By Noah Stern
This Friday night, like every other Friday night for the last few thousand years, the world will go on as normal. But, for 0.2% of the global population, Friday night holds a unique significance. I feel lucky to be a part of the 0.2% who have been given Shabbat.
Like any other Jewish practice, there is a lot of variance in how Shabbat is celebrated. But Shabbat has a special unifying power across all areas of Judaism, and I feel well-positioned to talk about it.
You may be skeptical. Allow me to run through my resume:
1. I had my Bar Mitzvah at a Reform synagogue.
And that very special Shabbat checked all the boxes of a Reform Bar Mitzvah: guitars playing on the bima, English translations for every prayer, and a party that began right in the middle of Saturday afternoon. On that day I felt it very literally, but it’s a feeling you get when any group of Jews comes together to celebrate: that of a family reuniting.
2. I spent my teenage years going to a Conservative Jewish summer camp.
I like to say that my parents had no idea what they were getting themselves into (see: Reform Bar Mitzvah) when they sent me off to camp for the first time. There, I learned how to wrap tefillin, said birkat hamazon after every meal, and looked forward every week to the start of Shabbat.
Shabbats at camp are magical, almost otherworldly. Late every Friday afternoon, everyone dresses up in their nicest clothes and meets by the lake for Kabbalat Shabbat, the only time that the whole camp prays together. And by the time the sun starts to set on Friday night, I get that feeling again: that we are one big family coming together.
3. At college, I’m heavily involved with Chabad on campus.
It’s hard to really feel at home during your first few months of college. When I got to the University of Pittsburgh, I was totally overwhelmed. Then I went to my first Shabbat dinner at Chabad. I was apprehensive because, like many other more secular Jewish freshmen, Chabad on campus was my first direct interaction with the world of Orthodox Judaism. But as soon as I walked into the Rabbi’s house, I was overcome with that warm feeling that I had been so desperately trying to find at school: the feeling of home. Of homemade challah and animated conversation. Of a Jewish family coming together to celebrate Shabbat.
I hope all of that suffices to prove that I have had some diverse Shabbat experiences. Recently, though, it’s been hard to have a joyful Jewish experience without being reminded in some way or another of the times we live in. A few weeks ago, my former freshman year roommate, one of my best friends at school, was attacked while walking to Shabbat. He and his friend were wearing kippot, and a man ran up from behind and hit them with a glass bottle.
Thankfully they are both okay now, and the attacker was arrested. But that traumatic event was a wake-up call for the Jewish community at Pitt. It is a harsh reminder that being Jewish sets us apart. This separation is at the core of our religion. We call ourselves the “chosen people” for a reason. But it also makes us easy targets for those who would rather have a convenient enemy than work to understand the world around them. In the last year, this phenomenon has been especially common, particularly on college campuses.
What I find myself leaning on in these trying times is the same thing I’ve leaned on in synagogue, at camp, and at Chabad: our Jewish family. As dark as the last year has been, one essential source of light has been the sense of shared purpose between disparate groups of Jews. A family unity that has been sorely needed.
Global Jewry was founded for that exact purpose. To unite the Jewish people by connecting communities and organizations across the artificial lines we have drawn between ourselves. In a world where everyone else already tries to isolate the Jewish people, why should we further silo ourselves? Global Jewry is embarking on a noble undertaking: reuniting the family.
I love Shabbat for that sense of family unity. Because when you sit at the Shabbat table, no matter where you’re from or how you practice, you will always be family.
Shabbat shalom. And may this be the week the hostages finally unite with their families.
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