Ours is probably the wealthiest society in the history of humanity and, at the same time, the poorest. We are rich in the possession of things, and impoverished in the possession of time. Contemporary life is so frenetic, so harried, that rather than being in control of our schedules and our obligations, it is more accurate to say that time controls us.
That pathetic rushing about has infected even our leisure time (which may now be an oxymoron): a recent article related that a group of bird watchers traveled to a rustic and beautiful place, and there set up a contest for who could sight the most birds in a set period of time! Even our leisure is pressured by achievement.
Our generation is not the first to feel the iron grip of productivity. Having just been liberated from Egyptian slavery, the Israelites now wander in the desert and complain to Moses that they lack adequate food. In gracious response, God provides for their hunger with manna—a white, flaky substance that comes from the sky every day of the week except for Shabbat. On Friday, the Israelites are told to collect a double portion so they don’t have to do any work on Shabbat.
Sounds like the first day off in history: don’t bother going to work on Saturday, just kick back and enjoy your day and your loved ones.
But the ability to enjoy leisure time is an acquired skill, something that requires a sense of inner peace and of clear priorities. Most of us are too insecure to give up the need to be doing something productive.
So, even though they had been given permission not to work, in fact, even though they had been ordered not to, a group of Israelites set out to collect manna on Shabbat. When they found nothing to gather, God told them “How long will you people refuse to obey My commandments and My teachings? Mark that Adonai has given you the Sabbath; therefore God gives you two days’ food on the sixth day. Let everyone remain where they are; let no one leave their place on the seventh day.”
Note that prior to the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, God and the Israelites were already developing the laws of Shabbat. Linked to the very structure of the cosmos (God rested on the seventh day), “its blessed and sacred character is a cosmic reality wholly independent of human initiative (Nahum Sarna).” Sacred rest, claims the Torah, is built into the structure of the universe and into the soul of every human being. In order to be fully human, we must give way before the mitzvah of rest.
When we think of “rest”, however, most of us think of flopping on a couch in front of the television. Such rest, far from being restful, actually contributes to our sense of time rushing by, since the hours pass without our being aware of the passage of time. It also contributes to our sense of isolation, since we don’t participate in any meaningful human interaction.
Shabbat offers a very different kind of rest: a rest that is physically easy yet spiritually challenging, a time for replenishing the soul, for restoring community, and for renewing love.
One key part of that Shabbat offering is the restriction on travel: “let everyone remain where they are: let no one leave their place on the seventh day.” Paradoxically, it is a restriction of freedom that liberates our deepest nature. Rather than focusing on getting somewhere or on seeing something new, the prohibition against travel forces us to let loose and simply be.
Within Orthodoxy, that prohibition is understood literally as restricting the distance one may travel (to 2000 cubits). Within Conservative Judaism, permission to drive to the synagogue has the effect of including the congregation in the definition of one’s “place.” And for all expressions of Judaism, there is a sense that Shabbat observance requires a kind of centering, physically, in order to allow for a spiritual flowering.
No surprise, then, that one pre-Sinaitic law about Shabbat, a spiritual enterprise unique to the people Israel, emerges from the context of providing for the people’s food. As the Mishnah teaches, “Without sustenance, there can be no Torah.”
The interdependent nature of what we perceive as the physical and the spiritual informs the biblical institution of Shabbat, one that has refreshed and renewed the Jewish people throughout the ages. In our overly-busy and pressured age, Shabbat is needed not less, but more.
In the sanctuary of the synagogue, in the company of loved ones and friends, around a festive Shabbat meal, make the time to reintroduce yourself to Judaism, to yourself, and to God.
This Shabbat, figure out where is your “place,” and then give yourself the time to enjoy it.
Shabbat Shalom.