Near the top of the list of things I wanted to experience in Israel was Shabbat.
As many of you know, I come from a long line of Sabbath keepers. We take a break from buying, selling and working from Friday night sundown to Saturday night sundown. So, Shabbat isn't a foreign concept to me. I love the Sabbath very much, but I still have much to learn.
Friday was almost exactly like it is at my house. Everyone was busy cooking and cleaning in preparation for the weekly holiday. My oldest cousin flew in from the country of Georgia. It was fun reminiscing about our childhood. He is a grandpa now and reminds me a lot of our uncle Tim: --same sense of humor --same storytelling skills -same smile --same shiny scalp.
Then, maybe an hour before sundown, my aunt directed my attention to the Shabbat candles.
They looked nothing like I expected. I thought I had "Sabbath candles".
-two short candlesticks on my kitchen table
But my candles look nothing like this!
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My sweet cousin's husband came home early, as is the custom on Fridays. He walked in, weary from his long, 6-day workweek.
What do you think he said when he opened the door?
"How can I help?"
"I need olive oil for the Shabbat candles. This oil isn't pure. It is mixed with another oil. I can't light this." She explained.
He agreed and patiently went right back out to buy the oil before Shabbat.
This is the moment I began to realize how much honor is given to women in this culture.
Everyone who walked in the door that afternoon came to serve the woman of the house.
- her brother, niece, husband, children...
She didn't seem stressed like my mother and me often are on Friday afternoons. She accepted that whatever didn't get done today could wait until after the Sabbath. And no one expected anything different.
When it came time to light the candles, it just happened, smoothly, like part of life. The women lit 2 candles for their family and 1 additional candle for each child. They spent some time in prayer. They didn't announce what they were doing. The children continued to play. But, when they were done praying, work stopped. It was time to REST.
My cousin, Sara, had a quiet confidence that I later saw in other cousins the next Shabbat as well. Not shouting instructions, but calm.
Soon the songs began and suddenly everything was new and intriguing, The singing was done by the men and boys. It was in Hebrew, but my Aunt interpreted for us.
The man of the house sat at the head of the table. He wasn't formidable. He smiled at his wife, who was at the other end of the very long table. She smiled back with reassurance. He blessed the juice and took a sip and then passed it to his wife. Everyone passed that first cup, not taking a sip, all the way to the woman of honor.
Then, it was time for the bread. Blessings were said and songs sung. The first piece was cut and passed to the Mama of the house.
I wondered how long these traditions had been practiced. The Bible came to life as I pictured Yeshua as a child, watching his parents serve each other and joining in the songs based on Proverbs 31 blessing his Ima.
So often throughout the evening I would think of a verse that suddenly had more meaning now that I could see it portrayed in front of my eyes.
I know many of my readers have been to Israel. Everyone says that the Bible really comes to life there. I kinda thought it wouldn't be that way for me so much. I'm not sure why I thought that, but you all were so right. What an amazing experience.
At one point there was a knock on the door. A neighbor lady found herself alone on the Shabbat and wanted to join the festivities. Of course she was welcomed in. There was something inside me that I can't quite explain. How amazing to be here where everyone in this neighborhood celebrates Shabbat. The streets close and the children play in the streets. Neighbors share with neighbors. Everyone is family. How strange to me, an American, coming from where we celebrate diversity and barely know our neighbors. My heart ached a little as I realized what we are missing by being so independent minded. I do love my solitude. In fact, as I write this I am alone in our motorhome, the rain gently falling on the roof. It is peaceful. I love quiet moments when I have plenty of time to think. Who would have thought I would long -just a little bit - for an apartment full of neighbors who have similar moral standards and beliefs? It would feel safe. My Aunt explained that Jews have always lived close to each other, because they feel safer in large groups. That hit me. This way of life wasn't chosen because they are social people who enjoy crowds. It's how they have survived. Everywhere they go, even in Israel, there are people who don't want them to exist. I'm so thankful I live in a country where we have the freedom to live how we choose and believe what we want to without being attacked. Sadly, that seems to be changing. But I'm enjoying it while it lasts.
(Sorry for rambling. I'm not sure what to cut out of that last paragraph, and I really need to get this posted, so I will leave it for now.)
...the neighbor lady talked about the times we are living in and her belief that it is time for the Jews and Christians to unite against our common enemies. She was happy to meet Christians from America. She was a Jew from Germany.
Someone told me, years ago, that the Jews want everyone to become Jewish, but I didn't meet anyone who even hinted that we convert. (Except my aunt, of course, but even she isn't pushy.) We were the American, Christian relatives and everyone was okay with that.
"Tzirel told me her Christian relatives from America were coming!" The neighbor greeted warmly.
...and this became a common lesson on this trip until it climaxed with a realization I had at the airport while we waited for our flight home: I should never apologize for who I am.
Normally, if I am somewhere and I am the only one who does, or doesn't do something, I begin with an apology: "I'm sorry, we don't eat pork." "I'm sorry, it's our Sabbath, so we can't..." But here I was far away from my family, surrounded by people who have very different beliefs and customs than I do, yet feeling at home. How peculiar... But here I am rambling again...
Sabbath was mostly a rest day for us. Aunt Anita had been sick and we both needed extra sleep. I wanted to visit the "shul", but I was too tired.
We ate, visited and then napped. Then ate and visited some more. It was wonderful and refreshing. The main meal had several courses. I wasn't sure where all of this food came from! The table was covered with a sheet of plastic. Most of the dishes were disposable, so cleanup was easy. They just wrapped everything up in the table cloth a laid a new sheet of plastic down for the next meal. I noticed lots of coverings: The bread had a covering, the women had head coverings, the table had a covering. It was easy to overthink. So much depth of meaning in every little tradition.
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Let's see if I can remember all of the courses:
Juice
Bread with hummus and other dips
Soup and salad
Fish and bread
Meat and potatoes and cooked veggies
More bread and juice
Dessert
Something like that. It was a lot. In between all of that the men sang and prayed and blessed their kids and wives. They sang about the Sabbath and the many blessings of God. They thanked God for their wives and children. The women sat at the other end of the table and visited. It was so nice. I could see the benefits in all of these rituals. It kept the men at the table focused and gave the women a much-deserved break from serving everyone. Maybe it's just the men in my family, but they always get done eating first and get bored quickly. This gave the women time to eat and feed the little ones without the men getting restless.
The pictures below this blog post are from Friday afternoon. We didn't take pictures on Sabbath out of respect for the Holy Day.
There are a lot of things they don't do on Sabbath, but it didn't feel burdensome at all. It felt freeing and restful. The children seemed happy too. They ran in and out as much as they wanted to and seemed to really delight in the Sabbath.
Here in America church day can be boring for kids. Over half of the people living in Beitar, Israel are children so it is very kid friendly. The children aren't forced to do anything. They are encouraged to join in, but they are free to go outside and play too. Part of the blessing of God, (the promises for what this moment in time would look like as described by the prophet Zechariah), is for children to be playing in the streets. So, a big part of Shabbat is that the streets are empty of cars and buses so the children can play freely. Children are a blessing. The old saying, "seen and not heard ' is not said here! On the contrary! The children are encouraged to ask questions and sing and play! On Shabbat they are free to be kids!
As the end of Sabbath drew near I asked to go outside and see the sunset. My Aunt and several of the kids walked us out to a place we could see past the apartment buildings to the valley below the fence line. My Aunt pointed out a lush green area on the next hillside. She explained that that area was kept undeveloped so the Arabs could bring their herds of goats through to graze. But, after October 7th, the people in that neighborhood didn't feel safe having Arabs wandering through the neighborhood, so they closed it off. Now it is overgrown with olive trees and grass. It was lush and beautiful when we were there. We could only see it from a distance though. It is still reserved for the Arabs when more peaceful times return.
How we long for peace and that 1,000 -year- long Sabbath when there will be no more tears, war, or pain. The Lord of the Sabbath will reign from Jerusalem on that great day. My Jewish relatives talked about it too. What will it look like? "Do you think the temple will be rebuilt?" I asked my Aunt. "How would that be possible?" She asked. "There is a mosque on the Temple mount?" She's right. It would be impossible.
I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself as twilight fell, the beginning of a new week. I wondered what the future held, yet realized today, right now, is all I really know. We walked down the street lined with tall buildings made of strong rock walls, with bars on the windows. Quiet. Safe. Secure. We walked up the stone steps and inside the foyer. The many Psalms about God being our fortress ran through my heart. Children's laughter and warm light greeted us inside. They touched the mezuzah on the door, but I didn't. It is meaningful to them and I respect them for it. It would be good if we also had constant reminders of who we are. It's so easy to forget and lose our focus. How quickly we let down our guard and allow ourselves to be vulnerable to the enemy. How often we stray from the protective covering of our Creator.
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