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Kumzitz Around the campfire
Stories that make the song play in your head and morph into something greater than the sum of lyrics and melody; an impetus for introspection and growth.
The Western Wall on Friday night
His first time ever there, Strapped into his knapsack
With his long and curly hair. He stood there for a while
Broke out with a smile,
Emotion overwhelming joy with tears.
The men were dancing there
Their hearts so full of love,
They sang such happy tunes
To thank the One Above.
For showing them the way,
For giving them a day
To rest, rejoice, with peace of mind to pray.
Just one Shabbos and we'll all be free
Just one Shabbos, come and join with me,
We'll sing and dance to the sky
With our spirits so high,
We'll show them all it's true
Let them come and join us too.
I said hello, my friend
You seem to be amused, He said much more than that
I am a bit confused,
I know I am a Jew
I was bar mitzvahed too,
But Shabbos in our home, who ever knew?
He asked to join with us
To understand and see,
He spent some time with us
In total ecstasy.
Next Shabbos came along
His feelings grew so strong, He first began to feel that he belonged.
Just one Shabbos and we'll all be free
Just one Shabbos, come and join with me, We'll sing and dance to the sky
With our spirits so high, We'll show them all it's true
Let them come and join us too.
He found this treasure
Made some changes in his life
A brand new family, his children and his wife, They learn new things each day
To live the Torah way,
The message of the Shabbos they will relay.
Now every Friday night they go down to the Wall
Invite some people home and they will tell them all, We'll teach you this new song
So join and sing along,
And soon we'll all be free, it won't be long.
Just one Shabbos and we'll all be free
Just one Shabbos, come and join with me, We'll sing and dance to the sky
With our spirits so high,
We'll show them all it's true
Let them come and join us too.
The song "Just One Shabbos" was composed by Mordechai Ben David and released on his 1981 album.
AS TOLD TO ESTY STEINMETZ
As I touched the match to the wick, I glanced at the wall clock behind me. 8:12 - two minutes to shkiah. Yet again.
I had so wanted to tzind early - or even just on time. But in the sudden last-minute whirl of “Ma, the shower water is cold” and “Did we warm up the challahs?” and “Why is the floor sticky again, it was just mopped?”, the clock had sprinted ahead of me, holding a golden trophy aloft, while I lagged behind in a futile race.
I sank onto the couch and exhaled. Aah. At least we had made it. Shabbos was finally upon us.
As my kids squished into all the corners around me, on my lap, and over my shoulder, pushing a book into my hands, I silently resolved that next week would be different. Next week I would finally tzind early.
Friday dawned like any other day in the country. The
pool, still empty and rippling lightly in the gentle morning breeze, beckoned invitingly. After an invigorating swim and a quick grocery run, I made a quick calculation. There were still eight hours to go.
I could do this.
By three in the afternoon, the house was gleaming, the kugel and ferfel were in the oven, and there was a fresh cake on the counter. I mentally patted myself on the back.
I bathed the kids, took a shower while the water was hot, and cleaned the few new dishes in the sink.
It was still an hour to Shabbos, and everyone was sitting around reading magazines in their Shabbos robes. It felt like a dream.
And then I looked at two-year-old Yitzy. Was I imagining it or was his breathing a little quick? I scooped him up and watched his chest rise and fall. Yes, his chest and stomach were definitely pulling in with every breath.
I felt my breathing growing faster.
Yitzy was prone to respiratory distress - any fever could trigger it. But he hadn’t had any incidents in a while.
I prepared the nebulizer and put it over his face for a few minutes. It should have helped instantly, but his breathing didn’t seem any better than before.
I knew the drill. Hatzalah, emergency room - the images made my head throb. I looked at Yitzy, looked at the clock. What to do?
At that moment, my husband walked in, wet peyos behind his ears, bag in hand.
“We have a problem,” I said grimly.
My husband looked at Yitzy’s breathing and nodded.
“I think we should take him to one of the hatzlah members here,” he suggested.
So we grabbed Yitzy and knocked on the closest Hatzalah member’s door. He was on his way out, but graciously stopped in his tracks and examined little Yitzy, who squirmed and tried to run off.
“Hmm, I don’t really like what I see,” he said thoughtfully as he held his hand to Yitzy’s chest.
“Rapid breathing, his chest is retracting. You know what? There’s a pediatrician here, Dr. Resnick, maybe he can help you avoid a visit to the emergency room.”
We thanked him for his time and headed off to find the doctor. When we knocked on his door, his wife informed us that he was in the pool. So off we traipsed to the pool. I stood outside, holding Yitzy’s hand tightly as my husband went to look for him.
I breathed a sigh of relief when my husband emerged together with him. Dr. Resnick. He stooped down to Yitzy’s level and observed his breathing.
“He needs steroids to open the lungs,” he announced authoritatively after a minute. “Come to my house in ten minutes and I’ll give you”
We hurried home to inform the other kids what was going on, then went to get the steroids.
“Give it to him for the next 48 hours and then follow up with your pediatrician,” he instructed as he gave us the small bottle.
I resigned myself to bringing in Shabbos a moment before shkiah, after a whirlwind marathon.
The weeks passed, with my average tzinding time ranging from three minutes after the zman to three minutes before shkiah.
“Just pretend the zman is fifteen minutes earlier,” my sister advised.
My kids tried moving the clock forward a few minutes, but somehow I still ended up still tzinding after the zman.
I unofficially gave up.
Then my cleaning lady gave notice. She had to go back to Mexico, she said. I took a few, long, calming breaths after she left and started making some phone calls.
Thankfully, someone had a cleaning lady available for the following Friday. I checked the floors critically, but didn’t find any spots.
She worked quickly and efficiently, without asking too many questions. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
After she wiped down the kitchen, I took out fruit to chop up my famous fruit salad.
The new cleaning lady looked at me quizzically.
“Sabbath?” She asked.
“There’s still an hour to Shabbos,” I explained.
“And you no make Sabbath early?” She asked.
I dropped the apples and stared at her.
“What?” I repeated incredulously.
“The other lady I go, she make Sabbath early,” she explained sagely.
“Aah.” I was too surprised to even formulate a coherent answer.
I returned the fruits to the fridge, paid Helena, and sent her on her way.
But her question rang in my ears.
I quickly spread the white tablecloth in the kitchen and prepared my kids’ robes. What else? The house was clean, and the kids were calm. I changed into my robe and donned my Shabbos jewelry. The clock showed fifteen minutes to Shabbos.
We administered the medication on the porch and then ran back to our house.
It was five minutes after the zman when I finally stood, holding the match to the wick. Phew.
Baruch Hashem, Yitzy was ok and we were spending Shabbos at home, not in the emergency room.
But when would I finally manage to tzind early?
When next Friday rolled around, I made a halfhearted attempt to tzind early. And when I again welcomed Shabbos right before shkiah, I accepted that this just wasn’t to be. It wasn’t doable for me.
I took the matches, touched the wick to flame, and welcomed Shabbos like the long-awaited, muchanticipated guest it truly is.
A feeling of true calm and serenity enveloped me as I sat down to say my techinos.
I could do this. Why had I ever believed it was unattainable?
Just one Shabbos - that was all it took.
I don’t think I ever tzind Shabbos lecht after the zman since.
My cleaning lady’s words finally enabled me to enjoy the true bounty of Shabbos.
*Have a story you want to share? A website or ad for your business that’s waiting to be written? Esty Steinmetz is a writer and copywriter who can be reached at esty@estysteinmetz.com
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