The Need for the Sabbath
He who wants to enter the holiness of the day must first lay down the profanity of clattering commerce, of being yoked to toil. He must go away from the screech of dissonant days, from the nervousness and fury of acquisitiveness and the betrayal in embezzling his own life… Six days a week we wrestle with the world, wringing profit from the earth; on the Sabbath we especially care for the seed of eternity planted in the soul. The world has our hands, but our soul belongs to Someone Else. Six days a week we seek to dominate the world, on the seventh day we try to dominate the self.
abraham joshua heschel, The sabbath
I’ve mentioned the name Heschel on this website before. I believe he is one of the most influential writers for me in the past year. In a style reminiscent of C. S. Lewis, his words carry the cadence of a conversation with a well-known friend, whilst also carrying the depth of meaning shown in an Emily Dickinson poem (you know, if Dickinson’s words punched with the theological weight of Eugene Peterson, Kierkegaard, or N.T. Wright).
Heschel’s 1951 book The Sabbath is, in my opinion, one of the most thought-provoking (and actual practice-changing) books I’ve ever read. Heschel writes in The Sabbath how Judaism is essentially a religion of time – in the sense that time itself plays a pivotal role within the religion, as opposed to a religion of ritual (that would focus on completing a certain practice), a religion of material (that would rely on having certain items to achieve personal sanctity) or otherwise. And throughout the book, you get the feeling that Heschel is writing it for a very specific and deliberate reason: to remember the Sabbath.
Yes, we are called to “Remember the Sabbath” (Exodus 20:8) as in the Ten Commandments (which itself could have a whole book written on it – and it has), but Heschel means it in another way: we need to remember the Sabbath because we have already forgotten the Sabbath.
In our modern-day American society, in which it seems we measure our value in lack of vacation days used, increasing our profit margin, and sacrificing our personal lives for the sake of our work (which will totally work out in the end, by the way), we have too easily forgotten one of the Commandments. It’s easy to keep track of whether or not you are following certain Commandments (just think: have you killed anyone recently? It’s a pretty easy box to check off and be on your merry way).
And I believe that we far too easily look at the easy-to-track Commandments, size up how we’re doing, and move on with our lives, causing the Commandments that are a little less physically concrete (the commandments not to covet, honor parents, to keep the Sabbath) to often fall behind, so to say.
And yet that persistent fourth commandment is just that – however easily forgotten, it is still a commandment. But why? Why are we to keep the Sabbath? What differentiates it from any other day?
In Hebrew, the word for ‘holy’ is a special one (as well as quite fun to say): Kadosh. For something to be holy is for it to be set apart, akin to how God himself is separate from humanity. It is an innately sacred word, more representative of the divine than any other word. For such a special word, one would expect that the first thing that God sanctifies would be a place, a mountain, a special altar – a place where God says, “This is the mountain where you will encounter me and my presence.” This is a common idea across many ancient religions. But that’s not how it works here. The first thing that God sanctifies isn’t a place or altar, it’s a time.
“So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy.”
This seems strange. Why would God not create a sacred space? After creating heaven and earth, it makes sense he would first create a place where the two could overlap, a la the middle of a Venn diagram, where a sanctuary can be built. But to the Bible, the inherent holiness lies not in a place, but to a holiness in time.
Initially, there was only one holiness in the world. The holiness of time preceded all else. It wasn’t until Sinai that the holiness of Man was proclaimed: “You shall be my holy people, a kingdom of priests.” And then after holiness in Space was finally achieved in the Tabernacle. Time was sanctified, Man was sanctified, and then Space was sanctified. Time itself was sanctified first and foremost.
Therein also lies the question: What did God create on the seventh day? “On the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested…” But wasn’t the world created in those six days prior? So why then does that line not lie with the sixth day? The rabbis of old concluded that something must have been created on the seventh day: menuha – Rest. And it was only after God created Rest that He ceased His creation.
Shortly after finishing The Sabbath, I started having my Sabbath. I work ahead throughout the workweek, and on Saturdays, I refrain. I rest, I don’t do homework. I do what gives me life. It has become a good and definitive reminder to me: God loves me, not because of my work and my deeds, but because I am His. The quiet introspection allows for reflection, and redirects you back to God, allowing you to see His works in the everyday, mundane acts of life.
Six days a week, we live in the tyranny of space and production; on the Sabbath, we attune our thoughts to the holiness that lies in time, and in rest. We are called to turn from the results of creation to the mystery of creation; we turn from the world of creation to the creation of the world.
And in that creation lies the definitive decision of God to Rest. Why then does the story say “It was evening and then morning” instead of morning and evening? Because in the Jewish mind, the day begins at sundown. Because beginning the day at sundown means beginning your day with Rest – a daily reminder of the Sabbath.
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