mittees) and meeting other people’s spiritual needs.
I preach and teach about the importance of family.
But so many thousands of times I have left my own
in order to tend to others’. Sometimes I am able to
really pray on the pulpit, but most times I am wor-
rying about my sermon, whether or not the organ-
ist will hit his cues and hoping the bar mitzvah boy
doesn’t yak up his breakfast from nerves.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my work—and so did
Heschel, who was a prolific writer, lecturer and ac-
tivist. We all have to make a living and work hard to
do so, and we all have to live in the world of responsi-
bilities. Yet there is a way to transcend that world, at
least one seventh of our lives. It is a wise and ancient
antidote to the stress of modernity: a day of rest.
The firsT Time the word holy is used in the Bible
is not in relation to a thing; not a mountain, not a
temple, not a person, not a text. Instead, the word
holy first appears in relation to a day. “Then God
blessed the seventh day and made it holy.” It is time,
not object, that is holy. Working, creating and impos-
ing one’s will upon nature six days a week is enough.
Even God had to stop sacrificing time for stuff one
seventh of the time. God knows, if you work and
worry and only care for others seven days a week,
you are nothing but a rich, well-meaning slave.
So much that defines the Sabbath for Jews is what
we refuse to do on that blessed day. When the ancient
rabbis created the list of Sabbath prohibitions, they
defined 39 different categories of work that were for-
bidden. The common denominator is that the cate-
gories all involve ways in which we impose our will
on the world. The ways we tear, cut, hammer, burn,
grind, knead, thresh, spin, slaughter and demolish;
all the weekday ways we forcefully shape nature for
our own purposes. The Sabbath is the day on which
we stop trying to shape nature and allow nature to
shape us. Its glory is created via negationis—by ceas-
ing to create. The power of the Sabbath reveals itself
in the way of a stone sculpture, whose power emerges
by what was removed and chiseled away to reveal the
beautiful image within.
The religiously observant do not spend money
on the Sabbath. So there is no acquiring, no search-
ing for parking at the mall, no standing in line at
checkout counters and, ideally, no thought or power
given over to our hunger for things. We also do not
use cellphones, email or social media or watch TV.
We are also expressly forbidden to “kindle a fire”
on the Sabbath. For our ancestors, starting a fire re-
quired great physical labor, and the Sabbath is a day
of rest for the body and mind. But I have always un-
derstood this to mean we should not only refrain
from arduous tasks but also refrain from igniting fires
among us and the people we love: no bickering, no
gossiping, no yelling, no swearing, no sniping. The
Sabbath is the day on which self-righteous indigna-
tion must wait until tomorrow.
For those of us who take these prohibitions se-
riously, it is amazing to see and to feel the delicate
beauty, grace, depth and meaning that thrive in the
absence of conflict; the majesty of what is possible
in life when we do something other than work, run
errands, drive carpool, pay bills or argue.
For Jews, the Sabbath begins each Friday evening.
Such a beautiful thing, a day that begins at sunset,
attuning us first to nature’s glow. Next, a quiet prayer
over candles, wine and warm bread, then the blessing
of children with ancient words in the glow of those
same candles, and dinner with family and friends.
Often there is a thoughtful teaching of eternal wis-
dom. It is the night each week when the tradition
encourages spouses to make love. Then those who
adhere to the Sabbath wake to a day spent in prayer,
long walks and talks. It is time spent savoring time.
A truce in the war for more things. A day devoted to
being better, not better off.
When I give talks in a room full of people about
the importance of taking the Sabbath more seriously,
I often begin by asking all of the sex addicts in atten-
dance to raise their hands. No hands go up. Then I
ask the same of all the alcoholics, gambling addicts,
pillheads and potheads. Again, no hands. Next, I in-
vite all the racists, homophobes, sexists and bigots to
fess up. No one ever takes the bait. Despite the fact
that there are many people with at least one of the
above traits in the room, they do not raise their hands
because at the very least they know their demon is
nothing to be proud of. But then, when I ask all of
the workaholics in the room to come clean, there is
laughter as many hands shoot up with a perverse sort
of pride. Workaholism is the last acceptable ism in
our society. And it is killing us.AfTer All The workaholics raise their hands, I ask
everyone in the room if they would like an additional
seven and a half weeks of vacation each year to help
reduce their stress. Everyone does. I remind them
that there are 52 weeks in a year and that if we take