“Shabbat comes with its own holiness. We enter not simply a day, but an atmosphere.” Abraham Joshua Heschel
At a crowded Shabbat Friday night the rabbi asked us to turn to the people closest to us and share something sweet that happened this week, and then share something that we don’t like that we can change. The operative word here being can.
A lot of sweet things happened to me this week. On the spot like that, in a shy but immediate way, I didn’t have time to overthink, so I said the first image (and tune) that popped in my head. I returned home on a cold dark evening and friends were at my piano singing “Fire and Rain”.
A woman in our Shabbat group who I had just met, said her sweet thing was that a new-ish neighbor invited her ice skating and they had a beautiful time.
The sweet man who digs trenches, plows driveways and helps everyone in bad weather (and good) manage the homesite heavy lifting, said he was happy his girlfriend arrived on the ferry and it wasn’t canceled due to the wind and waves.
My husband told us that when he was deer hunting, he called in a doe. (He only shoots bucks.) He spoke to the deer in the L’ingit way, Hello deer… and asked her if she had a brother or an uncle nearby. She listened, looked at him, walked closer, relaxed and began to eat. She stayed right next to him, comfortable and safe, until he decided to move on.
The second question was easier for me to answer, since I have been thinking about what I can do to change. In exercise class, our flexible and strong leader reminded us that where attention goes energy flows. There’s lot of truth in that, isn’t there? There’s stuff I can change about me on the inside and the outside by how I think and act.
One of the most hurtful things anyone ever said about me was that my thoughts are mostly “idle chatter.” And, to make it worse, I write those thoughts, don’t I?
I wish I didn’t mind that sting. I’m a little embarrassed to confess it even. But I can’t help it. When I’m feeling doubtful or low, my thoughts go to it, and to “Who cares? That’s dumb.”
Well, I can decide that what I do isn’t idle and it isn’t chatter.
I almost told you that what I’m about to say might sound silly, and it’s such a small thing— but I’m not apologizing for how I feel anymore. Or at least I’m trying to do what I can not to.
My act of change is to show up for more group and civic activities like that class and Shabbat, church services, middle school basketball games, swimming at the pool (and changing in the public locker room)– filling the Thanksgiving food boxes at the Salvation Army– and signing up for the Christmas bell choir. All the while talking.
Owning my chit-chat ways.
Connecting in that essential, comfortable way.
Thanking a coach, telling a player she had a good game. Noticing the people I know well—and the ones I don’t. Smiling at people I see all the time and at people that I need to introduce myself too. It’s often just a few words—nothing brilliant—but something good, and true. Hi, nice to see you. It’s going to be a good day, isn’t it? Thank you.
What did everyone else in our little group say that they can change?
The helpful guy said he can organize the equipment in his shop and yard better.
My husband said he can slow down rather than always be in a hurry.
The woman, who over the course of the evening became a friend, said she can change the way she responds to her catastrophic health and home setbacks.
What is it that I am really saying with those routine social greetings and small talk with a grandchild, a neighbor, the check-out clerk, an old friend at the post office, a daughter, a stranger? What do I want them to hear but can’t quite voice? –I love you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I was kind of down and you made my day. That smile was just what I needed. I’m sorry. Can I help? Thank you, thank you, thank you–
That’s what I thought of as the Shabbat candles were lit. I listened to prayers spoken and sung in Hebrew (most of us weren’t Jewish, but the holy words in the flickering light blessed everyone). We broke challah bread, passed chunks around and toasted to life— the only life we are lucky to live and to share with others —and sat down to a noisy potluck full of sweet and changeful chatter.
