//End of the World//
Spring 2017
Performing Observance
An Outsider's Guide to Shabbat Dinner
Shalom Fromafar
I know, I know. You want to go to Shabbat dinner. That is fantastic, it really is. I also know why you are hesitating to attend. I will not make you say it, gentle reader, I will spare you the embarrassment, because we are friends, you and I. You are too afraid to embarrass yourself through your ignorance of the holiday. There is no shame in that. Well, of course, there will be, once you are there and you can’t even execute the handwashing ritual with grace. But I do not judge.
Do you find yourself thinking: “If only a snarky, pseduonymic hero could guide me through this weekly ordeal!”? Fear not, for the Outsider’s Guide to all things Jewish (centrist, fringe, and all that in between) has returned and you may avail yourself of my wisdom. Be the Dante to my Virgil as we traverse the many realmed world of a Columbia Shabbat. Please do note, however, that your fearless leader has scarcely attended a Shabbat dinner in the past few years, but nonetheless, we charge ahead with unjustified gusto.
In order to pull this off, by which I mean getting invited to another Friday night shindig, you need to put in the prep work. If you have learned anything from your classes, especially if you’re not a STEM major, it should be that providing food or alcohol is the most effective way to garner goodwill. I hope you can cook, because that is the key to making yourself invaluable to the festivities, but you can always just bring wine--kosher wine you putz--and be just fine. A note to the cooks among you: prepare a dish well but not exceptionally well, lest you risk threatening the position of a more established member of the dinner party, and thereby inciting his or her vengeful fury. That will not end well for you.
Acting the part--inter alia appearing to at least occasionally observe Jewish holidays--requires a surfeit of courage and no small amount of planning. Murmuring melodically and following the lead of the one friend who invited you will get you through most of the prayers. Think to fake playing a musical instrument in middle school orchestra; string the metaphorical bow of the prayers, brandish your instrument at the end with the one or two closing words you recognize. An alternative for those particularly poor lip-syncers: simply appear emotionally overcome by the prayers--too moved to vocally contribute, but certainly having already attained a higher level of spirituality and proximity to God than your tablemates.
Less easy to avoid through imitation or perceived spiritual awakening are the demands of the handwashing and the distribution of the challah. I’ve seen many a brash young amateur trip up trying to recite the prayer for the hand washing aloud to score bonus points and do his youthful Shabbat experiences proud despite my best efforts to dissuade him from this folly. Heed my warning: you who aspire to dine amidst the religious, do not let pride or delusions of Shabbat-related grandeur seduce you. Do not even try to recite the prayer, just pour the water on your hands, twice for each hand, in utter silence. Two lessons can be gleaned from this suggestion. Firstly, a good rule of thumb for the night is that if no one else is talking, neither should you. Apply this lesson, like the good student you ought to be, when that challah is being cut: shut your mouth until you can shove some bread into it. Secondly, and of even greater importance, pick out the most devout-looking person in the room (hem length is typically an excellent metric) and follow their lead. Should you have the great fortune of sitting next to someone who actually knows what is going on, just repeat whatever words they just said, and be sure to trail off when other people finish; do not try to catch up and finish the prayer. Doing so will ensure that you will be the last one awkwardly stumbling your way through the prayer like a fawn learning to walk for the first time, or for a more apt metaphor, like the inhumanely raised cow walking to the non-kosher slaughter, unfit for even a Nathan’s hotdog, let alone to be served on the Shabbos.
I am not going to write line after line of conversation for you; I expect you to be able to improvise. I hope there are inoffensive topics you have gathered some knowledge on, perhaps in preparation for other holiday dinners, such as Passover or Thanksgiving. Whatever you end up discussing, interject infrequently and speak far less than you listen. Few will notice how little you speak, and those who do will likely look on you with approval, appreciating that you make no effort to dominate the conversation, but rather let them go on and on, nodding politely all the while.
You may say to yourself in reading my suggestions: “How insulting! How self-absorbed do you think the other Shabbat guests must be?” To that I say follow my advice and bring me back some rugelach from all the subsequent Shabbat dinners you get invited to; we can let the enormous mound of pastries you will accrue prove me the victor of the argument. Breaking your way into a Shabbat dinner is like any other dinner group, do not disrupt the dynamic, start small, do not be the center of attention. Before you know it people will be pouring you wine, plying you with food, and unless you’re already married, probably trying to set you up with someone’s cousin, or neighbor or something.
And now I must bid you adieu. I was supposed to write more, but I did not, and what I have written should suffice if you are capable. No tears, no, no.
Do you find yourself thinking: “If only a snarky, pseduonymic hero could guide me through this weekly ordeal!”? Fear not, for the Outsider’s Guide to all things Jewish (centrist, fringe, and all that in between) has returned and you may avail yourself of my wisdom. Be the Dante to my Virgil as we traverse the many realmed world of a Columbia Shabbat. Please do note, however, that your fearless leader has scarcely attended a Shabbat dinner in the past few years, but nonetheless, we charge ahead with unjustified gusto.
In order to pull this off, by which I mean getting invited to another Friday night shindig, you need to put in the prep work. If you have learned anything from your classes, especially if you’re not a STEM major, it should be that providing food or alcohol is the most effective way to garner goodwill. I hope you can cook, because that is the key to making yourself invaluable to the festivities, but you can always just bring wine--kosher wine you putz--and be just fine. A note to the cooks among you: prepare a dish well but not exceptionally well, lest you risk threatening the position of a more established member of the dinner party, and thereby inciting his or her vengeful fury. That will not end well for you.
Acting the part--inter alia appearing to at least occasionally observe Jewish holidays--requires a surfeit of courage and no small amount of planning. Murmuring melodically and following the lead of the one friend who invited you will get you through most of the prayers. Think to fake playing a musical instrument in middle school orchestra; string the metaphorical bow of the prayers, brandish your instrument at the end with the one or two closing words you recognize. An alternative for those particularly poor lip-syncers: simply appear emotionally overcome by the prayers--too moved to vocally contribute, but certainly having already attained a higher level of spirituality and proximity to God than your tablemates.
Less easy to avoid through imitation or perceived spiritual awakening are the demands of the handwashing and the distribution of the challah. I’ve seen many a brash young amateur trip up trying to recite the prayer for the hand washing aloud to score bonus points and do his youthful Shabbat experiences proud despite my best efforts to dissuade him from this folly. Heed my warning: you who aspire to dine amidst the religious, do not let pride or delusions of Shabbat-related grandeur seduce you. Do not even try to recite the prayer, just pour the water on your hands, twice for each hand, in utter silence. Two lessons can be gleaned from this suggestion. Firstly, a good rule of thumb for the night is that if no one else is talking, neither should you. Apply this lesson, like the good student you ought to be, when that challah is being cut: shut your mouth until you can shove some bread into it. Secondly, and of even greater importance, pick out the most devout-looking person in the room (hem length is typically an excellent metric) and follow their lead. Should you have the great fortune of sitting next to someone who actually knows what is going on, just repeat whatever words they just said, and be sure to trail off when other people finish; do not try to catch up and finish the prayer. Doing so will ensure that you will be the last one awkwardly stumbling your way through the prayer like a fawn learning to walk for the first time, or for a more apt metaphor, like the inhumanely raised cow walking to the non-kosher slaughter, unfit for even a Nathan’s hotdog, let alone to be served on the Shabbos.
I am not going to write line after line of conversation for you; I expect you to be able to improvise. I hope there are inoffensive topics you have gathered some knowledge on, perhaps in preparation for other holiday dinners, such as Passover or Thanksgiving. Whatever you end up discussing, interject infrequently and speak far less than you listen. Few will notice how little you speak, and those who do will likely look on you with approval, appreciating that you make no effort to dominate the conversation, but rather let them go on and on, nodding politely all the while.
You may say to yourself in reading my suggestions: “How insulting! How self-absorbed do you think the other Shabbat guests must be?” To that I say follow my advice and bring me back some rugelach from all the subsequent Shabbat dinners you get invited to; we can let the enormous mound of pastries you will accrue prove me the victor of the argument. Breaking your way into a Shabbat dinner is like any other dinner group, do not disrupt the dynamic, start small, do not be the center of attention. Before you know it people will be pouring you wine, plying you with food, and unless you’re already married, probably trying to set you up with someone’s cousin, or neighbor or something.
And now I must bid you adieu. I was supposed to write more, but I did not, and what I have written should suffice if you are capable. No tears, no, no.
//SHALOM FROMAFAR is a student at Columbia University.