Sometimes the most serious journey can begin with a silly television program. As
a teenager growing up in a Conservative Jewish home in suburban New York in the
1980s, I shared many Americans’ love for the TV show
Dallas. Each Friday
night, I tuned in to Channel 2 (remember when TVs had dials?) to get my fill of
the CBS primetime soap opera.
With all the intensity of a young adult
with minimal acne and maximal hormones, I followed the twists and turns, the
scheming and backstabbing, of the Ewings of Texas, whose exploits and misdeeds
were the focus of the hour-long plot each week.
It was one of those shows
that had it all: cliffhanger episodes, beautiful actresses such as Victoria
Principal and Charlene Tilton (wow, did I have a crush on
them!) and plenty of
intrigue, power struggles and sex. What more could a 15-year-old ask for?
Indeed, who can forget the media frenzy sparked by that most profound of
questions: “Who shot J.R.?” – a reference to the program’s lead
villain.
In a season-ending episode broadcast in the spring of 1980, the
hated J.R. was gunned down by an unknown assailant, and all of America seemed to
wait for months to find out who did it (it was his sister-in- law Kristin), or
even if the victim would survive (which, of course, he did).
Other shows
tried to mimic its success, such as
Knots Landing,
Dynasty and
Falcon Crest, but
they just never had the allure which Dallas had week in and week out.
BUT
AFTER several years, my loyalty to the show faced a new and highly unexpected
challenge, the aftereffects of which continue to resonate with me.
For it
was 26 years ago this week, at the tender age of 16, that I decided to begin
observing the Sabbath. It was a decision I had reached after a great deal
of thought and reflection, and I was far from certain that it would stick. But I
figured I would give it a try. Something inside simply compelled me to do
so.
I went ahead and made all the necessary preparations, brushed up on
Jewish law and prepared myself to spend 25 hours without turning on lights,
riding in a car, or watching...
Wait a minute! What about Dallas? It was
the height of the fall TV series, and the show was in its seventh season at the
time. How couldn’t I have thought of it? Could I give up the show just like
that, in the middle of it all? What would J.R. and his friends at Southfork
Ranch think?
And then I realized that I would also have to forgo some of the
other staples of my weekly television diet. There was
This Week in
Baseball , with the crisp voice of Mel Allen, and of course the Saturday morning
cartoons such as
Superfriends and
Scooby Doo.
What a dilemma! Or as
Scooby would say: “Rikes!!”
Of course in retrospect it all sounds quite silly,
getting so worked up about a couple of television programs (no wonder my mother
used to refer to the TV as “the idiot box”). But silliness is a part of growing
up, and it makes life far more interesting.
Nevertheless, after weighing
the benefits of one hour of television ecstasy versus an eternity of heavenly
bliss, I realized I had no choice but to make the “sacrifice” and say farewell
to
Dallas.
It wasn’t easy at first – when something becomes a stable
element in our otherwise seemingly chaotic existence, letting go is not
simple.
Giving up Saturday TV, and especially
Dallas, was a demonstrative
symbol that I was changing my life in ways I could not yet possibly
imagine.
But when night fell, after making
kiddush and eating a Sabbath
meal with my family, I reached for a book and let the television screen have a
rest, too.
When I awoke the next morning, I made my way to synagogue on
foot, unsure of what on earth I was doing.
My entire family, all my
friends, the whole flow and rhythm of my life, would be disrupted if I were to
stick to this path. No more Saturday afternoon street hockey games with friends
who lived beyond walking distance. No TV, no video games, nothing but long
afternoons and lots of reading and thinking to do.
Dear God, are You sure
You want me to do this, I wondered.
And then, as if in answer to my
question, the person reading the Torah recited the opening verse of this week’s
portion, when God tells Abraham to begin a great journey to an unknown
destination with two simple words: “
Lech lecha,” which literally mean “go to
yourself.”
I shook in my seat as the words sank in, suddenly infused with
certainty in the path that I had chosen, as well as with confidence that I
wasn’t really giving up a part of who I was, but instead recovering my true
inner self. It was then that I knew that I would embrace the Sabbath and make it
part of my life.
That first step has led me down a winding trail, as I
grew in observance and became Orthodox.
Naturally, there have been many
challenges along the way. But ever since that first Sabbath, when I withstood
the juvenile desire for some mind-numbing television, I have known that there is
no turning back.
And who says God does not reward the faithful?
Just last
month, the TNT cable network announced it is moving ahead with a new
Dallas
television series which will follow the offspring of “bitter rivals and brothers
J.R. and Bobby Ewing, who clash over the future of the Ewing dynasty while the
fate of Southfork itself weighs in the balance,” according to the
release.
I just hope that, unlike the original series, they don’t
broadcast this one on Friday nights.