Making Shabbes
by Velvel "Wally" Spiegler

Shabbat in Jerusalem can be truly magical. On my first trip to Israel in 1984, I found myself, the first Friday night there, as a dinner guest at the home of Dov Landau. The Landau family occupied a first floor apartment on a typical ghetto-like street in Mea Shaarim, the hassidic neighborhood of Jerusalem. How I got invited to the Landau’s is one of those stories that could only happen in Israel. I was ushered in to a threadbare dining room, containing just a simple dining table and rows of overstuffed bookshelves. The room was lit with clusters of candles that caused a soft, golden glow to emanate, reminiscent of a holy day at the Temple.

At the head of the table sat Dov Landau, a burly fellow of about fifty or so with streaks of gray highlighting his overgrown beard, and dressed in the gold caftan with white knitted kippah characteristic of Reb Arele’s hassidim (a mystically inclined sect). His four school age sons flanked him on one side; on the other side was Benyamin Stern, an American hasid who I met earlier that day and myself. With quiet prayers and blessing, we inaugurated Shabbat in a most hassidic way. The children were individually blessed by their father; they each in turn recited a tidbit of wisdom, they learned in school that week. In true hassidic style, Mrs. Landau and the girls never entered the dining room, except to serve the men. Once the candles went out, the children went to bed, and the men retired to an outdoor patio where we whiled away the wee hours with a little cognac and each others companionship, all of which conferred a breeze of holiness on that sultry night. It was nearly 4 AM, when I arrived back at my hotel; it was a truly unforgettable evening!

Shabbat comes easily to the residents of Mea Shaarim; not so for us here in the States.I’ve spent many Shabbats in New York’s upper West Side, the heart of Jewish Manhattan, exposed to sirens wailing, impatient motorists honking and shoppers crowding the streets.  I found this to be hardly an environment for Shabbes serenity . I yearned for the peaceful Shabbats of Jerusalem, but since that was not readily available, I’ve had to devise my own “oneg shabbat”, the joy of the Sabbath. I don’t think Shabbat was ever supposed to mean a day of doing nothing other then strictly observing the law. There’s a lot to be done on Shabbat. From my experiences in Jerusalem I have come to learn the Shabbat is to be a day of contemplative rest, a time to spend quiet time with oneself, reflecting upon one’s inner life. That’s not so easy for people who are all wound up from a week’s worth of frenzied activity. I needed to learn how to spend time alone, immersed in self-reflection, but New York City is too distracting. So I started by devoting just one hour every Shabbat for weeks on end: meditating, wandering through quiet lanes in Central Park or studying Torah or some other spiritually uplifting material. 

It’s just until sundown that we need time to speak to our hearts. Friday night and the next morning are buzzing with activity until about midday. That’s when the difficult part begins; there are household chores and children’s needs to attend to.  Some years ago  I attended Rosh HaShanah services at the Jewish Theological Seminary, uptown near Columbia University. It was a distinguished rabbi emeritus who delivered the Dvar Torah (the verbal commentary on the Torah reading). He was addressing the subject of Shabbat, and his words burned a deep impression on my mind: “If you want to experience Shabbat, you have to taste the kugel”.

Making Shabbes has always been associated with the frenetic activities of cleaning the house and preparing the meals to meet the deadline of sundown. The twenty-four sacred hours is jammed with enough rules and regulations to make one’s head spin.  Even though we may find them inconvenient, the restrictions from work and all the commandments enforcing rest help keep our minds off the secular, material world, and on to the holiness of the day. Some people nap in the afternoon, which is fine, but it keeps you away from quiet reflection. Spending the day in the company of friends and relatives may be enjoyable, but that still keeps your mind off of yourself. The Shabbes of my reveries insists on solitude and detachment, even for short periods, in order to refresh ourselves for the forthcoming week.

I don’t live a frum (observant) life anymore; maybe it’s because I live in rural Massachusetts where synagogues are too far away, but I still remember the “kugel”. I can now find the holiness of the day and the stillness of my inner life in other ways: by wandering through museums, or reading at libraries or even listening to music. For our own peace of mind, we need to catch our breath by engaging ourselves in spiritual reflection, even for one hour. 

In 1997, my wife and I were in Jerusalem together. She marveled at how the tumult of the inner city quieted down to a virtual standstill, as Shabbes approached. A traditional Shabbes dinner was served at our hotel, afterwards we went for a walk into the stillness of the night. I suggested we head over to Mea Shaarim, which wasn’t very far. When we reached the outskirts, it looked as if they prepared a Hollywood set for our delight. Families strolled in all directions under that star twinkling night; parents and children, young and old, clothed in their holiday best. The children appeared like little princes and princesses; and everyone offered each other warm, friendly Shabbat greetings, even to us who were decidedly outsiders. The sound of faint voices, coming from dimly lit apartments echoed through the streets with melodies of Shabbes peace. Shabbat is more difficult to achieve in this country, but a vision of the ideal Shabbes is within everyone’s dreams.