments; even our teenagers were willing to reach forward to receive this blessing from their new parents.
The hours of Shabbat offered us time to be in our own sphere. We used those hours to play board games and ball games and, through these activities, to get to know one another in a relaxed way. Most children seek to individuate and expand their sense of themselves by visiting with friends. In the first years of our new family, this process of individuation was slowed down for our children. Instead, there was more of an emphasis on keeping each other company on Shabbat. As they were the newer children in the community, my children from my first marriage did not have many Shabbat invitations. In fact, our new and enlarged Katz-Sadinoff group received very few Shabbat luncheon invitations. Perhaps we were too large a group for others to feel at ease with. Be that as it may, the children played with each other, often inviting other children to our home for the afternoon. Our oldest son, Michael, left his freshman dorm each week to return home, to be a part of this new and developing family unit.
Both Henry and I felt that remaining an integral part of our extended families was important for us and for our children. We put a lot of time and energy in hosting aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents from all four parts of our family. As a family, in fact, we asked and expected that all the children would attend every function, no matter which part of the family hosted. Shabbat was also the best time for inviting family over because we were often busy on Sundays. Without question, our family put in a great deal of time meeting new relatives and maintaining connections with others. Perhaps this explains another reason why our children seemed to remain at home more than did many others.
Shabbat in our new, blended family changed my life in ways I had not anticipated. I found that during my time in synagogue I focused only on the public, communal needs of our family. Following the direction of my daughters, I sat in the seat their mother had previously filled. I was happy to meet the welcoming friends and acquaintances in the community, but had little time to spend on spirituality in the prayers or on self-reflection. Like my adolescent children, I put off my own individuation, my personal integration into a new community, and tried instead to foster the growth of my fledgling family.
While putting off my own spiritual needs was appropriate and necessary for a period, eventually, once our new family was well established, I was able to focus on my own Shabbat needs and to work with others in my community to form a women’s tefilla service. This initiative has enriched my Shabbat experience ever since and introduced me to a group of women in our community who share my needs and with whom I feel very close.
Indeed, this effort to find a meaningful Shabbat prayer experience for myself brought Henry and me closer to each other. We were able to talk about our experiences on Shabbat through another lens. During the formative years of our women’s tefilla group, we had great difficulty obtaining a Torah to use on Shabbat. Henry recalled that it was a tradition in some homes to own a Torah and suggested that we do the same so that it could be available to our women’s tefilla group. I appreciated his caring and his understanding of my need for a Shabbat setting that would resonate for me, and I was grateful for his ongoing help in fostering the group.
Today, Shabbat continues to be a time when we find opportunities to join with and enjoy our new larger family. As with every family, weekdays are packed with activities, and Shabbat provides a unique moment to slow down, to focus on and savor our grandchildren, and to watch our children, now the parents of their own families, as they each create their own beautiful Shabbat experiences. Looking back, it is clear that Shabbat helped us enhance the creation of our second and enlarged family, and we feel blessed that we have been supported and shaped by its beautiful traditions and rituals.