The morning after our first Eilu V’Eilu essays were published, I received an email from a colleague saying, “Your articles were great. I was worried initially that one of you would have to be anti-Shabbat—which doesn’t make much sense.” Indeed, she was correct— coming out against Shabbat does not make much sense. We are not arguing theology here, as many other Eilu V’Eilu topics have. Both Jim and I definitely agree—Shabbat is good.

I think that Jim’s story is like so many of ours. We learn about Shabbat. We study about Shabbat. When we are fortunate, we get a taste of Shabbat at a friend’s home or with our congregation (I can’t wait to hear about the Shabbaton Jim experienced with his temple—it sounds great!) And yet we all struggle to actually make Shabbat in our own homes. What gets in our way? What stops us from living and not just talking about Shabbat? Is it the legacy of Reform Judaism, focusing Shabbat on Friday night? Is it our own uneasiness with taking a day off? Have our lives become so busy that we can not begin to imagine how to take a day off?

I imagine the answers to these questions are different for each of us. What gets in my family’s way—our entire world seems to get in the way!

I remember a few weeks ago, when our Saturday consisted of rushing my children out of their Shabbat pajamas and into clothes so we could go to a birthday party of a friend. We ran from the birthday party to another activity, and before I knew it the sun was setting and the opportunity for Shabbat was gone. There have been Shabbats lost in my house because of projects that needed completing or programs that needed creating. I have had Saturday afternoons when I find myself in the grocery store, picking up food for dinner and wondering where my day of rest went. Shabbats have disappeared on busy holiday weekends and family vacations. Our lives seem to push us in a direction away from Shabbat celebration. The truth is—if I actually want this day of rest, I need to consciously create the space for it.

A good friend of mine often makes fun of me because my whole week is focused on resting for one day. I run around like a crazy woman on Thursday afternoon, in order for my Saturday to be calm and quiet. The weeks that we truly bring Shabbat into our home are the weeks that I spend six days figuring out how I am going to rest on the seventh. Did I run all of my errands? Do I have something for dinner and milk for Sunday morning? Did I finish everything at the office so I can walk away on Friday afternoon without a pile of papers in my arms? Have I finished everything, so I can spend a day doing nothing?

As Reform Jews, we pride ourselves in being part of both the secular world and our Jewish world. This, I believe, to be both the blessing and curse of Reform Judaism. We, ourselves, are the only ones mandating our own Shabbat behavior. God does not hand down commandments that we must follow. We are not living in a religious community that has shut itself off from the larger world. Our world continues to have birthday parties, and soccer games, and business meetings. In truth, Shabbat is not a choice we made once in our home—it is a choice we are making every week.

There are those Shabbats when I smell the Havdalah spices and know the sweetness that we have tasted. Perhaps I finished a beloved novel before breakfast even began. Or my husband came home after services and joined us, cuddled on the couch for a movie and popcorn. Maybe we did an art project together, or took a walk to the park and pointed out the beauty in God’s world. Perhaps we had friends over and spent a lazy afternoon chatting and eating.

The day comes to an end. The Havdalah candle is extinguished in the wine, we sing “Shavua Tov,” and my crazy life begins again.

I found the opening statement by my co-Shabbat explorer Michelle Shapiro Abraham both eloquent and helpful. She so nicely expressed her longing for Shabbat in such rich and lovely language. But also importantly for me, she described the kind of struggle that I deal with as well—as do so many of us. I trust that in many ways, this struggle must be more loaded for Michelle—an educator and spouse of a rabbi.

It strikes me that so many of us use the word “struggle” in relationship to our attitude toward Shabbat. I, like Michelle, do not follow the commandments with the rigor of Orthodoxy—nor would I choose to do so. Still we marvel at the ease of orthodoxy. For many of us, not observing a full Shabbat becomes a point of tension. Our Holy Book tells us that this is what we must do. Our Sages speak continually of the importance of Shabbat. Our congregational rabbis tell us we should come to services or Torah study on Saturday mornings. Rabbi Yoffie, president of the Union, asks us, “How can we remain the dynamic Movement we have become” if we don’t recapture Shabbat? There is for many of us, perhaps even fleetingly, a little bit of guilt about what we should be doing versus what we actually do.

Michelle wrote about her family’s Shabbat customs as “emerging”—learning as they go, which seems to me a great path. I’m blessed to be married to a wonderful woman, Anita Diamant, who has written several books on liberal Jewish practice. Her words are a strong mantra for me and for many others—being Jewish today is about making choices. “It means figuring out how to be Jewish, and how Jewish to be,” Anita wrote in Living a Jewish Life. Many of her works have focused on empowering people to make choices, but making them gradually. Our choices need not be made all at once. Over time, the kind of “personal Shabbat” Michelle speaks of can emerge.

Last week I wrote about our then-upcoming congregational Shabbaton. I’m pleased to report that it was a great success. Our temple was filled with families enjoying sacred time together—eating meals together, preparing food for one another, learning, going for walks, having coffee together. It was a wonderful communal event aimed, I think, at helping many who wouldn’t normally have changed their routine to do so—even for one day. Sometimes you need the nudge to make a change. I’ve thought for some time that the Union might capitalize on its highly successful “Taste of Judaism” course with a similar “Taste of Shabbat,” where families would encounter Shabbat for just a few short weeks together. This could be sort of a mini-version of the Shabbat chavurot that Rabbi Yoffie called for in his Biennial Initiative.

I agree with Michelle—there is much joy and meaning in the smaller, family-centered way of celebrating. Being together with small groups of people, having friends over for a lovely Shabbat luncheon, or just spending needed family time together are profound ways to make The Day. But I wouldn’t discount the importance of Shabbat observance at the temple. Having activities or study or family-oriented programming, gardening together or apple-picking with other congregants on a Saturday afternoon can also invite Shabbat into your life. They are ways of bringing Shabbat to people, as Michelle suggested.

The first book my then-rabbi and teacher Larry Kushner had me read as I prepared to become a Jew was Abraham Joshua Heschel’s magnificent little book, The Sabbath. It’s a book I never tire of reading—perhaps the best argument for Shabbat ever presented. In it, Heschel says:

"Judaism is a religion of time aiming at the sanctification of time….Judaism teaches us to be attached to holiness in time, to be attached to sacred events,
to learn how to consecrate sanctuaries that emerge from the magnificent
streams of a year….The meaning of the Sabbath is to celebrate time rather
than space. Six days a week we live under the tyranny of things of space; on
the Sabbath we try to become attuned to holiness in time. It is a day on which
we are called upon to share what is eternal in time, to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; from the world of creation to the creation
of the world."

Sounds good to me.