Is it Friday Night or Shabbat

By M. Michael Naim
June/July 2006 Unity Magazine

(Posted with permission)

Isn't it wonderful to be with friends and family the whole day? To be entirely together, praying, eating, singing, and enjoying delicious foods and stories about Jewish legends around one table.

The smell of Khala bread baking is everywhere. Mom checks with the girls on the various foods they are preparing for tonight's Shabbat dinner. It’s early afternoon on Friday. Dad's coming home, five or six kids running toward him. They are so excited as they get ready for Shabbat; they have a few guests coming. The children are like happy campers anticipating a vacation, a voyage of total peace and tranquility where everything is planned and well-prepared ahead of time.

Later on before sunset nears, everybody gathers around candles to be lit. Everyone is dressed up, combed neatly. This is the time before sanctity starts when candles are lit, glittering in the eyes opening to them after prayers recited -- glowing faces, small and big, short and tall, looking at them all together. There is no chance that anyone will go away in a car. It is so reassuring to the kids. Isn't it wonderful to be with parents, friends, and family the whole day? To be entirely together, praying, eating, singing, and enjoying delicious foods and stories about Jewish legends around one table. No one talks business, no one gossips, no one would even think about anything mundane; everything is special, everything is glowing, everything is holy.

The children's peers, the kids on the other side of town are still lying on couches watching TV. They flip channels from one horrific scene to wrestling. They flip to sitcoms over flowing with sexual innuendo and sheer vulgarities ("adult language"), profanity, music channels promoting violence and depravity until even these extremes get boring… Mom finally finished the crusade to find that matching blouse for her tight pants; but it looks good. They are invited tonight for Shabbat dinner. The subtle glitter is there, on her shoulders and exposed chest. Dad comes in late; no time to wash up, he just changes in a hurry. Mom complains why he is so late. The teenage daughter is not ready yet, she is blow-drying her hair. She will drive down there herself; she plans to leave early anyway to go to a friend's party. The older son is busy studying at college.

This family finally makes it to their car, one kid with games in hand, the other with headsets humming along some of the obscene language form the "song". Dad is still bothered with what happened at work and complains mightily. Mom is finishing her makeup while mentioning how "grotesque" her "friend" looked, wearing that short shirt… They are still nervous about their looks. The boys in the back look unattended -- messy hair, casually dressed in the same shirts they wore all day. They have to say something bad about someone to feel part of the family group. Finally they arrive; it's almost 9 pm, but they aren't the last ones. Men around the bar talk business laced with "adult language"; gondi and lavash are served. A Lakers game blares from the big screen.

Around Pico and Robertson (now known as the Kosher District), Kidush is recited when men and kids come back from synagogue. Dads bless the kids one by one. The kids are smiling enthusiastically. Then everyone washes and sits attentively around the big table. During meal the children love to join and hear the grown-up's stories & the grown -ups listen attentively to what their kids learned in the Torah class in Farsi. They speak wondrous tales that soothe the soul. They are bound together in a fairytale world with strong moral messages for use and solace in the material world -- holidays and Shabbats in which the whole family spanning three generations abounds, singing together, many families with common lifestyles.

Meanwhile back in Bel Air Kiddush is recited by an elder; few pay attention. The host hurries him, because they are in the middle of the game, the commercials are about to finish, the food is getting cold. Kids are plucked away and dragged from their TV shows. They come reluctantly, to sing the "We Give Thanks" song as they hold the bread with their cute unwashed hands. This may be the only religious act they perform for some weeks to come. Their parents are so joyful. The future of Judaism is reciting "Hamotsi". "They go to Jewish schools," they say with pride about the kids -- but the future runs back to where they were dragged out of. The girls watch Friends reruns while the boys watch bloody wrestling and in between the commercial, some interesting sitcoms about girls and boys (CBS promotes what is essentially going to be an orgy in prime family time!). The parents discuss stocks, women try to break the business cycle with juicy jokes but then they have to stop -- a kid interrupts . A mom pleads with her daughter to eat something; she is on the bed watching a seduction on a TV show with wide open eyes. Mom is happy that she is amazed, takes advantage of the situation and puts another spoon full of rice in her mouth. She is seven, but her mom still spoon-feeds her. Meanwhile, a dad feeling obliged to help mom raising the child retires from tasteless vulgar jokes to venture to chase his 9-year-old with a dish and a spoon full of food.

Kids seem exhausted after playing videogames; some parents tried to impress them with, but they were no match. As soon as dinner is finished some teenagers want to leave, because they can't get wasted here. They don't care for the jokes about Mirza Sarah Herhmat Khanoom, they have better places to go, if they don't they still want to go. Other children are bored and sleepy, or just asleep, as they are dragged into the car. On the way back the mother finally unzips that tight skirt. She wonders if she should adjust it or maybe try to lose weight. But the season might be over soon. She didn't really like it. "Maybe they will take it back," she thinks. But her cousin's husband looked at her cleavage with interest, she thought. "Why does she expose her sagging breasts so much?" he wondered. The bra was a good choice, she thought, just perfect. It squeezed a bit too much, but it made them look good. The glitter on her tanned shoulders and chest helped, she thought. But the dress the hostess was wearing was so beautiful. How could she afford that? They don't drive such a fancy car, she thinks. The husband complains about that guy who bragged too much about his last real estate deal. "If I wouldn't have heeded your brother's foolish recommendation to buy that lousy stock, I could have bought a building three times as big." These are "holy Shabbat talks." "These are important things," the kid thinks to himself. "When I grow up, I'll buy and sell good stocks more prudently," the 9 year old thinks in the back. "I wish I could say something that would interest my father, to impress him, like a real estate deal. Oh there is no way I can ever impress him. But how can I get his attention? I can't wait to grow up and make lots of money. I like the car I saw my uncle driving. My father wasn't lucky, people mislead him, otherwise we could be driving the best car with TV's and games in the rear seats. I wonder if the TV that my parents have in their bedroom is hooked to that channel we just saw in the host's master bedroom." Those are the "holy" thoughts of a Shabbat on this side of town, in this car driving through town -- a car with the windows rolled down filled with boys and girls that seem overly joyful with "music" blaring -- Gangsta Rap - this is the sister who left earlier to go to her friends party, it's her car… The boy is half asleep. This is the end of their "holy" night. On the other side of town, the boys are sleeping on the floors and sofa beds, reminiscing about the week's Torah portion as foretold by the learned, wise guest. The magic, the miracles for us Jews were so abundant and amazing. They had sung together Shabbat songs, played together, given thanks together, and said Amen together. They are one big happy family. They went to sleep together. The cousins are in one room, some guests in the guest room, still others on the sofa. The lights on the timers have gone off on their own. But the many Shabbat candles shimmered warm light on the boys' faces. Still giggling on the living room floor, they look forward to getting up in the morning together, walking with dad and grandpa to the synagogue. They look forward to tomorrow. We look forward to them, our Jewish tomorrow - those being raised as happy campers in the Jewish cradle in our past's path. They are our tomorrow. G-d bless them. G-d has blessed us with them. Thank you G-d. Blessed is such a nation.