Shabbos makes us stop. Think. Notice. Experience. Reflect

This week, tens of thousands of Jews will be discovering Shabbos for the first time thanks to The Shabbos Project. We’re fortunate enough to enjoy it every week, yet I find I can still use reminders of what a gift the day is. One came just last week.

There was a kiddush in shul. I made the mistake of telling Little Guy about it right after he woke up. Every five minutes, he’d ask the same question: “When are we going to the kiddush? Let’s go already.” And I’d patiently (and not so patiently) tell him that it was still early and we’d go soon.

Meanwhile, my inner taskmaster was ensuring that I got all my Shabbos Morning Tasks done. Give kids breakfast — check. Get kids dressed — check. Daven with them — check. I set them up with some toys and they played quietly (and not so quietly) while I davened. I finished davening, glanced at the clock. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock. Kiddushim in our shul nearly always start around ten thirty, and the shul was only five minutes away. I could get more done.

I set the table. Made a dressing for the salad. I was ready to cut up the salad and put out dips when Little Guy reached the end of his little rope. He wanted to go to the kiddush right now! It was only ten fifteen, but out we went.

On the way, the kids met some friends — and I did too. We schmoozed and enjoyed the walk. When we arrived, the door was closed; davening wasn’t over yet. I met some more friends, was introduced to this one’s mother and found out about that one’s birth. Ten thirty, some boys came out to get the Yerushalmi kugel from the baal simchah’s apartment, but still the ezras nashim remained closed. The rav learns with the kehillah for several minutes, and they needed quiet.

In my head, there was a low buzzing. You’re wasting time! You could be doing Important Things. Instead, you’re just standing out here, not even doing the real kiddush socializing, just the pre-game schmoozing. Five minutes passed. More nodding and chatting.

At 10:40 we finally entered the shul and waited for kiddush. I looked at my watch in frustration. You just did nothing for twenty minutes. You could have been home, making salad, setting out the fish. Suddenly, I laughed at myself. What was my enormous rush? It was still early. So I’d come home and make the salad then. In the meantime, the kids and I were enjoying ourselves. But the meal will start late. So what? the voice of reason responded. Then your nap will be delayed.

At that point, my taskmaster stopped short, hearing how ridiculous she sounded. I could go to sleep a little later — and get up a little later. It wasn’t like I was running off anywhere. Taskmaster slunk away. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and tasted the serenity of Shabbos.

Shabbos, the day we get off the racetrack. The day when we don’t need to agonize over endless to-do lists. The day when we can be rather than do. During the week, we try to pack 36 hours into 24, multitasking until we we’re dizzy, always pushing ourselves for more, better, higher. Shabbos makes us stop. Think. Notice. Experience. Reflect on the why of what we spend our days doing rather than the how. When our hands are restrained from activity, our minds are triggered.

On Shabbos, the beeps and rings and roars of life are quieted. And in the space that’s carved out, if we listen closely, we can hear the whispers of our souls.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 516)