by Julie Sugar

Skipping Shabbos and Drawing Lines

It’s 4pm, and I am sitting with my friend at a T.G.I. Friday’s in Philadelphia. I have chosen not to think of the day itself as Shabbos. I am skipping Shabbos day, you see; it’s just Saturday.

We’re looking to split an appetizer and then a dessert. She points out something on the menu, and I see that (like almost everything else on the menu) it includes meat. “Oh, I can’t eat that,” I say. She knows that I don’t eat non-kosher meat, but didn’t realize that particular dish wasn’t vegetarian.

I hesitate.

Because what’s the difference when my observance level is in flux lately, anyway? Where is the line? Why don’t I eat non-kosher meat? I decide to not order a dish with meat in it: I don’t want to deal with whatever feelings of guilt I may feel while eating it, or afterwards. Better to explore one big Jewish challenge at a time, starting with Shabbos—one week at a time.

See, I love Shabbos, I really do. I don’t want to give it up. But it is unclear now what the shape of that day will look like… where the lines are. The line used to be halakha, Jewish law, but I am no longer convinced that is the right metric for me for Shabbos, or for the Jewish life I want to live. Frankly, I’m not sure it ever was. I just don’t know, though. Picking and choosing is a slippery slope.

The night before, I was desperately clutching an umbrella against a roaring rain, making my long watery way to Friday night services. The rain was falling so thick and fast and loud that I couldn’t help but holler into the storm; my clothes, meanwhile, were hopelessly soaked. It would have been normal and completely understandable to turn around or to wait. I kept going.

The sky was still just a little bit blue, and I rationalized my use of an umbrella—which isn’t used on Shabbos by certain traditional Jews, no matter the weather. “It’s not really Shabbos yet,” I thought. I thought about buying a poncho sometime that would cover me from head to foot. I thought about whether or not I believed I was actually breaking Shabbos (if it was already Shabbos) by using an umbrella… and if I would actually walk thirty minutes to shul in the crazy rain if I couldn’t use one.

Most of all, I was confused and a little amused by my determination to play by the familiar rules when I knew that the following day I would break all of them. Would I use technology? Check. Spend money? Check. Travel to another city with my best friend who would be coming from out of town so that I could spend as much time as possible with her? Check, check, check.

When I finally got to shul—a group I had never been to, hosted by a rabbi I had never met—the Friday night prayers and songs were a relief not so much from the rain, but from my own racing thoughts. My skirt dripped onto the wooden floor; I took off my soggy shoes and wet glasses, opened my prayerbook, found the right page, and began to sing.