“And That Day, How Is it Recognized?” / Fred Casden

You’re now stranded on an uninhabited island – all alone. The ship you were on sank, and you were fortunate enough to find something to float on until you reached the island. Does this sound like a Tom Hanks movie or a bad dream? Actually, it’s the basis for still another fascinating debate in the Gemara (Shabbat 69b, and if you’re doing Daf Yomi, you whizzed by it a little while ago). What happens if “while wandering on a journey or in the desert,” you lose track of time. You have no idea what day of the week it is.

What a topic for a halachic dispute! Rav Huna suggested that whatever day you’re on, start counting from then and make the seventh day Shabbat. Hiyya bar Rav disagreed. Why wait? Make that first day Shabbat. Just to be clear, the halacha is ‘like’ Rav Huna.

Of course, that can’t be the end of the discussion. Since you’ll never know when the ‘real’ Shabbat is (and you have a six out of seven chance of guessing wrong), how do you behave on each of the seven days? Rava had an idea. Do the minimum amount of melachah you need to survive on each day of the week, including the one you think is Shabbat.

I’m sure that at this point, you’re asking the same question as the Gemara. If you make every day exactly the same, how is your putative Shabbat any different from the other six days? In the Gemara’s terse wording, “And that day, how is it recognized?” And the answer? “Through Kiddush and Havdalah.” Oh.

“And that day, how is it recognized?” What about us today, those of us who have spent most of the last month or two pretty much indoors, isn’t that what we’re feeling? Every day, including Shabbat, seems the same. We’re basically marking time, waiting for ‘life’ to resume. Yes, we know which day is which; we know when Shabbat starts and when it is over. (We get a message every week telling us to the minute.)  But there’s something missing: that ‘old Shabbat feeling.’

Our lives are predicated on giving our all – whatever that ‘all’ might be – for six days, and then switching gears and giving a different kind of ‘all’ for the seventh. That ‘all’ certainly includes Kiddush and Havdalah, but normally there’s so much more to it than that. Just as during the week, there are places to go, people to see, tasks to perform, the same is true on Shabbat – although it’s different people, places, and things to do. These people, the ones we see every Shabbat, are special to us; the places we go, whether it’s to our beloved synagogue or to be with friends for a leisurely meal at a Shabbat table, the activities we endow with a special sense of kedusha, all of these have an intrinsic meaning.

But if there are no places we may go, no people (except for our immediate family) whose company we may enjoy, and only the basic tasks to perform – and if that’s true whether it’s a weekday or Shabbat – then every day is diminished by its sameness. I think all of us to some degree realize what is missing. Our task these days is to appreciate what we’ve lost and, in the weeks, months, and years ahead when our restrictions are lifted, when ‘life resumes,’ to give full value to every Shabbat – and the mundane days in between.

(My thoughts are based on an article by Gabriel Greenberg entitled “How Will We Recognize Shabbat?” in Lehrhaus, printed on-line on May 6, 2020. Thank you to Nachum Stone for his encouragement and assistance in preparing this article.)