How Shabbat Keeps Me

For as long as I can remember, my family has always gathered for Friday night dinner together. I looked forward to coming home to the smell of my Dad’s chicken cooking while my Mom (sometimes frantically) urged us to do a final cleanup so the house would be ready for the weekend. I would begrudgingly polish the candlesticks and smooth the embroidered tablecloth, knowing that soon I’d take the first bite of warm challah and Shabbat would commence. 

The practice of resting on the 7th day comes from Genesis 2:3, which reads: 

“ויברך אלהים את־יום השביעי ויקדש אותו כי־בו שבת מכל מלאכתו אשר־ברא אלהים לעשות” translated as, “And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy, having ceased on it from all the work of creation that God had done.” 

I remember decisively announcing to my parents, at the age of seven, that this was my favorite Torah portion, “before all the people came in and ruined everything.” Later in the text, in Exodus 20:8-10, we are commanded to remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy: to pause, reflect, and be present with one another.

Shabbat has always been special to me, but I’ve come to appreciate the tradition more deeply as I’ve grown older. While I’m not strictly shomrei Shabbat, in a world that is increasingly digital and fast-paced, it feels more important than ever to take time to unplug and be in the moment. No matter how my week at school has been, with copious amounts of homework, worries about grade reports, or anxiety about a world in turmoil, Shabbat is my constant. It provides a sense of security, routine, and comfort. My siblings and I each have roles: one sister makes kiddush over grape juice, my brother says the hamotzi prayer over the challah, and I lead grace after meals. We join together to say the prayers over candle lighting and hand-washing, and to sing shalom aleichem to welcome the spirit of Shabbat. It’s a time to exhale after the busyness of the week. I can always count on Shabbat to make me feel whole again. 

Shabbat in my home is open to anyone and reflects my family’s diverse traditions. 

My Mom is Scottish and converted to Judaism, so one side of my family doesn’t celebrate Shabbat. One of the highlights of their visits is being able to share it with them. Even if they don’t know all the words to the prayers, they can still join the collective act of resting in community.

My maternal grandfather is a lay leader in the Church of Scotland, so when my Dad blesses my three siblings and me every Friday night, following the Jewish tradition he grew up with, the Hebrew is followed by the English translation of the Priestly Blessing from my grandparents’ church: “The Lord Bless You and Keep You.” It’s a way to bring together all our different customs. Seeing both sides of my family come together through celebrating Shabbat has been deeply meaningful. Sitting together, participating in the same rituals makes me feel more connected, not only to both sides of the family, but to a lasting, grounding tradition. 

Despite Shabbat being such a central part of my identity, and even though my non-Jewish relatives participate when they’re visiting, it's something I tend not to share with friends outside my Jewish community. It’s not a secret; it has simply always felt separate. 

I don’t attend a Jewish school, and I rarely bring up the topic of Shabbat in conversation. People at school know that I'm Jewish, yet at times my life has felt divided—there’s school, and then there’s my Jewish home life. I haven’t felt the need to merge them.

Recently, though, this has begun to change. At my high school, Jewish identity often feels restricted to the traumas of the Holocaust, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, or the occasional bagel and cream cheese on Fridays. Jews are either painted as victims or oppressors. While these histories matter immensely, I feel most connected to my heritage through “doing Judaism.” Now, I wish my friends and peers would know more about Shabbat and holidays beyond Hanukkah, so that they may understand all the rich traditions Judaism encompasses. For me, the real power of Judaism is in the practice and celebration. Shabbat is proof every week that, in spite of everything, Jewish tradition lives on. 

Religious practice is sometimes unfairly labeled as passive or conforming to mainstream beliefs. But in the Jewish community, it has meant resistance in the darkest times. Jewish prisoners in Nazi death camps still found a way to light candles on Shabbat, despite the Nazis’ best efforts to wipe out Jews and Judaism. More recently, video footage emerged of six Israeli hostages, later murdered by Hamas, lighting Hanukkah candles, highlighting the resistance in committing to tradition despite unimaginable suffering. 

Judaism is about doing as much as believing. It is about feeling alive when I light candles, bless wine, and take that first bite of challah. It lives in ritual and repetition, in choosing to reset each week, even when you don’t feel like it. 

I feel a great sense of comfort every Friday, knowing that I am participating in a ritual that so many Jews around the world are also observing, that those who have come before me have observed, and that those who will come will also hold close. As the Hebrew writer Ahad Ha’am wrote, “More than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.”