Shabbat means to cease
I met my rabbi for coffee this morning. Mostly we talked about the separation and reintegrating into the shul. I told him that Beth and I had tried doing Shabbat together, but that it wasn’t possible.
I asked her once, before all this happened, if she would still be Jewish if we split up. She said yes.
There’s a midrash about two angels who go from house to house on erev Shabbat, a good angel and a bad angel. They look in the window and if the table is set, the candles are lighted, and kiddush is ready, the good angel says “May it be like this again next week.” And the bad angel is forced to say “Amen. So be it.”
But if table isn’t set, and there are are no candles, and there is no kiddush, the bad angel says “May it be like this again next week.” And the good angel is forced to say “Amen. So be it.”
I called Beth about something else earlier today, and I asked her if she and the boy were still doing Shabbat. She said, no. She thought it would freak him out.
I have some challah in my refrigerator because I didn’t light candles last week. Part of me needs to do that, to say kiddush. I don’t know if I can.
It’s getting dark, and it’s raining. I imagine two figures in black raincoats making their way down Beth’s driveway, seeing the table bare, the candlesticks in the cupboard, the kiddush cup put away. One murmurs something, and the other one nods sadly.
They’ll be coming down my street soon. I want to close my shades so they can’t see.
Candles. Kiddush.
My voice sounds odd by itself. It echoes in this house, and I skid off pitch. And after candles the boy wasn’t there for his blessing. Do I do it anyway?
But at least I made the bad angel say Amen.