Being Kept By Shabbat

by Nora Chernov

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While always important, my relationship with Jewish life and practice has forever been in flux. I experience this as fundamentally positive, trusting the tradition to be able to meet me where I’m at  when I come looking or pull me back when I’m drifting away. And within that shifting landscape of practice nothing has changed as much and still remained as central as my relationship with Shabbat. 

Parshat Ki Tisa is most well known for the story of the golden calf, but this narrative is bracketed on either side by instruction regarding Shabbat. Shabbat is defined both in  purpose and  in practice. 

וְשָׁמְר֥וּ בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל אֶת־הַשַּׁבָּ֑ת לַעֲשׂ֧וֹת אֶת־הַשַּׁבָּ֛ת לְדֹרֹתָ֖ם בְּרִ֥ית עוֹלָֽם׃

בֵּינִ֗י וּבֵין֙ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל א֥וֹת הִ֖וא לְעֹלָ֑ם כִּי־שֵׁ֣שֶׁת יָמִ֗ים עָשָׂ֤ה יְהֹוָה֙ אֶת־הַשָּׁמַ֣יִם וְאֶת־הָאָ֔רֶץ וּבַיּוֹם֙ הַשְּׁבִיעִ֔י שָׁבַ֖ת וַיִּנָּפַֽשׁ

“The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time it shall be a sign for all time between Me and the people of Israel. For in six days HaShem made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day [God] ceased from work and was refreshed.” (Ex 31:16-17) 

The above is an excerpt of somewhat repetitive verses that tell us to keep Shabbat, that it is a sign of covenant, the way that we must mirror God and rest after 6 days of work, and the stark punishment that accompanies violation of the commandment. And after the golden calf we are again told to work for 6 days but the seventh shall be a day of a rest.  

The first set of instructions comes at the end of further description of the labor and specifications of the Mishkan and the latter is part of a larger unit describing holy time and also ties this cessation of labor to agriculture. The message is clear - all work, from the essential that ensures we have what to eat to the craftsmanship that adorns the dwelling place of the Divine is to be put on pause. However important the work, however noble the goal being pursued, however sacred or mundane it appears, the seventh day is one for rest without qualification. 

Shabbat was always important in my childhood but the time I remember feeling like I (and not my family or community for me) was dedicated to keeping Shabbat was when I started college. And by keeping Shabbat I mean solely that I would refrain from work for 25 hours, and I truly had no idea what, if any, role ritual observance would play in that practice. But long before I had the language of disability to understand my experience, I knew the rhythms of my body and mind could not keep pace with the constant demand of work that seemed expected of me. And, fearful of my inability to maintain the needed boundary to protect myself, I relied on Shabbat to aid me. That I ended up finding joy and thriving in the Jewish community on campus and that Shabbat became a major focus of my week was a pleasant side effect. Most important was the ability to hold a day of complete rest. My practice was idiosyncratic but it was mine and I clinged to it with all I had. 

Since then I’ve found Shabbat to be many things. As a ritual and community leader Shabbat has often become my work, but the work that enlivens and sustains me. At some points it has meant regular synagogue attendance and immersing myself in prayer and song. During these periods   I’ve had varying levels of stringency in refraining from prohibited labor and strived to truly keep Shabbat a time apart. Other times Shabbat has meant a long drive into the mountains with music or a good podcast, using that dedicated time to return to my innermost self. It’s easy to feel the holiness of Shabbat during these times. The focus on restoration and community makes the sacred clear and graspable. Of course those times are a sign of covenant with God.

But there are times where Shabbat is none of those things. The weeks where I’m already aching for Shabbat to come back just moments after it ends. The weeks where as much as I love community and ritual the idea of doing anything with anyone on Shabbat makes me shudder. My sensory sensitivities are already in overdrive and I need to be alone in the dark. And rarely if ever does that time feel particularly holy. Instead it is raw and vulnerable and unpleasant as I collapse into Shabbat. 

But these are also the weeks where the required rest of Shabbat is the promise of safety to unravel. Where the maintenance of covenant is not represented in prayer or observance or candles and challah but in the permission to stop trying to force myself in the shape that is demanded by the rest of the week. My rest becomes defined by not needing to push back on my nervous system quite so hard, where I can prioritize tending to rather than coping with. And every so often I’m able to remember that this frightened, overwhelmed, exhausted version of myself who struggles to do anything at all fulfills the obligation to rest just as much as the one who celebrates shabbat with the fullness of ritual. Perhaps she does so even more. If Shabbat is a sign between God and the Jewish people, a representation of covenant, then this fractured practice might be its apex. With no choice but to rest, I am compelled to rest completely. I will always keep Shabbat and perhaps I can trust that Shabbat (and God) will keep me. 

Nora Chernov (she/her) is a trans and neurodivergent Jewish educator, writer, and ritual leader. She is currently a student at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College where she serves as the Intern for Community Life and in the Beit Midrash. When not buried in text she can be found playing all manner of games or catching up on podcasts.