What Keeping Shabbat Taught Me About Rest

In the first Parsha of the Torah, Bereshis, often referred to in English as Genesis, you will find the line, “On the seventh day God finished the work that had been undertaken: [God] ceased on the seventh day from doing any of the work.” Curiously, in English translations of the Hebrew Bible, you usually will not find the often-touted phrase, “And on the seventh day, he rested” so popularized by Christian translations. 

This detail of translation, though seemingly small, holds a lot of significance to me, because although resting and ceasing from the work of creation are similar in concept, my understanding of the practice of keeping shabbos (or shabbat, or the sabbath) has been deepened significantly through this small but mighty distinction. 

“I keep a tech-fast shabbos, which means no cell phone, no driving, no financial transactions, no turning the lights on and off, and of course, no work for 25 hours.”

As a Modern Orthodox Jew, I keep a tech-fast shabbos, which means no cell phone, no driving, no financial transactions, no turning the lights on and off, and of course, no work for 25 hours. Which is extremely restful in so many ways — not looking at any screens, finding spiritual connection, and spending time with friends. But keeping shabbos also requires a lot of work — cooking and prepping food ahead of time, waking up and going to shul (or synagogue, or temple), walking everywhere instead of driving, entertaining ourselves as opposed to being entertained. This confuses a lot of people, as it confused me at the beginning of my journey of connecting to my Jewish culture. The questions pop up: Isn’t shabbos supposed to be about resting? And if we’re resting, why are we doing things that take more effort? What if I think it’s restful to turn my brain off and scroll on Pinterest, or watch a movie, or order takeout? 

I didn’t grow up keeping shabbos, but being raised in a secular reform Jewish household, I had a peripheral awareness of it, mostly in the form of funny orthodox rules that I didn’t quite understand. My dad used to tell the joke, “Why is tonight different from other nights? Because tonight is Thursday night, and Thursday night is garbage night!” because (with a few exceptions) orthodox Jews don’t carry anything outside their homes on shabbos, and therefore, cannot take out the trash. So I always knew that yes, shabbos is about rest, but it also means you can’t take out the trash or make coffee or text or touch money. Shabbos is full of these idiosyncratic rules that come together and form a particular culture of observance, and while some of them are explicitly restful, some of them require us to go out of our way and make an effort. What this means to me is that yes, shabbos is about rest, but it’s not only about rest. It’s about something else too — this ephemeral thing that incorporates rest, but goes beyond.

“Yes, shabbos is about rest, but it’s not only about rest. It’s about something else too — this ephemeral thing that incorporates rest, but goes beyond.”

I’ll never forget what happened on the night I met my now-partner to go on our first date, before I had ever tried keeping shabbos. I was a little early, so I sat at the bar reading “Grand Hotel Abyss” and nursing a gin and tonic. At the table next to me, there was another couple on a date, and the woman was telling the man about her experience keeping shabbos. “It’s so important for me to unplug and de-connect,” she said. “It’s like meditation. It’s been such an important addition to my wellness routine.” 

When my date arrived, I told him what I’d heard at the table over, and we had a bit of a laugh. “Can you believe she’s talking about shabbos like some woo-woo wellness trend?” I asked. Nearly three years later, I am here to say I’m eating my words.

To me, part of what connects all of shabbos’s little details isn’t so much rest as it is the opportunity to pause, go slowly, and reflect. To simply be in our minds, our bodies, our spirits, and our communities. It is about finding that stillness, the beauty that rises up all around us when we are able to focus on what we have, as opposed to what we can make. Like that woman at the bar said, it’s a meditative opportunity to unplug. But rather than de-connecting, I find that the most important connections happen when we honor this practice of ceasing creation, both when it’s restful and when it’s challenging.

“It is about finding that stillness, the beauty that rises up all around us when we are able to focus on what we have, as opposed to what we can make.”

The first few times I kept shabbos, I found it somewhat exhausting. Even with my partner guiding me — somewhat new to the practice himself — there were so many guidelines and practices to learn. So many muscle memory moments that alerted me to how rote my routines were from a lifetime on autopilot. I would itch to check my phone even when it was turned off in a drawer. I’d reach to hit the light switch even when it was covered by a light switch cover. I’d feel strange and uncanny with the silence, as I’m someone who often enjoys the croons of NPR and background music. 

Mostly, I’m embarrassed to admit, my difficulty adjusting centered around my phone. It felt strange to leave the house without it for hours at a time to go to shabbos dinners or shul. I’d wake up and reach for it before realizing that it wasn’t there. But curiously, by Saturday afternoon I’d always adjust. I wouldn’t itch for it quite so much. I’d feel at peace, more than ever before, without it around. Often, I wouldn’t notice how natural it felt to be away from my phone until Havdalah on Saturday night, when the sun goes down and shabbos ends, granting me access to my tech again. Quickly, I formed a habit of not wanting my phone back. Of dreading the moment that scrolling would once again be sanctioned. After cultivating the peace of a tech-free day, I rarely desire my phone back again. Now, I’ll sometimes just leave it off until the next day.

I’m not sure if I would have found the strength, or the confidence, to tear myself away from my phone so often and so naturally without keeping shabbos. I’ve learned that when I’m trying to cut the cord, an hour without screen time doesn’t cut it. Nor two hours. In order to push past the itch, the feeling that something is missing without somewhere to scroll, it takes almost a whole day, and it takes going to sleep and waking up without it, at least for me. But when I strengthen those muscles by doing it over and over again, it feels more natural and more comfortable with time. Now, I have a severe habit of losing my phone constantly and forcing my partner to call it for me whenever I realize I need it. I frequently just forget about it, which is more than I can say about my relationship with it before.

“When I strengthen those muscles by doing it over and over again, it feels more natural and more comfortable with time.”

Taking that crucial time away from my phone for shabbos gives me the space to breathe. There’s something so suffocating about the bright glow of tech and its ever-looming presence in our lives. The intentionally addictive syrupy-sweetness that we can never get enough of. Hitting pause on that feels restful, even though it’s difficult in the moment. Yes, it means we must be bored. It means we can’t “turn our brains off” and scroll. That we have to be with ourselves. And it’s peaceful, and restful, and feeds the soul. And I feel like everyone, no matter who you are, can find rest and rejuvenation and power in this method of regular tech-fasting in order to lead a more tech-mindful life.

So, the tech fast has served me well. But what about the rest of it? What about the pause on driving, cooking, financial transactions? The ones that seem like they might not be as “restful” as we think shabbos is supposed to be? 

“We cease creating on shabbos. We don’t make changes to the world around us. Instead, we are challenged to experience the world as it is.”

According to Jewish law, what we can and cannot do on shabbos is primarily determined by whether that thing is considered a creative act — anything that creates something new, makes something into something else, or changes the state of something. Turning on a light switch creates light, for example. Turning on a smartphone creates light, images, and words, constantly. Starting your car technically creates a tiny fire. Cooking is a chemical reaction that changes the state of something into something else. So, like God on the seventh day, we cease creating on shabbos. We don’t make changes to the world around us. Instead, we are challenged to experience the world as it is. Often, this means putting in more effort than you would otherwise. It means taking long walks, it means reading a favorite book, it means enjoying the company of those around you. It means letting yourself be bored, meditating, praying. It means basking in the beautiful experiences of enjoying the world in its current moment without altering it. 

When I understood this key piece of shabbos, it all began to make sense to me. Of course shabbos isn’t about trying to put in as little effort as humanly possible. If that were true, we would stay in bed all day and never move, lazing the day away and never having any fun. Instead, shabbos is a day for reflection and enjoyment, where we exist in the world that we have contributed to with our many creative acts, and allowing ourselves to be. To breathe. Like meditation, it is restful and rejuvenating, and the kind of rest it provides is so much deeper than putting zero effort into everything possible. Every time I observe shabbos, it teaches me. I see the world differently, more beautifully, and I take it with me into my daily life.

“Shabbos is a day for reflection and enjoyment, where we exist in the world that we have contributed to with our many creative acts, and allowing ourselves to be.”

Just like — and perhaps, related to — my habit of forgetting my phone all around the house, the way I see the world on shabbos has opened me up to a deeper sense of mindfulness and appreciation on a daily basis. I feel like a more mindful person now. I can go hours without my phone throughout the week, and I have so many moments when I’m walking down the street feeling the breeze in my hair, spending time with a friend I love, writing, doing yoga, whatever it is, where I feel so present in my current moment. So connected to the world and to myself and to my spirituality. I feel like shabbos has enriched those experiences for me. And when I remember this element of shabbos, it becomes my guiding light of the practice. So that even when I’m not feeling as strong in my Jewish practices, and even when I’ve strayed from my routine of observance, I know what I’m striving for. It’s that feeling, and those moments. And I allow that to guide me.

Jamie Kahn is a writer and yoga teacher based in New York. Her work has been featured in Glamour, Brooklyn Magazine, Epiphany, The Evergreen Review, and others.