In my last column, I promised I that would update on the success (or failure) of
my Shabbat experiment.
If you recall, I had been lamenting the lack of
awareness regarding “the other” within Israeli society. In Israel, the religious
and the secular communities simply don’t cross paths enough and this segregation
breeds ignorance which, in turn, breeds prejudice.
One of the reasons
that I love Tel Aviv is because there is an ever-growing wealth of opportunities
in which religious and secular people can freely mingle – far more than, say, in
Jerusalem. That’s not to say that in Jerusalem never the twain shall
meet.
Indeed, whenever I sat with a religious group of friends in the
holy city, there were always the token few who were either secular or who had
left the fold, the self-defined “hozrim b’she’ela” (lit.“returning in
question”). And of course the reverse is also true. A posse of secular
Jerusalemites will almost always have one or two who can’t make the parties on
Friday nights. But for the most part this only happens on a micro social
level.
What’s commendable about Tel Aviv is that the interaction isn’t
limited to just within groups of friends. There is a plethora of organizations
and initiatives that promote dialogue among different communities. I decided to
jump on the bandwagon by organizing a Shabbat meal in the local synagogue
together with a friend. The plan was that there was no plan. We simply
approached White City Shabbat (WCS) to send out word to all those looking for a
meal for Friday night. Twenty seven hours after the email blast was sent out, all
110 spots had been sold out. Suddenly this was real and my friend and I were
thrown into the deep end. We had four days to get everything together.
I suppose
my attitude must have been “do or die” when, on a whim, I created a Facebook
event for a Shabbat lunch bring-your-own-picnic in the park. I only invited 20
friends but I also posted the event on WCS’s wall and before long, 150
People-of-the-Facebook had clicked “attending.”
At some point, somebody
asked me what the theme of our Shabbat dinner was. The question threw me. The
theme? I didn’t know there had to be a theme! And then I found out that the Tel
Aviv International Synagogue was hosting a community Shabbat dinner the same
night, only they were bringing Chief Rabbi Yona Metzger as the guest of honor.
Meanwhile, our guest of honor was the turkey that had sacrificed its life only
to be resurrected as a deli-roll.
What to do? Nothing. I was clearly missing the
point. The whole point was that there was no point. No agenda. This wasn’t to be
some singleton-matchmaking affair. And neither was it to be a let’s-entice-people-to-come-to-synagogue affair. There were no VIP guests, no gimmicks and
certainly no theme – unless you count “connecting people,” but I hear Nokia’s
already got dibs on that one.
What was nice is that people from all walks
of life came along to the dinner, and perhaps what was even nicer was that you
couldn’t immediately peg people. Hosting the dinner in a synagogue was
sort of a leveling experience since men generally don’t walk into a synagogue
with bare heads and women are more prone to cover their shoulders. The
advantage of this was that you couldn’t tell “who was what.” I’d venture to say
that the percentage of Shabbat-observant people versus nonobservant was about
equal.
While most of the crowd was in the mid-20s to late-30s bracket,
the ages of attendees ranged from 21 to 65. There was also a comfortable
presence of native Israelis, which is always a challenge at events that are
primarily catered to a crowd of olim. Our event was a smorgasbord of Jewry;
secular and religious, young and old-er, tourists and residents, Israeli, French
and other unidentified Europeans – not to mention, of course, the Anglos, who
were making the most noise – all gathered together in one room enjoying each
other’s company in a Shabbat atmosphere.
That’s not to say there weren’t
some major hiccups. The electricity blew and the food went cold until Simon, our
Shabbat goy, saved the day. But all in all, the atmosphere was positive; spirits
were high (aided by the alcohol content in the spirits, which was equally high)
and the room was abuzz with conversation interspersed with a chorus of
inebriated singing from the religious crowd belting out Shabbat zmirot (songs)
at the tops of their lungs.
The BYOF (Bring-Your-Own-Food) picnic that
was created as an afterthought for Saturday lunch was even more of an
extravaganza. For four hours, we colonized a large stretch of grass in the
Independence Park, which is sandwiched between Hayarkon Street and the Hilton
beach. The crowd rotated a few times but I think by the end some 250 people
attended altogether, including more than a few random passersby. The food –
hitherto our chief concern – was in abundance, as was the sunshine. In between
bites of food, the range of activities that people engaged in was pretty
impressive. A couple of guys hurling a frisbee at one another; a group singing
zmirot in the corner next to two backgammon players; another couple learning
from a book on the Torah portion while behind them some other picnickers sat
tinkering on their phones.
At some point, there was a mass exodus to the
beach by a large proportion of the guests. Once again, the beachgoers were a
healthy mix of secular and religious people. From the perspective of theological
anthropology, it was a fascinating spectacle to behold: There were those who
were snapping photos with their iPhones to post on Facebook. There were
those who refused to be photographed on Shabbat. There was a discussion about
whether it is halachically permitted to carry things to the beach. Some did,
others didn’t. All in all, the over-arching attitude was “live and let
live.”
The concept of these White City Shabbatot isn’t just about being
accepting of what others choose to do in their own homes or communities. It’s
about embracing the people who do things differently into our own circles – to
“live and let live together, as one.” One of the byproducts of WCS is that every
Jew can satisfy his inner voyeur by having an opportunity to peek into the lives
of others and to gain a taste of how they celebrate the fourth commandment –
remembering the Sabbath day and keeping it holy. Remembering the Sabbath should
have much less to do with whether or not public buses run on Saturdays and much
more to do with how we connect with one another.And by connection I mean
face-to-face, not Facebook-to-Facebook.
Amos Oz, the notably secular author, said
that he regrets the fact that “the Israeli Shabbat nowadays is either a
religious one in synagogues or spent in shopping centers.”
People in Tel
Aviv are sitting up and taking note. They are pioneering a revolution to combat
this dichotomy. And they are realizing that there are enough activities to enjoy
on Shabbat that cater to the comfort zones and level of observance of everyone.
It isn’t about who keeps what. As the famous idiom penned by another secular
Israeli writer, Ahad Ha’am, goes, “more than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat
has kept the Jews.” Our only job is to make some space in our busy, cyber-driven
lives to give Shabbat a chance to do its thing.
Deborah@jpost.com
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