Shabbat Without God

On family, presence, and putting down the phone

The other night, my husband came to me with an idea: “Let’s start celebrating Shabbat every week.”

To be honest, his request took me by surprise. We were both born and raised Jewish, but neither of us are remotely religious. Shabbat, if you are not familiar, is the Jewish Sabbath, the weekly day of rest. It begins at sundown on Friday and ends at nightfall on Saturday. For some, it is a full day without work, technology, or errands. For others, it is a family meal on Friday night with candles, blessings, and challah bread. At its heart, Shabbat is about stepping away from the rush of the week and remembering what matters most: rest, connection, and presence.

Over the more than twenty years that my husband and I have been married, we have celebrated Shabbat when it suited us. If our kids did not have sports and performances and we did not have evening plans, he made his unbelievably delicious challah bread, we lit the candles, said the prayers (or at least he did, since I can never remember them ), and then we enjoyed a meal together. There have been stretches when we had Shabbat dinner weekly for months at a time, and other times when we skipped the ritual altogether for just as long.

So when my husband came to me with his new plan, I asked him to explain. It turns out he was looking for a more traditional and consistent Shabbat experience. Not one that had anything to do with God, but one that honored the spirit of the weekly holiday. He was asking for a Shabbat that lasted from sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday. A Shabbat where we all put away our phones, our computers, and even our watches, and simply come together.

My husband is sensitive to all the beeps and buzzes that interrupt our days. He struggles with a mild case of ADHD and is easily distracted when he or the person he is talking to is interrupted mid-thought or mid-activity. He, like me and everyone else we know, is also prone to getting sucked into his phone even when what he really wants and needs is real connection.

No one has ever accused me of having ADHD. I lean more toward obsessive-compulsive and can stay on a non-preferred task for hours if it is going to move me toward a goal. But since I am here to own my own struggles, I will admit this: I am addicted to technology. I fill quiet time with my phone or my writing without even realizing it. Staying present, even though it is what I aim for these days, is tough for me. I joke about having technology-induced ADHD. That is part of the problem, but there is something deeper too. I have a long history of struggling to sit with myself. For years it was easier to stay busy, productive, or distracted than to notice what I was feeling. Writing and therapy have helped me get better at it, but quiet still makes me uneasy. When the noise falls away, the feelings arrive, and I am still not entirely sure what will surface.

When my husband explained his request, I got quiet. “What do you think?” he asked. I am usually one, especially with him, to voice my opinion quickly and loudly. Not this time. “Hmm,” I said. “I need to think about this. This feels hard. I might need to write about it before I get back to you.”

That was over a week ago. We already missed our first Shabbat opportunity. With my conscious mind I have been meaning to write, to think, to understand why this feels like such a difficult request. My unconscious brain, I realize now, is stuck in avoidance. I do not want to ask myself if I am open to his request because I am not sure I will like the answer. So bear with me as I work it out.

I want to want to say yes. Yes, let’s have a 24-hour Shabbat every week. I will put down my phone and my computer and spend that time with the people I love most in the world. Easy peasy. But then all the “buts” start assaulting my brain.

But what if I want to meet up with a friend and cannot coordinate? But what if my sister invites me for coffee and I miss the text? But what if I have a great idea for an essay and feel like I need to write it out?

It makes me think of how quickly I can get tangled in the details, looking for all the possible exceptions. The truth is that the devil is not in the details. The details are just distraction. What really holds me back are the bigger questions: What if I get bored? What if I have to feel my feelings without the safety of the keyboard beneath my fingertips? What if I get lonely? There are so many emotions my screens have protected me from.

Still, I want to say yes because I know in my heart there is nothing more important than being present with the people I love. Unexpected loss taught me that lesson the hard way, and yet, sometimes I need a reminder. I want to say yes because my husband deserves a yes. He carries around so much grief, and I know connection is the only thing that softens his experience. I want to say yes because my little guy has not yet learned to pray to the gods of technology, and he deserves a model of what true presence looks like.

And hey, if I say yes, I may even get a good Substack essay or two out of it. Stay tuned.

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