The Rhythm of Shabbat

July 11, 2009

Kfar Maimon is a religious Zionist moshav, soon to celebrate its 50th anniversary. As is the case with most of the kibbutzim and moshavim, the original agricultural foundations have given way to more diverse economic bases and models. Much of the agriculture in this moshav is managed by a few farmers managing a cohort of immigrant Thai workers. With the aid of a cell phone, Gaby guided us to their home, where we were warmly welcomed. Shabbat was still two hours off, but the anticipation, reflecting adherence to the rhythms of the day, preparation of electrical timers for lights and air conditioning, as sundown approached, was felt. Part of the “halaka” in French Jewish homes, as Sylvie joked, is to have cake and coffee before Shabbat officially begins, and a delicious fruit tart it was.
Although many, if not most, of the adults in the several hundred households, work elsewhere, the rhythm of Shabbat in particular brings the community together. While Gaby headed directly to one of the two synagogues, we meandered to the home of Einat, one of their five children, who lives in a new section of houses in the moshav, so she could drop off a cake for Shabbat. Everybody we passed, adults and children alike, greeted us with a warm “Shabbat shalom.” The Sephardi synagogue is a few years old, its development motivated by a resident who had been a member of the Knesset and lost a daughter in a terrorist attack. He wanted to honor her with this synagogue. The Ashkenazi synagogue is just a stone’s throw away and both seemed equally attended. As the evening service ended, hundreds mingled in the plaza between the synagogues, before slowly heading home for their Shabbat meals. Ours was under the stars in the green garden next to the Weil home.

On Shabbat morning Gaby was at the synagogue by 8:30. Sylvie and their 24 year old son Daniel joined him later at about 9, while Linda, Miriam and I drank herb tea, ate a variety of cakes, and discussed life in Israel. Services were over by 10:15, so by 11 or so we were gathering for our Shabbat lunch. There was a delicious array of salads, roasted eggplant, and breads, more than enough to satisfy us and so tasty that we could not resist seconds. As the serving platters began to empty, Gaby was pulling additional plates from the magnificent, mirrored, French cabinet, so I was preparing for dessert. To our surprise, these salads had only been a first course, however, as Sylvie proceeded to put platters of stuffed artichokes and meatballs with pasta on the table! Gaby delivered a brief devar on the parsha. Pinchas slaughtered Zimri an Israelite and Cozbi a Moabite woman for illicit sexual relations and was granted a “covenant of peace” by Adonai for this zealotry, a portion that obviously has generated immense commentary on the challenges of zealotry.

Itamar, is a 7 year old grandson, whom Myriam brought with her from Jerusalem. He is a bright and lively kid, remarkably spending hours reading, often in the most unlikely of poses. One favorite position was draped, like a monkey in tree branches, over two stuffed chairs with the book place on the seat of one of the chairs. He is also quite a Monopoly player as he and Sylvie battled it our later in the afternoon. His strategy is to mortagage everything to raise cash. I wonder if this is a sign of the times, even for young kids.

Part of the rhythm of Shabbat is a nap. By late in the afternoon, the oppressive heat of the mid-day had receded so that we were able to take a walking tour of the moshav. One of the child and family friendly features is that a service road for cars circumvents the moshav. The houses, synagogues, schools, and community center are all connected by walking paths. Children have the run of the place. The school, sadly, has been demolished and re-built. While efforts have been made to make it somewhat humane, the classes are clearly concrete bomb shelters. The windows are protected by heavy steel doors and the roofs are additionally protected by reinforced concrete structures overhead. The kindergarten across the walkway is a building underneath a structure of concrete pillars and concrete roof. On a more upbeat note, as we wandered among the pathways, Gaby brought us to the cactus house. The owner of this large home to 8, now grown children, was a successful avocado farmer who turned his attention to cacti. In his yard and surrounding his house is an incredible display of cacti, tiny to gargantuan, of every conceivable description.

Seudah shlishit, the third meal of Shabbat, was again in the garden as the sun set. Our experiences in Israel seem to be so dense, so rich, so intriguing that as in many other times, this brief 36 hours journey from Tel Aviv seemed to be so much longer, as if we had lived in—not just visited-- another place.