We arrived in Israel on Friday morning, the day before ground troops were mobilized in Gaza. By Shabbat morning at Shira Hadashah, the mothership of “partnership minyanim,” plenty of men had been told they would be mobilized and others knew that they would follow soon. The sweet joy of that week’s Shabbat Kallah celebration that had pulled the diverse young and old, male and female voices into rich harmony was transformed at the end of services, as mothers, wives, and sisters wept and fathers stood pale and distracted. Equally unified, but now in concern, anxiety, and hope, the congregation recited Tehillim for the soldiers already in harm’s way.
Like many others, I have often marveled at two paradoxes of Shabbat, not only on a personal level but also as a sociological phenomenon. First, Shabbat, the day of rest whose remembrance and guarding are stipulated in the biblical Ten Commandments, is refined in the rabbinic codes as a day that both departs from and defines the workaday world. Activities prohibited on Shabbat are essential for human existence the other six days of the week, particularly in the categories of agriculture and commerce. Thus, although Shabbat is certainly extolled as kodesh, a superior and holy time, it depends on hol, the mundane week time, to support it and also to give it meaning through contrasting expectations.
Second, Shabbat is conceived of as a temporal state co-eternal with creation; each Friday night at sundown, the Shabbat that the Creator planned descends upon the world, and it is up to Jews as individuals and in social networks l’kabeil Shabbat, to receive the status of the day. Shabbat is already there, and we recognize its presence and embrace it. At the same time, Jews colloquially speak of making Shabbat: by lighting candles first to initiate and 25 hours later to terminate Shabbat status, Jews essentially bring the day into existence and then usher it out. It would seem that, if we do not make Shabbat, there is no Shabbat for us.
These two paradoxes were vividly apparent that Shabbat morning at Shira Hadashah. Israel had mobilized troops two Saturdays in a row to capitalize on the surprise factor in attacking Hamas terrorists in Gaza who had long been hurling rockets into Sderot and other southern communities. In the synagogue, we prayed for and thought about those uniformed Israelis for whom the protected nature of Shabbat had necessarily been breached. What was the status of Shabbat for those young soldiers and for those of us whose hearts and minds went out to them? Since the days of the Hasmoneans, defense of the State in its defense of Jewish lives has been mandated and has become part of Shabbat prescriptions – but the dissonance is real nonetheless: the oasis of Shabbat peace and the wilderness of the everyday world stand juxtaposed.
All of us who have ever needed to climb into a car and rush a suddenly sick child or parent to the hospital on Shabbat have experienced a parallel dissonance. It is Shabbat, and one is mindful of halakhic issues requiring changes in the ordinary routine, but at the same time Jewish law stipulates that the preservation of human life supersedes other considerations. As we navigate the emergency room, doing what we need to do, it is still Shabbat – the holy day that we have received. The protective cocoon of the Shabbat that we have made through our observances and restraints has been compromised, but for many of us the aura of received Shabbat is compelling nonetheless.
There is a third powerful, paradoxical quality that makes Shabbat the keystone not only for Jews historically but also for many Orthodox feminists in the 21st century in the Diaspora as well as Israel. For those of us who make our primary residence in the Diaspora, the issues are seldom as basic as life-and-death struggles in Israel, but they can be vividly diminishing to quality of life. Ours is a competitive culture of overworked parents and overprogrammed children. For many, the daily pursuit of careers is powerfully distracting. For others, the frustrations of interpersonal relationships and volunteer work can be overwhelming and cause them to lose perspective. But into this wilderness of wanting and getting, the prospect of the oasis of Shabbat exudes its beneficial influence.
In many interviews with Orthodox feminists, when I have asked what keeps them “in the fold” despite the sometimes dismaying lack of progress, their responses are revealing. They say that Sabbath observance has deep, spiritual meaning to them as well as practical, logistical benefits. When Orthodox feminists articulate the sentiment, “I stay here for Shabbat,” sometimes they talk about the profound meaning Shabbat has for them on a personal, religious level, discussing the way that homebased prayers such as kiddush articulate foundational elements of the Judaic narrative, such as the creation of the world and the Exodus from Egypt. Many speak about the mystical sense of renewal created by Shabbat and the feeling that one starts each week anew, cleansed in some ways as Yom Kippur cleanses – a kind of play on the concept that Yom Kippur is considered to be Shabbat Shabbaton, the Sabbath of Sabbaths.
Despite the pressure that preparation for Shabbat imposes, almost universally my Orthodox respondents say that Shabbat itself more than compensates for them by dramatically enhancing family life and ameliorating quotidian conflicts. “Shabbat opens up quality time with my children.” “Shabbat gives my husband and me important things to talk about that are bigger than us, and that really matter to us.” “Shabbat helps me to reach inward, instead of always reacting to external pressures.”
Not least, Shabbat imposes a sense of perspective through the realization that no weekday responsibility has total control over one’s existence. No matter how compelling an issue may seem on Sunday morning or Tuesday evening, when dusk falls on Friday, Shabbat and the Shabbat world take precedence. Each week, we know Shabbat will arrive, but we must do something about it: we must arrange our affairs so as to cause Shabbat to arrive for us. The tasks and attitudes associated with making Shabbat temper behavior, values, and attitudes during the real-world week as well. Sadly, but necessarily, the week can impose itself on Shabbat during times of war or illness. But far more often, the oasis of Shabbat extends its influence and joyously transforms our daily as well as our sacred lives.