From Shabbat shoes to sneakers

Last Shabbat, on my way to shul, I met a friend who walked with me the last few hundred yards. As we strolled together, I noticed that he was still wearing fine leather shoes with laces.

“That’s so nice, Famaz,” I said. “You still wear real Shabbat shoes!”

I meant it. These days, most men in our synagogue wear sneakers. Once upon a time, polished leather shoes were as much a part of Shabbat as candles or challah. But it seems that comfort has quietly taken over style.

The women, at least, still make the effort. They switch out of sneakers at the synagogue entrance and slip into elegant heels carried along in little bags. But the men? Sneakers all the way.

When I grew up, there was no such thing. We had everyday shoes and Shabbat shoes. Everyone did—Father, Mother, and us children. Comfort was reserved for the gym, never for walking to shul. My father even taught us how to care for our shoes: first brush off the dust, then apply polish, then buff until the leather gleamed so brightly you could see your reflection. Friday afternoon wasn’t complete without this ritual. It was as essential as setting out the candlesticks, placing the challah board and knife on the table, and all the other preparations that made Shabbat distinct from the rest of the week.

I can’t quite remember when the change happened, when sneakers began to replace leather. Maybe one person claimed his feet required softer shoes, and others decided their feet deserved a Shabbat rest too. And so the shift began.

And don’t get me started on the disappearance of ties! They vanished around the same time. My father adored colorful silk ties, and I made sure he had a beautiful collection throughout his life. But my mother was the final judge. Sitting in her “inspector’s chair” by the entryway, she would make him change if she disapproved of his choice. Dutifully, he would return to the bedroom, lay out several ties, and wait as she pointed to the one that best complemented his jacket.

Only then, with his tie approved, his Shabbat hat brushed free of dust, and his shoes gleaming, would my father step out to synagogue. He looked every inch the gentleman, walking toward Shabbat with dignity shining from head to toe.

I gave up troubling my husband on that matter and consoled myself with the thought that G-d surely accepts prayers in sneakers just as well as in polished Shabbat shoes.