The Blogs: Shabbat starts when …

Among my early (but not earliest) recollections, from before I was two digits old, Shabbat evenings took on a dream-like character. It was the custom of our mothers to light one candle more than their family size (and never an even number); so a bride would light three, a mother of one-or-two kids would light five, etc., visiting married daughters and other married women guests would each light two – regardless how many they lit at home, and none of the electric lights in the house remained alight – except one.

Well, way back then, during those long mystical-play days of mine, when light bulbs were incandescent, gas stoves had a pilot flame, and parents kept telling their children to turn off lights when leaving a room (an oft repeated lesson example … about not wasting money), the halacha of some basic electric appliances was not yet agreed upon, and a weird all-metal electrically-powered mechanical circuit-changing clock was considered by many scholars to be problematic – since a neighbor or passing pedestrian might unfortunately suspect you of active apostasy – when seeing your lights switching on or off.

Anyway, my forever calm halacha-loving grandparents had one – that I was never allowed to touch – not even on weekdays; perhaps since they knew how much I wanted to discover how it worked (by taking it apart). It was connected to a glowing pearl-size orb, that made a long hallway to the bathroom less than completely dark all night; yet it was never sufficient to even vaguely illuminate the curtains (as much as the passing of distant headlights did). By the way, inside that bathroom, only very greyish outlines were visible; being dimly lit through the window – from a far away street lamp; sometimes more so by the moon; always much less so by tiny fragments of light sliding under the closed door; just as invisible shadow-interrupted rays were imagined to be peeking through the keyhole.

Now, how can I express my feelings, growing up under such traditional romantic conditions, where those flickering wicks (of shabbat candles on the table) made everything more respectful, the food more wonderful, and the adult conversations more philosophical. Simply, for children who had not already fallen asleep at the table – and been carried to bed, the obvious minimal height of the remaining candles was our only sense of when we were to be escorted to our beds – which incidentally we shared with other children – but that was an entirely different aspect of life then.

Bedtime happily included amazing mysterious adventure tales; told by our beloved hyper-literate uncle (Yaakov Mordechai A”H). Innumerable unique epics, consciously ‘borrowed’ from obscure-fiction plots, were then skillfully kneaded together (in real time) with his ever changing personal embellishments. Substituting our names for dramatic characters in these stories, our attention kept increasing as he kept reawakening our curiosity by name. Many times, we requested one of our favorites to be retold – nevertheless knowing he always reshaped everything in them anew.

Of course, we rarely kept awake to hear the end of such spontaneous fantasies, either having already instantly fallen asleep – when covered by a blanket, or because we (completely exhausted by his enveloping narrative) pleaded with him to stop and let us float naturally into enchanted slumber; since we (his captive sleep-deprived audience) just could not stop listening – so amazing was the style of his telling… (sigh)… – but I should really start explaining all of this again – according to the vantage of my current latency-maturing instant now – more specifically: from an earlier beginning.

Copying a living protocol of timeless unspoken traditions, upon a large tray on the white linen cloth of the dining table were assorted ancient-feeling candlesticks and candelabras fitted with candles – often-tall. From my childhood, I clearly recall that when my mother, her sister, or their mother (all A”H) used to ‘Bench Licht’ (Friday late afternoon – somewhat before dusk – lighting these Shabbat candles), a quiet verbal notice came from them or from the first person noticing that they had approached this very last mundane weekday activity, and that notice would propagate to every corner of the house – specifically “Mom (or whoever) was ‘Benching Licht’ …” – and thus you, we, everyone must be quiet – most respectfully – while this ‘archetypal psycho-drama event’ is ongoing. OK – I recall sometimes waiting a few moments, other times waiting a few minutes, and sometimes waiting for much more than a few minutes until she or they finished ‘Benching Licht’, turned around, said “Good Shabbas” and typically kissed (and therewith blessed) each of the children present.

Then, sometimes when she/they turned around, her/their eyes would be beaming incredible joyful light, and other times it was apparent that she/they had been crying. My long belated conclusion from these observations is that she/they were davening (no exact translation – albeit usually ‘praying’) with a minyan – usually an assembled quorum of at least ten over age 13 ‘adult’ males – except here in these events – it seems to me that they were joining together with other mothers – maybe with the Matriarchs (Sarah, Rivka, Rachel, and Leah – all A”H) – or maybe including all of their own matrilineal lineage (A”H) back to those Matriarchs – or maybe with all of the other mothers who were ‘Benching Licht’ – and I do not know – since i am a male person – but that is enough for me to accept that woman have a Minyan of sorts which – in my simple opinion – is of a very different quality than that of Men.

Men are quite different. In my grandparent’s home, after lighting Shabbat candles and after the ever-spontaneous mothers’ never-ritual blessings upon us children had subsided, some men or older boys ‘were volunteered’ to set extra pairs of these candlesticks elsewhere in the house – with an ongoing accompaniment of maternal instructions, requests, pleas to “be careful carrying the lit Shabbat candles”. Later, we begin ‘bringing in’ the heart-and-soul of Shabbat with our Maariv Minyan – more so when back home – as we respectfully accompany ideational ‘helping angels’ to depart from our mundane intention-focused minds; and finally – fully abandoning our over-thinking weekly activities – we reawaken our Shabbat awareness by singing ‘Eshet Chayil’ – brightly illuminating the numerous actualized virtues of our-and-all womenfolk.