Ragtag Shabbat

For some Jews, I'm guessing there is no "normal" Shabbat. I'm counting those like me who live on the fringes of Jewish community. You may not be the right age, the right sex, the right orientation, the right class, reasonably or unreasonably single, without family, shy of friends, live too far away, live unmonied, live in a single room, or the shul or rabbi or "ideology" are not sympatico. What do you do? Having tried everything, I hit rock bottom, and finally I stopped feeling guilt about how I didn't fit the traditional Jewish norm. Instead I discovered the joys of my unbidden solitariness.

Since I don't have family obligations, Shabbat is the one day, currently, when I feel that G-d's love rests on me (and I almost never feel G-d's love). Ensnared in a vicious time loop the rest of the week, I feel a release when the sun descends. Shabbos is the one day that is without worry for me- care free. Truly without worry. Worry is the froth of small, razored jaws tearing away bits of my time, chasing each millisecond down right to the sub atomic level. Meanwhile, gratefully, time gnaws at the carcasses of my worry, which grow bloated and fat at every chomp and swallow. On Shabbat, both piranha and leviathan not only starve , they are annihilated. It is true, in G-d's world, in Shabbat, time as we know it, ceases to exist, and so can the bestial.

What makes my Shabbos ragtag is that it has taken trial and error over many years to get to a place where you can say to yourself, okay, this is my situation. I'm done crying over what I don't have, what isn't working out, what isn't working for me. What is it that I do possess, here and now?

My little palace in time is filled with anticipation. I don't have to labour at anything. If I feel so moved, I daven, but with that extra measure of soul on Shabbat, sometimes I don't feel the need. In a sense it is a vacation from the intense contemplative practice (a future post) of the rest of the week- that acute scrutiny of soul and G-d that comes with contemplation of the Big Mystery; it's a lot of work.

Reading the Torah portion lately has become an adventure. Often, I wonder what's happening in that world, am keen to read the next chapter because to read Torah is to live it for real, to live it wholly, whether I know it or not. It never stays the same. I once remarked on this blog that when we contemplate Torah, in those moments, our souls are the Rorschach ink blot to the Torah's clear-eyed interpretation: Torah tells us who we are. And I may have read the same words before, but Torah may reflect back to me something unexpected and novel; not always, but enough times to keep me wanting to finish the story.

Lately, I've come to find the commentary rather superficial. Go figure. I've read it for years but now as I study it, it doesn't seem to satisfy. Perhaps these things ebb and flow. I'd kill to get my hands on the Rosenzweig and Buber Torah. I find reading Torah brings up something magical. You can sometimes surf along the waves of words, skimming them, curious, skeptical, questioning- like a child listening to a fairy tale. And like all fairy tales, sometimes, things turn magically grim. I don't always read the Torah portion.

Often I prepare food the day before Shabbat, but sometimes I cook. I try to buy one special treat to eat on Shabbat. Sometimes I buy things, usually a few groceries on The Day. I go for a walk. I listen to music. I surf the net. I watch TV and DVDs. I read. Sometimes I sit in silence for hours and watch the wind through the trees. I take pleasure in not dealing with phone calls (unless it's my best friend). I like the idea that I can say to someone, "I'm sorry, I would love to go with you to "X", but it's my Shabbat and I'm lying low for that day". Maybe one day I will say "yes".

I always, always, always, light candles. And I do it, oddly enough at the prescribed time, according to halacha. But once in a while, I don't. I tried havdalah, the whole shmear, by myself, years ago, and hated knowing Shabbat was over; separating was almost traumatic. And I hated doing havdalah alone; I had experienced the ceremony in intimate communal settings, you see, so for me, havdalah would be more like sitting shiva than a beautiful, strengthening transition to the beginning of the new week. I'm thinking again, of just doing the candle, to start. I'm thinking about it.... I do love light.

In all of this I guess I sanctify the day, though some of it seems profane. I don't think about that much. When I wrestle with some electronic device on that day, I note the wisdom of not using it. When I jostle through crowds at the mall, I recognise the wisdom of staying home. On the other hand, I am alone. I'd rather be immersed in a felicitous Shabbaton, but I'm not. I am here and now.

Creative acts? What are they? I know a woman who spends Shabbat embroidering; it's her form of relaxation (and probably meditation). My greatest difficulty is to keep from writing. Even writing nonsense on a piece of paper would be considered a creative act I am sure. I took on the mitzvah because that's the one that challenges me. Most of the time I have refrained. Ironically, on Shabbat, I am most inspired, have the greatest ideas and thoughts and revelations, and later, poof! All gone. I usually don't remember. Last Shabbat I jotted down a few ideas; I don't want to lose them anymore. But to create anything larger and whole? No. That, indeed, is work.

This present kind of Shabbat is a very different world from the one I left and have mourned lo these several years, over many pages in this blog. At one time, I had it all. My rabbi z"l, my shul, my congregation, my minyan, days of Shabbat splendour and daily minyan grace, bringing Shabbat services to shut-ins, chanting my first ever Torah portion on the bimah, dreaming about becoming shaliach tzibbur within the next decade, singing for Neil Young (heh, just seeing if you're paying attention), etc.

But this is here and now.

It is said, "more than Israel has kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept Israel". I would take it one step further: More than I do sanctify the day, Shabbat sanctifies me and makes me whole. Sometimes, when Shabbos ends, I am refreshed. Sometimes I am out of sorts. I don't think much about the effects of remembering or keeping Shabbat. I am just glad it comes every week without fail. Shabbat waits for me- such is G-d's faithfulness, I figure.

And it is true, that it is, indeed, hard to be a Jew without a community, as I have shown above. Still, even without community you just become a different kind of Jew- ragtag maybe, and solitary, but remain a devoted Jew nonetheless.

I would love to hear from other Jews on the fringes. I would love to hear how you keep and remember Shabbat (if you do)- what the day is like for you. And if you strive to remember Shabbat, what is the day like for you?