I think it’s beautiful and romantic and my only complaint is that while he’s singing he’s also getting the wine ready. Instead, he should be looking into my eyes. Without undue modesty, I can say there is always some wonderful part that applies especially to me that week (although sometimes it’s none other than the phrase “her husband is known at the gates”).
Kiddush, the formal sanctification of the day, is recited over a brimming cup of wine. Kiddush retells how God completed creation on the sixth day and then set aside—and sanctified—the seventh day as a day of rest. We bless God for giving us the Shabbat by which to remember Creation and the Exodus from Egypt. We also express gratitude that God chose us from among all other people to be His special people.
Vayehi erev vayehi voker yom hashishi. Vayechulu hashamayim veha’aretz vechol tzeva’am vayechal Elohim bayom hashevi’i me-lachto asher asa, vayishbot bayom hashevi’i mikol melachto asher asa. Vayevarech Elohim et yom hashevi’i vayekadesh oto, ki vo shavat mikol melachto asher bara Elohim la’asot.
Savree maranan verabotie:
Baruch ata Adonai. Elohainu melech ha’olam, borai pri hagafen. Baruch ata Adonai. Elohainu melech ha’olam, asher kidshanu bemitzvotav veratza vanu, veShabbat kodsho be’ahava uveratzon hinchilanu, zikaron lema’asei vereishit; ki hu yom techila lemi-kra’ei kodesh, zeicher litziyat mitzrayim: ki vanu vacharta ve’otanu kidashta mikol ha’amim veShabbat kodshecha be’ahava uveratzon hinchaltanu. Baruch ata Adonai, mekadesh haShabbat.
There was evening, and there was morning, the sixth day.
The heavens, the earth, and all their array were finished. And on the seventh day God finished the work He had been doing and rested on the seventh day from all the work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and set it aside, for on it He rested from all the work of creation which was to be done by God.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who creates the fruit of the vine.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who made us special with Your commandments, wanted us, and lovingly and willingly gave us Your holy Sabbath, a commemoration of the work of creation. For it is the culmination of special events, a remembrance of the going out from Egypt. For You chose us among all the nations, made us special, and lovingly and willingly gave us Your holy Sabbath. Blessed are You, God, Who makes the Shabbat holy.
By and large, in an Orthodox household, the husband-father will recite the Kiddush. He will then pour a bit of wine from his cup into other cups, one for each person at the table. In some households, the entire family will sing Kiddush together, each over his/her own cup of wine. This, one must admit, is still quite rare, though halachically a woman is permitted to recite Kiddush.
Before we proceed with our meal, we ritually wash our hands and recite the hamotzi, the blessing over bread. The ritual washing of the hands is symbolic of the ritual washing in the Temple. It suggests that the table is like an altar. As such, it commands respectful behavior.
The ritual is as follows:
Over the sink or a large basin (most people do this standing at the kitchen sink), fill a glass or cup with water. There are special “washing cups” for this ritual, but any cup or glass will do. With the left hand, pour the water over the right hand and then reverse. This is done two or three times over each hand.
As this is being done, many people quietly recite this brief meditation:
Se’uh yedaychem kodesh
u’varchu et Adonai, ve’esah kappai el mitzvotecha
asher ahavti ve’asicha be’chukecha.
Lift up your hands to the Holy and bless the Lord; and I shall lift up my hands to Your commandments which I love and I shall reflect on Your laws.
—PSALMS 134:2
The blessing is then recited:
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al netilat yadayim.
Blessed are You, Lord, our God, Ruler of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us on the washing of hands.
It is customary to remain silent from the moment of ritual washing until after the challah blessing is recited and the challah is eaten.
When everyone is reseated at the table, the challah cover is removed from the two loaves. Two challot are used to evoke the memory of the double portion of manna which the Jews received every Friday in the desert in order that they not have to go food gathering on the Sabbath.
Every gesture one makes during performance of ritual has meaning. Before slicing the challot, the head of the household will hold the two loaves together with one hand, and with the other hand will draw the knife across the loaves in a symbolic cutting gesture. The head of household will then recite the blessing and slice the bread through. In these simple gestures lie the resolution of a rabbinic conflict: on the one hand, one is supposed to cut the challah first, then say the blessing and eat the bread. The blessing is on the eating of the bread, not the slicing, said the Rabbis. On the other hand, on Friday night the blessing is said over two whole challot, not only on the one that is sliced. Solution: symbolically slice the two challot, recite the blessing over two, cut one, and eat.
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth.
Usually the head of household recites the blessing, while all others answer Amen. Each person receives a slice of challah, and eats it on the strength of the blessing of the head of household. That is based on the rabbinic principle that listening to a blessing with full intention to participate, and answering Amen, is equivalent to saying the blessing yourself. In most other instances, one recites an individual blessing over an individual act, such as eating a piece of bread. In this particular case—the Shabbat and holiday meals—the mitzvah is to recite the blessing over the two loaves. Thus, whoever has two loaves at his/her plate holds both loaves together and recites the hamotzi blessing. All others respond with Amen.
Over the past decade, I have tried to resolve the issue of how to serve a four-course meal to family and guests yet not be absent from the table for long periods of time myself. In the course of this writing, I’ve tried to learn what other modern Orthodox women do. Some do all the serving and have no problem with it, but most struggle with the issue exactly as I do.
In my parents’ home, my father always sat through the entire meal while my mother, my two sisters, and I alternately got up from the table to serve and clear. It was the natural order of things. It never occurred to me that it could be otherwise. But from the post-factum perspective of a raised consciousness, that scene now appears sexist. My gentle father is the last person in the world one would describe as macho, yet Jewish tradition cast him unwittingly in that role. As head of household he was to be served.
I’ve still not resolved the problem of serving in my own home. For a while, my husband at his own initiative would get up to help serve. But I didn’t like the idea of two of us leaving the table in between courses. It made our guests uncomfortable to see him get up; and even without guests, it broke the thread of continuity, an anchored quality the Shabbat meal takes on when there is one constant head of household seated throughout. Nor was I into programming whose week or whose course it was to serve, or for my feminist ax to grind away at every pleasurable moment for the family. Buffet wasn’t nice to serve for Shabbat, and the children were too young to dish the food onto serving platters. Besides that, there’s a part of me that derives deep satisfaction in serving my husband dinner, much as he serves me in other ways.
So for many years of Shabbat dinners, I have served, willingly and lovingly for the most part, and only occasionally with resentment, yet all the while becoming increasingly conscious that my husband and I, in our distinct roles, are probably perpetrating a questionable model for our children and their future spouses. Now that the children are older, they help a great deal more, with no distinction between son
and daughter in the various tasks. And I am able to sit through most of the meal. Yet, the general issue remains unresolved.
Mealtime on Shabbat is leisurely, easily double the time of weekday dinners. Families talk about everything families talk about, except financial matters. At the table, they also speak words of Torah, and sing zemirot. Zemirot are an unusual invention. These are special songs for Shabbat, sung a cappella, as the family sits around the table. Somehow, if anyone were to suggest to me that my family sing songs at the dinner table during the week, I would think him/her strange. On Shabbat, however, zemirot are perfectly beautiful, natural, in order, and a lovely family experience. Some families sing them in between all courses, others at the end of the meal before Grace; some families harmonize; in others there are solos—the possibilities are endless.*
For the most part, the themes are connected to Shabbat. There are special zemirot for Friday-night dinners and others for Shabbat lunch, but no hard-and-fast rules. Some of the modern Israeli songs have been incorporated into zemirot, and so have some of the old Yiddish songs. Often a guest will bring a new tune which will become a family heirloom in time.
One of my favorites is the Ya Ribon Olam, probably the most popular of zemirot. It, too, was composed in Safed in the sixteenth century. The words are Aramaic; it is a song of praise to the King of the world, Who rules the world in His endless power and glory. Mention is made of the Chosen People, and the song closes with a plea to God to bring back the Chosen from exile to Jerusalem, to the Holy Temple. While the words are beautiful, since they are in Aramaic I hardly ever think about them. What I like most about Ya Ribon is the knowledge that it was sung in my grandparents’ home, and in their grandparents’ home, and is now sung in the homes of all my cousins and their children on this night. Not a law, but merely a custom, it is a simple song that has filled the homes of Jews on Friday nights for four hundred years in every remote corner of the world.
There are records from which to learn zemirot (records are not played on the Shabbat itself in an Orthodox home), and there are several books available for zemirot, including ones with transliteration (see Bibliography, p. 506).
The meal concludes with Birkat Hamazon, the Grace, which is usually sung aloud and in unison on Shabbat. Typically, the ba’al habayit, the head of household, will ask a guest to lead the Grace. In traditional Judaism, women do not count as part of the mezuman, the quorum of three to introduce the Grace, even though women are required to recite it. However, again, in response to contemporary values and new images of women, a few “avant garde” Orthodox Jews do count women as part of the quorum and allow them to lead the Grace.
After dinner on Friday night, Orthodox Jews relax, talk, study the Torah portion of the week with Rashi,* read, play board games, go for a walk, learn with their children, visit with friends, or go to sleep early. Some synagogues have occasional guest lecturers on Friday night; others hold classes or gatherings called Oneg Shabbat (literally, the joy of Sabbath). Activities are scheduled depending on whether Shabbat starts early or late. Often, the community’s high-school and college students will schedule an Oneg Shabbat program on Friday night—a discussion group, Hebrew songs, and that which guarantees a good teenage turnout the next time—snacks.
Over the centuries, Friday night earned the reputation as “mitzvah” night; it was customary for husband and wife to make love on Friday night. The Rabbis understood that this was an ideal night to have sex because people were more relaxed, there was more time, the pressures of the morrow were simply not there. Some Orthodox Jewish couples …; others...
SATURDAY
Shabbat morning is spent mostly in shul; services usually begin between eight and nine and end between eleven and twelve, depending on local custom. Jewish law does not permit one to eat before reciting the morning prayers. This is fine on a weekday, when morning prayers start early and are over in forty-five minutes; but on Shabbat, one would come into lunchtime Kiddush on a near-empty stomach and fade right out with that first cup of wine were it not for the widely accepted practice of drinking juice or coffee, eating a bit of cake or fruit before leaving for shul. No real breakfasts, however, and no bread.
People are expected to dress nicely for shul. Men wear suits with ties; women wear their best clothes, although not what we would call formal or evening wear, which would be out of place. Females never wear pants to the synagogue. Children wear their nicest clothes, which are often called Shabbos dresses or Shabbos pants or Shabbos shoes. Married women all wear hats to the synagogue.
As soon as a man comes to shul, he wraps his tallit (prayer shawl) around him, reciting the appropriate blessing and kissing the tallit as he does. In most Orthodox shuls, in contrast to Conservative or Reform, only married men wear the tallit.
The service starts with some warm-up prayers known as the Pesukai Dezimra. These prayers, selected mostly from Psalms, also provide an extra twenty-five minutes for the stragglers to arrive before Shacharit, the morning service, begins. The Pesukay Dezimra do not need a quorum of ten men, but the Shacharit service does. The synagogue is in trouble if it doesn’t have a minyan by then (that’s the origin of “waiting for the tenth man”). On the other hand, people keep coming in to join all through the morning; the ratio of worshipers present when Shacharit begins is probably one to ten of the number at service’s end.
The Shacharit of weekday emphasizes the Exodus and Revelation. Shacharit of Shabbat—the same only more so. It is a fitting prelude to the center point of the whole morning—the Torah reading. The Torah, the five books of Moses, is read in entirety, in consecutive fashion, once each year. The Torah is divided into fifty-four portions, each called a parshah. One parshah a week—or sometimes a double reading—gets us through the annual cycle smoothly. In the Jewish calendar, the weeks of the year are named according to the appropriate parshah of the Torah. For example, a Jew writing a letter on a particular Wednesday in October would head his letter: the fourth day of Parshat Noah (that is, the week preceding the Sabbath on which we shall read the story of Noah and his ark). Shabbat is the seventh day, so Sunday is the first day and Wednesday is the fourth day.
By the time we get to the Torah reading, the shul is quite full. Most of the men have arrived by now, as have many of the women and children. Women, who are not counted as part of the required minyan, and who sit behind a mechitza—a divider separating men and women—tend to arrive after their husbands. Traditional Jewish law requires separate seating for men and women. Since men have a primary role in the synagogue, they always sit center and front. The mechitza is one characteristic that distinguishes Orthodox from Conservative, Reform, and Re-constructionist synagogues. Separate seating, plus the absence of formal roles for women in synagogue ritual, have conditioned women to assume fewer liturgical responsibilities than are ha-lachically required of them. Thus, an Orthodox woman can arrive midway through the service and hardly an eyebrow will be raised, whereas a man must hastily catch up from the beginning of the prayers (if he arrives late) and must take care not to arrive too late, lest he be judged by his fellows.
Children come to synagogue with their fathers or with their mothers, or on their own. The fact that Orthodox Jews don’t drive on Shabbat, and therefore must live within reasonable walking distance, adds to the flexibility of each person’s arriving on his/her own. One of my fond memories as a teenager is of walking to shul, keeping a distance but within earshot of a certain woman in our congregation. She was exceedingly thin, and not too attractive; her skin had wrinkled prematurely. But she had a magnificent voice, and she and her daughter would sing all the Hit Parade songs on their way to shul together. Somehow, the incongruous combination of “A Slow Boat to China” coming from this middle-aged pious woman on her way to shul caught my fancy.
In the synagogue, young children can sit with either parent, even of the opposite sex. By the time they reach nine or ten, however, little boys will sit with their fathers or their friends in the men’s section and little gir
ls with their mothers or friends in the women’s section. Most children understand this on their own, but some have to be told, “It’s time …”
Many synagogues have junior congregation services geared to the appropriate age level. Not only do these help maintain decorum in the main synagogue sanctuary, but they also give children an opportunity to take on certain roles such as opening the ark, leading a prayer, and so forth. Junior congregation services always end before the main service does, so that children have some time to be in the main sanctuary with the full congregation.
Though families arrive at shul in spurts, and husbands and wives sit apart, and children pray with friends, it still doesn’t seem to diminish the family feeling of a traditional shul. Perhaps it’s the presence of little children circulating between parents; perhaps it’s simply the presence of young ones altogether; or quite possibly it’s the associated spirit of the entire day—an Orthodox shul always feels like a family shul.
In general, even though the service is very formal and structured, there is an air of informality and camaraderie about the Orthodox synagogue. It is not at all uncommon to see people wandering in and out during various parts of the service. But for those in the know, even these “wanderings” take place at appropriately sanctioned times. One would never walk out, for example, during the opening of the ark, or the recital of Kedusha, a prayer extolling God’s holiness.
There is a special ceremony for opening the ark, taking the Torah out, and carrying it through the congregation for people to adore and kiss before setting it down on the reading table to unroll and read. Surely the most beautiful scene on a Shabbat morning is that of fathers—and in some shuls, mothers—carrying their young children to the aisle or to the mechitza where they can kiss the Torah as it is carried past them. Adults kiss the Torah, too. They touch their siddur to the Torah, and then kiss the siddur; or wrap the fringe of the tallit around their finger, touch it to the Torah and kiss that; or kiss the Torah directly. A stranger observing this five-minute ceremony would quickly understand that the Torah is the most beloved treasure a Jew has.
How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household Page 7