Why I Started Keeping Shabbat

This blog post was written by Daniel Anson, a Yahel Social Change Fellow living and working in Lod

It's a rainy weekend near Beit Shemesh, the house of sun. A weekend seminar on hardwood floors. A rest from the craziness of teaching. We eat rich yellow soup and homemade steaming bread.

Amanda is Catholic, but she fasted for Yom Kippur and, as she tells me this my tongue twists, perplexed, I can't find the word “why?”

Reading my face she responds. She explains that she was curious. “What could this foreign fast illuminate about gd. How could this change, deepen, enrich my relationship with my creator.” I am still perplexed, my tongue still twisted. But in that perplexity, I am struck by her practice and divinity. Struck by her stillness, in the way she engages with the world, the ease with which she steps into every day. Struck by the way says “I can do that.” If a non-Jew can fast for Yom Kippur then surely I can keep Shabbat. 

Keep Shabbat. Softly. Kangaroo Method. This newborn close to your chest. Listen to the heartbeat. Protect this thing. This gift. This one more soul.

So, I turned off my phone right away. I hid it away in the couch under the cushions and I never looked back. I immediately feel deeply present. I find myself newly invested in my conversations, actually intent on hearing those around me. I savor every spoonful of yellow soup, green pasta and the fresh bread hot with cranberries. I cannot be distracted from right here, right now.

At the same time, I feel no such obligation to tell people what was going on. I feel free from all my communications for a whole day. A whole day. I don’t need to tell anyone anything. I am no longer beholden to emails or texts or sirens or anything. Usually, I eat my phone notification dopamine as quickly as it pops up, yum yum. And then it's gone, leaving me hungry and feeling withdrawals from my phone. This is no longer an option. I have to face reality without the shield of technology. However daunting, this is true freedom.

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Resultant from this freedom and peace, I feel safe putting just a day of space between me and every conversation. Shabbat teaches me that it's okay to even take space on regular days. I spend my mornings at Beit Sefer Rambam and Harel, and now because of my shabbat practice, I can delicately attack new phonics and learn new words with my students.

My afternoons are filled with Arab theater and choir class where I slowly learn Arabic while engaging young artists into their futures–grounded by my shabbat practice. Nowadays, when I see a text on my phone, I don’t drop everything to respond right away, but I humbly delay my response until I am ready to respond. I feel more present engaging in this community, studying Hebrew, and transforming mountains into molehills. 

And then he lived happily ever after–Nope! 

Shabbat feels very isolating when I am surrounded by people that don’t keep it. This weekend I am in Haifa staying with friends who don't keep Shabbat. I feel lost. Alone. Left behind and out of the loop because this is not really my home. I don't know this area or what I can do. I can't really relax or fully decompress. My roots are elsewhere and here I feel stranger.

In truth this problem persists deeper. When I consider my future, in America or Israel, I do not know how this practice will sustain itself or adapt. I don't know how I will sustain myself or adapt. To be young these days is a scary thing, and I feel profoundly grateful for this mitzvah to rest. It's really all I have, and I’m terrified that it might go away.

This is part of the story where I say how I solved the problem and am now closer to G-d and Israel and making Aliyah all that. Except for the fact that I didn't solve it, I don’t have the answers, and I am terrified to bring this practice into my future.

I am on a bus, thinking about the future and all these unknowns. I don't know what my religious practice will look like this summer, or where my career will take me. I don't know if I'll need to make Aliyah, or pioneer a new form of Judaism in America. 

What I do know is that Pesach is coming up and our apartment will soon be chametz free. I know that I am a good teacher; that my students are learning English. I know I am making a real impact in this place with these people.

I know that right now, shabbat is good, and more than I keep it, shabbat keeps me grounded, breathing, eating, rejoicing in a thousand tiny blessings that are happening right now. Stars collide and missiles explode and my creator has kept me safe. I do not know how or why but I do feel grateful. With gratitude I follow his deepest intuition in my heart, breadcrumb trail forward. 

Today is Friday and I am shutting off my phone. Against my hunger for clarity and security, just how will my relationships and career unfold? I am lighting the shabbat candles, and peace fills my heart.

I realize that I don't know. I don’t know and maybe that's okay.

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