fbpx

The unexpected power of vacation Shabbat

Shabbat – the 7th day, a day of rest, a chance to refrain from all the usual business of the week.
[additional-authors]
September 4, 2015

Shabbat – the 7th day, a day of rest, a chance to refrain from all the usual business of the week. No work, no cell phone, no computer, no spending money. You know the deal. After a busy week, it feels great to give yourself permission to slow down. But what if it wasn’t a busy week? Or furthermore, what if the week itself was filled with relaxation and pleasure? Is a break from a break really all that necessary? And what if all the limitations spoil the fun you’re having? This is a question I pondered a few months ago as I prepared to embark on a two-month journey traveling through Europe. As I consulted a calendar and tried to figure out where I wanted to be on which days, one column of dates kept glaring back at me. I’m talking about the Saturdays. As someone who observes Shabbat and who was going to be traveling alone, I feared the worst. What will I do for food? What will I do for entertainment? What kind of city would be best suited for 25 hours of doing “nothing”? When I’m at home with my family in Los Angeles on Shabbat, it’s my easiest day of the week. I have a comfy bed to sleep late in, plenty of books and things to read during the day, and a Jewish mother stuffing me with food. But as a single, lone visitor in a foreign country, I knew Shabbat would be different. What I didn’t expect was that my Shabbats in Europe would turn out to be the best of all my days. It was incredible to experience how Shabbat always provided me with exactly what I needed at the time and place I found myself in at that moment.

My first Shabbat was in Berlin, a spectacular city packed with young artistic people from all around the world. They move there to pursue their dreams and collaborate with others who share their passions. Sort of like Los Angeles, but without all the Botox. The city is vast, with many different neighborhoods that each offer a totally different atmosphere. If you love good culture, good food, and good coffee, the city is a giant playground. But all this variety can sometimes be a bit overwhelming. With so many options and such convenient public transportation, it can be easy to find yourself paralyzed with choice. Drifting in a sea of possibility, the arrival of Shabbat was a much needed life-jacket for me. Suddenly, I had structure and a plan. When sundown approached and I put my cell phone and computer away, I was overcome with a feeling of peace. I had signed up to attend a student Shabbat dinner at the home of a lovely and welcoming Rabbi and his wife. With about 15 other young Jewish people in attendance, I deeply appreciated the intimacy, after spending my previous few days constantly surrounded by crowds. The following day, I had lunch at the local Chabad, where I met plenty of friendly locals as well as fellow travelers passing through. And for the rest of the day until dark, I simply hung out by the river with a book and a beer I had bought the day before. It felt great. For one day I didn’t have to worry about which museum to check out or read reviews to choose which restaurant to eat at. Shabbat showed me the pleasure of enjoying the simple things, even when you’re in a foreign country, because you get to experience how locals live rather than be consumed with a checklist of must-see tourist spots. When Shabbat ended, I was refreshed and ready to hit the town again, with a newfound perspective and peace of mind.

A week later I found myself in Prague. In this city, Shabbat provided another essential ingredient: comfort in the familiar. Prague is a city that makes you feel very foreign. For one, since the Czech language is not Latin-based, you can’t get by with recognizing a few words here and there or phonetically reading signs. They also use their own currency (not the Euro), so it’s not as easy to quickly figure out how much you’re spending. On top of that, it’s an extremely touristy place. You can’t take more than a few steps without walking into a selfie stick. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come to Prague to experience the familiar. It was a pleasure to take in a totally new environment. But it requires a lot of energy and awareness to make your way around. So after a couple days of exploring, Shabbat once again came to the rescue. Prague is home to the Altneushul, Europe’s oldest active synagogue (completed in 1270) and home to the mythical Golem. I showed up for Kabbalat Shabbat services there and with its stone walls and gothic architecture, I suddenly felt transported to another era. As we went through the familiar songs and prayers, I couldn’t help but feel at home, not only with the people who shared the room with me at that moment, but the generations of Jews who have also prayed the same prayers in that same room for the past eight centuries. In Prague, Shabbat showed me the comfort of tradition when in a place that’s far from familiar. 

A couple weeks later I found myself in Paris. The physical beauty of Paris is unmatched. Every building, every bridge, every baguette is a moment out of a post card. Even if you avoid the tourist trap spots, there’s no way to escape the fact that you might be in the most picturesque city in the world. And yet I couldn’t help but think about how beneath this veneer of beauty rested a darkness that only a few months earlier had claimed the lives of innocent cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo and a group of Jewish shoppers at a kosher supermarket. How could such ugliness occur amidst so much beauty? I’d also seen the viral YouTube video of a Jewish man wearing a yarmulke walking through the streets of Paris while a hidden camera captured passersby yelling hateful comments and spitting at him. It was hard for me to fathom this seeming contradiction. But on Shabbat it suddenly felt very real. I had signed up to attend dinner at the Chabad located on the famous Champs Elysees. I walked back and forth past the address listed on the website, but I saw no marking or label for Chabad. Finally, a woman dressed in plain clothes came up to me and quietly escorted me into what looked like some sort of office building. She signaled to a nearby French soldier armed with a huge rifle, who then led me to the courtyard where I found the entrance to the Chabad house. Two other armed soldiers manned the area for the duration of the evening. I was shaken by this experience. It’s 2015 in Paris and a group of Jews gathering to eat food together requires the protection of three heavily armed soldiers? Even in Israel I never experienced such security. In that moment I truly had the feeling that there’s a war on the Jewish people. The experience of Shabbat forced me to confront and reflect on this truth. I’m grateful for that.

These are just a sampling of my experiences with Shabbat on vacation. Each in its own unique way had an impact on my traveling experience and undoubtedly enriched my journey. And that’s the power of Shabbat. It’s not just one thing. It’s a special space in time that stands apart from the rest of the week and gives us what we need at that exact moment. It’s an opportunity to look at the world through a different lens, to slow down and reflect, and to connect with others wherever we are. Sometimes a vacation from a vacation can be a very good thing. 

Did you enjoy this article?
You'll love our roundtable.

Editor's Picks

Latest Articles

More news and opinions than at a
Shabbat dinner, right in your inbox.

More news and opinions than at a Shabbat dinner, right in your inbox.

More news and opinions than at a Shabbat dinner, right in your inbox.