A Taste of the Garden of Eden

If a person roams through a desert, the Talmud explains, and loses track of the day of the week, he is to count off six days from that day and sanctify the seventh. So connected to a primal rhythm of the universe is Shabbat that rationally we think we can do without it, but unconsciously we can't. Shabbat is the quintessential experience of Judaism.  It goes, far beyond a religious celebration, into the spiritual core of each individual so deeply that it is the next best thing to paradise.

Shabbat is inaugurated each Friday evening with the Kiddush, a prayer that sanctifies the day and recollects two monumental events in Jewish biblical history: The Exodus from Egypt and The Six Days of Creation. Chapter two of the book of Genesis contains a compact description of The Garden of Eden, a visionary utopia, directly linked to the Creation story where Adam and Eve were tempted to eat of forbidden fruit and paid for their sin with the fate of permanent exile. This story is an allegory of an ecstatic haven, from where we all originated which resides somewhere deep in our collective memories, and to where we intuitively crave to return. Shabbat is a momentary return to the Garden of Eden.

Contemporary culture places great value on "doing". We are taught we should be as busy, focused, and productive as possible; even in spare moments, we need to be entertained or to fill our time with radio, television or some other distraction. Very little worth is placed on the experience of simply "being". The secular world sees it as doing nothing productive; Judaism sees "being" as an important value whose lack contributes significantly to our greatest problems. Shabbat is "being time"; it allows us to rest and recharge. It permits us to take our focus off the outside world, for twenty-four hours, and bring it to our inner world where we make contact with our deeper dimensions. We bring spirituality and healing into our lives, when we enter the realm of being, and deeply connect with spirit.

Thirty-nine categories of forbidden work define what is not permissible to do on Shabbat. They consist of the activities that went into the construction of the Tabernacle. This "Tent in the Wilderness" portrayed to the ancient Israelites nothing less than Creation itself in physical form; in other words God said on the Seventh Day don't tamper with Creation. If that's the case, we can use these mandates, not necessarily, as rules and regulations, but as guidelines to enter "being-ness".
The question arises: if we are not to be bound by the precepts of Shabbat, how do these rules apply as guidelines towards our ultimate freedom, particularly for those who are not able or not willing to engage in Shabbat according to the demands of strict Jewish law?

Shabbat is about freedom--the theme of the Exodus. On the Seventh day we are liberated from our daily tasks, and not restricted, to be who we are.  Shabbat is the day of rest. We rest our minds and our bodies in order to listen deeply to ourselves. If a full day is not possible, start with an hour or two and simply be alone with quiet mind and no outside distractions--no phone, no TV and no responsibilities. A friend of mine, who doesn't have any organized religious affiliation, keeps his time unscheduled on Shabbat to listen to his own spontaneous needs, freeing himself from obligations and appointments. This permits him to renew his inner self and provide a balance for his busy schedule during the week.
Shabbat is called "a delight".

In early spring, about ten years ago, I was in Jerusalem.  One Shabbat afternoon, I awoke from a deep sleep and thought I better hurry if I don't want to miss Minchah, the afternoon prayers. As I left the hotel I looked at my watch and realized I rushed unnecessarily and had plenty of time.  I wandered over to the Jerusalem Hilton, across the street from The Great Synagogue. I entered the lobby and noticed dozens of people milling around, chatting, and drinking, as the sun began to fade. Two young men motioned me to come over and join them for a drink. These were Christian ministers from California who came to the Middle East to monitor a Christian radio network in Lebanon. We chatted for what seemed quite some time in the dim of the afternoon, serenity permeated the lobby, then one of them turned to me and confided, "this Shabbat, of yours is so peaceful, so sweet, we think we're going to take it back to California with us". The sun was already setting. Shabbat was nearly over. How sad!