The Jewish poet, Achad Ha’am, famously said, “More than the Jewish People kept Shabbos, Shabbos kept the Jewish People.” Today, I’d like to suggest that Shabbos not only kept the Jews, but Shabbos kept the American People.
In President Trump’s declaration announcing May as Jewish Heritage Month, he wrote: “This month, we celebrate the contributions that Jewish Americans have made to our way of life, we honor their role in shaping the story of our Nation.” While there are many Jewish values and Jewish People that have been pivotal in the American way of life, I’d like to argue that Shabbos has played an outsized role.
In that declaration, President Trump dedicated next Shabbos, May 15-16, as a time to reflect on American Jewish history. But if I were to dedicate next Shabbos to this theme, 50% of you would be upset that I listened to President Trump. If I were to skip it entirely, the other 50% of you would be furious that I ignored the President. As a compromise, we’ll dedicate this Shabbos to American Jewish history… In all honesty, I read the proclamation quickly and I got the date wrong. I suppose you could say, we’re doing early Shabbos… So here goes, “More than the American People kept Shabbos, Shabbos kept the American People.” (And you’re welcome to all the rabbis who want to use this drasha next week…)
In 1752, a bell was commissioned by the Pennsylvania Provincial Assembly. On July 8, 1776, the bell was rung to inform people of the Declaration of Independence. Years later, it became a symbol for the Abolitionists who dubbed it the Liberty Bell. The inscription on the bell is a verse from this week’s parsha, “Proclaim Liberty thro’ all the Land to all the Inhabitants thereof.” It refers to Yovel, the ‘super-Shabbos.’ Every seven years, the land has its own Shabbos and following every cycle of seven years, there is an additional year of Shabbos. In other words, Shabbos was part of the nation’s ideological fabric from before its inception.
In 1793, Jonas Phillips, a Revolutionary War Veteran, was called to testify in court on Shabbos. He refused – he argued that it infringed upon his religious practices. He was fined, he appealed, and the fine was waived. Legal experts consider this the first recorded case of religious liberties being tested in the United States of America.
In 1849, a judge by the incredible name, Judge Lawless, ruled that those who observe Saturday as a day of rest would be allowed to work on Sunday. Until this time, Jews were at a disadvantage, unable to work on Shabbos and prevented by the law to work on Sunday. This groundbreaking ruling was welcomed by Quakers, Mennonites, and other minority groups who wanted to not just be tolerated but welcomed into American society as equals.
Despite these rulings, there was still plenty of tension around religious freedoms. In 1851, a case was heard by the Philadelphia court concerning the conversion of Warder Cresson. Warder Cresson was no ordinary man, he was a wealthy farmer, who was appointed as the US consul to Jerusalem. Jerusalem at the time was a backwater and didn’t really need a consul, but using his wealth and influence he persuaded the government to create the position and appoint him. Shortly after arriving in Palestine, he converted to Judaism. When he returned home from Palestine, he found out that his wife had taken over his entire business enterprise claiming that Warden was insane and that he should be committed to an insane asylum. Her argument? Anyone who chose to convert to Judaism must be crazy (not entirely wrong, by the way).
The local sheriff ruled in her favor, but they quickly found themselves in court where Cresson appealed the ruling. One of the star witnesses brought forward by Cresson was a naturalist by the name Peter Browne who proved to the audience and jury that Cresson was not insane by examining specimens of Cresson’s hair roots and contrasting them with his specimens he obtained at a Virginia insane asylum. The court ruled in his favor. In the United States of America, one could proudly choose to identify with a minority group and not be considered crazy. The First Amendment would be upheld.
Despite these rulings, it was still exceptionally difficult to keep Shabbos. The many Jews who immigrated to the United States at the turn of the 20th century were faced with an impossible decision, work on Saturday or keep Shabbos and live in poverty. Many Jews could not withstand the challenge.
Even those who did observe Shabbos were impacted. There is a famous story of a man who visited Rav Moshe Feinstein. He complained that he kept Shabbos and nonetheless his children did not. Rav Moshe suggested that maybe it was the way he kept Shabbos that prevented his children from following in his ways. “When you came home on Friday after being fired from yet another job,” asked Rav Moshe, “did you sigh or did you celebrate? If your children heard you say, ‘shver tzu zayn a Yid/ it’s hard to be a Jew,’ then of course, they didn’t follow you.” It would take years until Jews could proudly sing and proclaim, ‘Gehsmack to be a Yid/ it’s awesome to be a Jew.’ It’s a mindset we still struggle with.
In the 1920’s, a Jewish group known as the Sabbath Alliance started advocating for a 5-day work week. Initially, they were unsuccessful. Eventually, they joined forces with the labor unions, who brought industries to a standstill with their strikes. Historians suggest that the turning point took place in a Jewish-owned mill in New England, where the business owners instituted a 5-day week to allow their Jewish and Christian workers their own respective day of rest. By the 1950’s, the five-day work week became the norm across the country and eventually, the Western World.
And then there is the modern Shabbos. In our hyper-connected and never-off digital world, the notion of a digital Sabbath, going off electronics for 24 hours and the value of dedicating a day to family and faith has become trendy. Charlie Kirk, who observed Saturday as his day of rest, concludes his book, Stop in the Name of G-d, with the following passage: “Imagine if America began to honor the Sabbath again—not merely as a personal spiritual practice, but as a national cultural rhythm. Picture Saturday once again becoming a time of collective pause. … Our frayed, fractured society would begin to knit itself back together, not through government programs or corporate initiatives, but through G-d’s design: one day in seven set apart for healing, remembering, and being human again. … The Sabbath would become not just a private act of worship, but a public act of restoration.”
First Amendment rights, religious freedoms, the five-day work week, digital detox, and a desperately needed time for family. More than the American People kept Shabbos, Shabbos kept the American People.
What I find beautiful about this historic overview is that in each generation a new element of Shabbos was discovered and appreciated. In one generation, it represented First Amendment rights and religious liberties, in another the importance of taking a break in our work, and in another the value of family and looking up from our screens. I wonder what value of Shabbos will be discovered in fifty years from now.
But no matter how deep we go, no matter how many universal values we mine from Shabbos, there will always be an element of Shabbos that is relevant to us, the Jewish People, and us alone. There is a well-known Halacha that it’s forbidden for a non-Jew to fully observe Shabbos, but it’s very hard to understand. Considering all the great benefits that Shabbos brings to those who observe it, why does G-d not allow non-Jews to observe Shabbos? The Medrash Rabbah explains this strange law with a parable of a king and queen alone in their bedroom who are interrupted by a stranger. Shabbos is an intimate rendezvous with G-d, who on Shabbos, is described as Yedid Nefesh, my lover.
It sounds lofty, and I struggle to convey what this means in practical terms, so allow me to describe a little bit of my inner experience of Shabbos, and I hope it will allow us to appreciate what Shabbos is meant to be.
By the end of the week, I am tired, physically and emotionally, after six days of giving it my all. More than being drained, I feel distant from myself, from who I know I could be. Despite my title as rabbi and despite dedicating my waking hours to what I believe to be a G-dly mission, I’m embarrassed to say, I often don’t feel G-d. I am usually so consumed by the task at hand that I cannot feel anything beyond. I imagine I am not the only one who feels this way on a regular basis.
I come to shul on Friday night and start Kabbalas Shabbos and it’s just regular praying; I try to pay attention, but often find myself distracted, having finished a passage without really knowing how I got there. And then we get to L’cha Dodi. It doesn’t matter who the chazzan is, it doesn’t matter what tune is chosen, it doesn’t matter if I’m davening by myself, there is something about the words, the message, that grabs me almost every week: “Hisna’ari mei’afar kumi, get up from the dirt! Livshi bigdei tifarteich ami, put on your royal clothes!” I am reminded that I am not the sum total of my struggles; I am royalty in a loving relationship with Hashem, I have more to offer. “Uri, uri, shir dabeiri, wake up, wake up, sing your song!” “K’vod Hashem alayich niglah!” There is a personal mission, a song that only I can sing; G-d is hovering over me.
Sometimes that feeling lasts through the night, sometimes it stays with me through Shabbos morning, and sometimes I even hold on until the end of Shabbos. And sometimes, it’s just a fleeting moment of connection. But it’s worth it. All the restrictions, all the rushed preparation, all the sacrifices of the week, for a moment of closeness with G-d. This is what our broader society does not and cannot understand. Shabbos is not a means to an end – rest so you’ll be recharged for next week, turn off your device so you’ll have the mental energy for tomorrow, spend a moment with family so you could drown in work all week – no! Shabbos is the goal. Shabbos is the sum total of our efforts. Shabbos is so much bigger than 250 years of incredible American history. Shabbos is the weekly opportunity to merge heaven and earth, our yearning soul with its lover, Hashem. L’cha dodi is my opening into the beauty of Shabbos, but each of us can find their own way of tapping into the G-dly intimacy that Shabbos has to offer.
And so yes, President Trump is right. We should be grateful to this country, and we should be proud of the impact Judaism has had on its ethos. But we can’t stop there.
Can we put our phones down for 25 hours and recharge our soul? Can we take our Shabbos meals seriously and fill them with meaningful conversation, a weekly opportunity to strengthen our family values? Can we look into the eyes of our loved ones for a few moments a week and connect ever so deeply? Can we lose ourselves in a book for a few hours, preferably a Jewish book, and allow our minds and aspirations to soar? Can we take advantage of the magical atmosphere on Shabbos and pray, slowly, thoughtfully? Can we sing – here at shul, at home, yes, song – the ultimate spiritual tool to bring people together that allows us to feel the edges of our soul? And can we try to soar above this physical world and lovingly connect with Hashem?
Not just this Shabbos, not just next Shabbos, but every Shabbos.
Good Shabbos, Shabbat Shalom.