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A Day of
Rejoicing
by Truman
G. Madsen
The
decision to write on this topic really goes back to many visits
that my wife, Ann, and I have had in the homes of Orthodox Jewish
people-mostly while we were in Israel. We noted how they observed
the Sabbath, especially Shabbat Eve. That triggered in me a great
interest in searching their lore for the roots of Sabbath observance...
I want to discuss...four mighty metaphors.
They are more than that to the Jew; they are mighty meanings of
the Sabbath in their lives...
A beautiful myth says that on the Sabbath
day, in addition to your own soul, a second soul possesses your
body-a good or better soul. And this is a symbolic way of saying
that in every man and every woman there are two kinds of inclinations,
good and bad. But on the Sabbath, somehow God sees fit to send an
extra spirit, if you will, which lifts a man above his ordinary
evil inclinations and spells peace.
They also have a story that whenever a
Jew returns home from synagogue on Shabbat Eve, two angels follow
him-one bad, one good. If when they reach his home all is prepared-the
table set, the candles lit-then the good angel prays and says, "May
this be the way the Sabbath will be in this home every week." The
other angel, against his will, says 'amen.' But if the man returns
home and it's just as it always is, more or less in chaos and no
effort has been made toward the Sabbath, then the evil angel prays
that this may be the way it always is in this home; and the other
angel, against his will, says 'amen.'
They go farther in saying that the Sabbath
outweighs all other commandments. In some of their literature, to
keep the Sabbath is to keep the whole law and to break it is to
break the whole law.
I turn now to...the metaphors. Note that
nothing I say will list things you ought to stop doing or start
doing on your own Sabbath. What I hope to do is to stir a new attitude,
a new feeling, whatever you do. For the Jew, to miss the feeling
is to miss it all, and some of us Latter-day Saints are missing
it all. Here are four ways in which they teach by metaphor.
A Sanctuary in Time
First, as I've indicated, they see the
Sabbath as a sanctuary in time. Now, it's true they have strict
requirements, and even now in Israel there are hospitals which are
so prepared, organized, and planned, that they keep the Sabbath.
If you care enough, it can be done. But all that discipline-all
that "thou shalt not"-is seen as an instrument to joy. A disciplined
joy, indeed, but nevertheless joy and celebration. Mind, says one
of the great rabbis, is established by joy; by melancholy it is
driven into exile. It is a sin, according to Judaism, to be sad
on the Sabbath. If that's startling language, I'll startle you further.
The Talmud says that we will be held personally accountable before
the judgment of God for every legitimate Sabbath pleasure we did
not enjoy. We are commanded to have joy. To miss the joy is to miss
it all.
This joyous note is marked among them by
special things: by special dress, by a special tablecloth in the
evening, by special food-sumptuous food, in fact. Then there are
the twisted loaves. One tradition says the two loaves wrapped in
one symbolize the word for "remember the Sabbath" and also the word
for "keep the Sabbath." Others say it symbolizes the law and the
prophets. There may be other possibilities, but all point to exhilaration.
Except in certain offshoot groups of Jewish tradition, there is
nothing we can find that is puritanical-if by puritanical we mean
with H. L. Mencken that a Puritan lives in mortal dread that somewhere,
sometime, somebody is enjoying himself. The Jews talk about the
joy of the commandment. This is in their hearts. This is on their
lips. And if I can put it in modern language, they make a production
out of it.
A Feast
Second, they speak of the Sabbath as a
feast. And they remind themselves over and over that when Moses
had the children of Israel in the wilderness a double portion of
manna was given just before the Sabbath, but none on the Sabbath,
so that the day was recognizable in two ways-by what was absent
and what was present. Jews serve the most beautiful meal of the
week on Shabbat Eve. The mother often has to prepare for as much
as two days before, and one of the traditional dishes is a kind
of stew which stays simmering all night long the night before the
Sabbath and then needs only to be served. The feast is itself a
form of ritual, and it requires special preparations and special
activities. It is, to quote one writer, a palace in time. Something
of the same spirit attends America's Thanksgiving dinner. It involves,
for one thing, the bringing in of the stranger or of the poor. (This
is why Ann and I had such firsthand and close experiences. We were
foreigners, and were invited for that very reason.) "Come and share
our Shabbat." It is a feast even for the poorest man in the poorest
ghetto. Why? Well, because even if he is poor and cannot afford
the twisted loaves and a little wine and the meat and the fish and
the candles, the synagogue in that area will see that he has them.
That's a requirement. So on that particular day even a poor man
is rich.
Heaven On Earth
The third metaphor has roots in the Jews'
mystical tradition, but it has biblical precedent. They talk about
the Sabbath as heaven on earth; as-if you want to be specific and
mathematical-one-sixtieth of paradise. You have a foretaste of paradise.
The seventh day, some legends say, is the reflection of the seventh
heaven, the highest heaven. By the way, they also say having dreams
is one-sixtieth of being a prophet. They believe that this is cosmic,
that nature herself celebrates the Sabbath. In the Church we have
a hymn titled "Come Away to the Sunday School." One of the lines
is "Nature breathes her sweetest fragrance on the holy Sabbath day."
That's the Jews' feeling. Even the rivers don't work on the Sabbath.
They are accustomed to throw up rocks and dirt, so they may be very
calm on the Sabbath. Even hell celebrates the Sabbath. People who
have been tormented in hell are, for purposes of the Sabbath day,
released. The hosts of heaven celebrate the Sabbath. They gather
and they sing and they feel tranquility.
All the miracles of the six days of creation,
say the Jews, are somehow available to us, or should be, on the
seventh day. And all creation "resolves itself into melody if we
have ears to hear."
A Queen
Finally, they speak of the Sabbath as a
queen, as a bride. How did that get started? Well, here are two
traditions. According to Rabbi Simeon, the Sabbath said unto the
Holy One (their word for Adoni, the Lord) "O master of the universe,
every living thing created has its mate, and each day has its companion,
except me [this is the Sabbath speaking]. I am alone." The Holy
One replied, "Israel will be your mate." So, on their view, Israel
cries out to the queen or the bride and says, "Come, holy Sabbath."
He who prays on the eve of the Sabbath and recites the verses that
begin, "The heavens and the earth were finished"-the scriptures
say he is become a partner with the Holy One in creation.
Now, the tradition goes further. The Sabbath
is meaningful to God. The world would not be complete if the six
days did not culminate at the Sabbath, but they compare this to
a king who has made a bridal chamber, has plastered it, painted
it, adorned it. Now what does the chamber lack? Obviously, a bride.
What did the universe still lack? The Sabbath. Imagine a king who
made a ring. What did it lack? A signet. What did the universe lack?
A Sabbath. So the Sabbath is a bride. Its celebration is like a
wedding, and the bride is to come lovely and bedecked and perfumed.
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