Texts

Shabbat: Not Because We Have To
Erev Rosh Hashanah Sermon, 2004

A married couple brought their young child to Gandhi. “Our son is eating too many sweets,” they told him. “Please speak to him.” Gandhi reflected a moment and then told the family to come back and see him the following week.

A week later they returned, and the parents repeated their request. Gandhi spoke to the child, enumerated for him the reasons why excessive consumption of sweets was bad for health, and suggested that he cut down.

The parents, confused, asked Gandhi why he couldn’t have said that the previous week. “Before saying it, “Gandhi told them, “I had to cut back on sweets myself.”

The similarities between Gandhi and myself, I must sadly admit, are few and far between. And yet I do have an analogy with this story. Last year on these High Holidays I was prepared to give a sermon on the Shabbat. And my wonderful partner/conscience Louise said in her inimitable way, “Forget about it,” telling me that I better start practicing it before I preach about it.

So during the past year, I have taken the first steps toward Shabbat observance. They have admittedly been baby steps. It hasn’t been easy. But I feel I’m on a path. And these reflections are designed, in part, to keep me focused on this path.

Let’s go back and examine a problem many of us face. I remember in the early days some of us who were considering the internet and cell phones believed that they would save us time, time that then could be devoted to time for ourselves, for our families, for doing our bit to heal the world. If we could make that call immediately or send that message easily, it might indeed allow us to simplify our lives.

Of course we were dreaming. In fact, we make and receive many more calls now that we’re constantly accessible, calls which often interrupt time with dear ones or time reading or even time in spiritual pursuits – activities and relationships on which we place such a high premium. And, with e-mail and websites, many of us are substantially busier than we ever were before. There is, in fact, almost an ethos among some of us that it’s bad form not to return that call or that e-mail as soon as possible.

There are, no doubt, huge opportunities made available by these technologies. Radiologists are able to assist with difficult diagnoses from thousands of miles away over the internet. Developing countries in which I work have improved their communication systems immeasurably, without the need to lay ground wire (although it is disconcerting to have to endure constantly the cell phones even in movie theaters – where they not only ring but are answered!)

There may be, however, a more serious downside to these technologies and the accessibility and multi-tasking that they permit. I have to acknowledge that I’m both a chronic e-mailer and, relatedly, an obsessive multi-tasker. My kids often joke with me about our morning rides in the car during which I am likely to be eating my breakfast cereal, fiddling with the stereo system, conducting the symphony which comes on, waving back to other drivers who think I’m waving at them when I’m conducting the symphony. At the same time, I’m quizzing the kids about one thing or another – all while driving the car. I’m grateful I don’t have a cell phone or one of those wireless mobile e-mail systems.

I find myself worrying about this on these High Holidays because I’m increasingly concerned that I – and perhaps more than a few of the rest of us – may be losing something important in the process. I worry that we may be losing a part of our essence – losing the opportunity to process things properly, not taking the time even to look at, much less smell the roses. And I feel we may be losing time and space with our loved ones. We don’t get enough of the joy and love born of effortless delight. We don’t get enough of the quiet that provides wisdom. I worry that our frantic busyness may sometimes muddy the waters of wisdom and understanding – that we may be depriving ourselves of the insights that arise only in stillness.

I wonder if it’s just possible that being more accessible to everyone through modern communications technology, we are ultimately not very accessible to anyone, including ourselves.

I worry that this constant accessibility and multi-tasking means that we are less fully present in relationships with loved ones, with friends, with God. Ultimately, I ask myself, is this accessibility and efficiency making me a better member of the communities of which I am a part? I suspect perhaps not.

And I ask myself why I do it. Is it possibly out of a fear of what I might find in the quiet? Am I afraid, at some level, to confront what the Kabbalists call the “ein sof,” the infinite spaciousness which can emerge from emptiness – the company of angels which might minister to us if we are quiet enough to allow their entrance?

The problem I’m describing – the constant activity which seems to keep us safe from the unknown of the “ein sof,” from connecting with our deeper places, affects millions and millions of Americans – indeed a higher proportion of Americans than in any other nation. If it doesn’t happen to afflict you, the odds are high that it afflicts the person sitting next to you.

So friends, I dare say, there is a problem here. How do we disengage, at least in part, from this latest model of the rat race – so that we can focus on the quality of our lives, and indeed on our survival?

The solution, quite possibly, is as old as the troublesome technology is new, and reminds us that our problem has, in fact, been faced before.

See if this sounds familiar:

Vayachulu

The heaven and the earth were finished, and all their array. On the seventh day God finished the work that God had been doing, and God ceased on the seventh day from all the work that God had done. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, because on it God ceased from all the work of creation.

What God passed on to us was not seven secret coping strategies to get work done faster, not nine spiritual stress management techniques to enhance our effectiveness. What God gave us was the Shabbat, more important than Rosh Hashanah, more important than Yom Kippur, and the spiritual antidote to the disease of multitasking.

And what seems critical here is that that first Shabbat, God’s day of rest, didn’t just happen. God made it happen. Similarly, it won’t just happen for us unless we make it happen. It won’t happen for us unless we make a conscious effort to set this time apart and to keep it holy.

Common understandings of Shabbat, unfortunately, are too often limited to Shabbat prohibitions – we aren’t supposed to do this or that – rather than Shabbat possibilities. So here, for those of us who prefer possibilities, are a few we might consider, ideas stimulated by the writings of such sages as Reb Zalman, Abraham Joshua Heschel and Wayne Muller. These are not, let me be clear, not tasks observed out of legalistic obedience as if to a cranky schoolmaster, not activities to do because we ought, we better or we must, but rather activities filled with joy in the delight of being alive, activities that will, in the words of Isaiah, make us “ride upon the heights of the earth.”

• First possibility: If we are so inclined, let us prepare a Shabbat meal, alone or with friends, shopping for the ingredients, choosing those that give us the most pleasure. Then let us put on some music, turn off the phone, and feel, taste and smell each ingredient, every spice, with time being no concern. Let us decorate the table with flowers and candles, and give thanks for all those who grew and harvested and packed and shipped the food we have before us.

• Then, perhaps, let us partake of a ritual cleansing, more than simply soap and water, rather a cleansing with fragrances and music – bathing ourselves with the care and intentionality of a mother bathing her beloved child.

• As Shabbat approaches, let us consider a Shabbat box into which we place pens, address books, wallets and cell phones, all that should not be taken into sacred space. And perhaps also into that box we might place pieces of paper on which we have written the worries and concerns we would like to leave behind for this brief space of time.

We hesitate a moment before dropping our wallets into the box. How can we go shopping without our wallets? But then, a revolutionary thought: Is it possible that on this one day we might reward the fruits of our labor not with more goods and services, not with shopping, this country’s prime use of leisure time along with television, not with what Abraham Joshua Heschel calls “the nervousness and fury of acquisitiveness,” but rather with the restful and unhurried harvest of time: time to walk in the park, time to take a nap, time to play with children and grandchildren, time to read a good book, time to dance, to paint, to sing. We smile and put our wallets into the box.

• Then the lighting of the Shabbat candles – again not as a grudging duty but as an act of love. As we light them, let us take a few deep breaths, allow our minds to quiet, and feel the beginning of sacred time. Let us consciously shift our attention from what is missing in our lives to what we have in our lives, and offer gratitude for our many gifts, particularly those we may have taken for granted or forgotten. It is said that on Shabbat we are given neshemah yeterah, an additional soul, the better to delight in our blessings.

• And then, after the lighting of the candles, let us place our hands on the heads of our children and offer our timeless prayer for their protection and peace. (I’d be glad to send transliterations to those of you who don’t read Hebrew.) This I will promise you with absolute assurance: Long after our children have forgotten the jet skis, the roller blades, the mountain bike, the CDs, DVDs and Disney World, they will remember these Shabbat blessings.

• When we sit down to our Shabbat meal, let’s give thought to this: Let us set a place at the table – as we do for Elijah at Passover – for one loved one, not able to be with us, or no longer living who would take delight, who would feel nachas, at our Shabbat observance.

• And then, sitting together with our loved ones, and perhaps a guest invited to share this sacred space, let us enjoy a feast of the senses: singing, eating, drinking and remembering who we are.

• On Shabbat morning, let us entertain a radical idea: When we wake up, let’s not get up. Let’s stay in bed, allowing some time to review our dreams. Let’s stay in our pajamas. It’s difficult to do anything very responsible in pajamas. Let us, in the words of Reb Zalman, “pamper our souls.” If we share our bed with another, we might let the children know not to disturb us. Then we might share out thoughts about the week and the meanderings of our souls – all too rarely shared. And then, imagine this: a game of scrabble, or luxuriant lovemaking, a Shabbat commandment (not the scrabble).

• Or, how about this? We could invite the children in. We could speak together about the week past. We could offer tender and encouraging words to one another. And then we could express gratitude for what we have by choosing together a gift – perhaps an existing possession, or a few dollars – to some person or some organization which might derive delight from it and from this expression of our caring. We can decide together, or we can simply allow the children to decide.

• By then it may be time to collect everyone for Shabbat morning services – but perhaps not in our pajamas.

• On Shabbat afternoon, we might consider a walk in nature, alone or with a loved one, and with some of that walk in silence, breathing in the fragrances, opening ourselves to the forests and the brooks, the sightings of birds. Perhaps we might walk to a mantra – and what better mantra for Shabbat than: You make me lie down in green pastures, you lead me beside still waters, you restore my soul.

• Or let’s write a letter, a real one not an e-mail, to someone dear to us whom we don’t often get to see.

• And finally, as the Shabbat comes to an end, let us mark that ending as gently as we began it, perhaps with the sweet scent of the Havdalah box, or sitting around a Havdalah candle, becoming grounded and centered before we resume our busy lives.

Observing Shabbat may make us better Jews, but it certainly will make us better human beings. It will evoke more frequently our best selves. It may well make us, in the end, more productive individuals, but it certainly will make us better parents, better partners and better friends.

We hear many stories of persons who after a stroke, or a hip fracture, or a bout of cancer, are shocked into surrendering to a more gentle balance, into a rhythm of rest and Shabbat in their lives. Friends, we don’t have to wait until such calamity strikes. We don’t have to postpone this gift of deep balance. Let us resolve at this season of resolution, to allow the blessing of Shabbat into our lives, whether for a few hours or for an entire day each week. It will be a gift beyond riches for our loved ones, and for ourselves.

Amen