Shabbat Shalom

Soon after, they divorced, and my dad left home in his red Camaro, telling my sister and me, “Hey, I’m only ten minutes away and Tuesday will be our special night.”

I willed myself back into the present and focused on my daughter. I was determined to welcome the Sabbath into our home, for Lily’s sake.

A few weeks later, Lily and I traveled to St. Louis for our annual trip to visit my dad and his second family.

“Shabbat Shalom,” my father exclaimed when we saw him.

It was almost sundown, and Galia’s sister and brother-in-law, along with their children and grandchildren, were just arriving. Every Friday the Shabbat dinner rotated between each family’s home.

“Shabbat Shalom,” everyone said as they passed kisses all around.

We gathered around the table, and my father put an arm around my shoulder. Squeezing me, he whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here. This,” he said, motioning with his free arm, his eyes gazing on the family, “is what it’s all about.” Once again that sad feeling welled up inside me.

Lily stood with Galia in front of the silver candelabra with its white candles. The nearby covered challah, represented plenty to eat, and the wine in the Kiddush cup was there to welcome any weary traveler to relax and join this celebration. With all of us standing behind them, Galia and Lily lit the candles, then Galia circled her arms and covered her eyes, calling forth the light of creation. She recited the prayers welcoming the Sabbath into her home, and I felt the Shekhinah, the spirit of the Sabbath, enter. My little brother blessed the bread, and when my father began to chant the blessings over the wine, I saw how happy he was. I felt his peace, and for that moment at least, I felt my own. There was no doubt the Sabbath had begun.