Historically, our congregation’s Middle School class has taken a trip to either Chicago or Detroit every year, both as a learning opportunity and a chance for bonding and memory-making.
Over the past six years, we have only gone once, stymied by scheduling conflicts, smaller class sizes, and that global pandemic that mucked up everything (I’m sure you remember). This year, rather than try to convince families to commit to a weekend of travel and logistics, we decided on a “staycation” style retreat, offering our students a tour of Jewish Cincinnati and the amazing resources in our very own hometown.
One of my favorite consequences of this decision was the chance to offer a Shabbat dinner experience not only to the students but also to their families. We planned a magnificent evening: a feast cooked by the students themselves, a wonderful set of discussion questions to get everyone to know each other a little better, all culminating in services at our congregation so we could all enjoy the benefits of the community we call home. I was excited to show off the best of what Shabbat could be, and the families were excited to get to participate in the retreat in a way they never had before.
On Friday afternoon, the kids arrived and began braiding challah. As the second-most-qualified chef in the room (I definitely come in behind the quintessential Jewish mother leading the charge), I was tasked with cutting and seasoning the potatoes. I pre-heated the oven, got to work, and was ready to put them in about half an hour later. Except for one problem: the oven was cold.
It turned out that during a recent visit from our HVAC repair team, the gas to the kitchen had been turned off. We had just finished preparing six challahs, two trays of potatoes, two trays of green beans, and several rotisserie chickens, with nowhere to put them. Oh, and of course, the parents would be arriving any minute, ready to eat within the hour.
My first instinct, I’m proud to say, was not to panic. Instead, I channeled a lesson my grandfather had once taught my father: “You have a problem and a credit card…I’m sure someone would be happy to help you.” Within minutes, I had a Chinese food order prepped and ready to go, if in fact our dinner was truly ruined.
Meanwhile, our Senior Rabbi had arrived to try to solve the problem, only to conclude what we had already discovered: we weren’t cooking anything hot at the Temple tonight. Instead, he offered to bring the entire meal to his house two blocks away, where he and his wife would finish the food in the oven and bring it back. So that is exactly what we did.
In total, we wound up serving a meal that was cooked a quarter mile away to a group of families who had been sitting and waiting for well over an hour, while also pushing back the start time of services by 15 minutes to give them enough time to eat, in turn holding the rest of the congregation hostage in the meantime. In theory, the evening should have been a disaster. But that isn’t how it felt at all.
Rather, I have never been more proud of the Jewish community we are cultivating. Our students found the entire thing hilarious, a wonderful adventure that felt like something out of a sitcom. The parents and older siblings were happy to chat with their peers and relax, knowing that their middle schoolers were being whisked away for a weekend and that they would get to enjoy Shabbat in a unique way.
And our leadership team, the rabbis and teachers, focused all of our energy on remaining flexible and adaptable, rather than languishing in what had gone wrong. Even our congregants who weren’t involved in the dinner said they were content to let the Middle School families have their experience, and that 15 minutes was no big deal for a delay.
Instead of ruining the evening, the snafu resulted in a story we will tell within our congregation for years to come and reminded everyone involved that we can never let the perfect get in the way of enjoying the good.
To me, Shabbat is most special when we come together to enjoy each other’s company, eat good food, and laugh together. All three of those goals were accomplished, if perhaps in the most roundabout way imaginable. These families are each living their own chaotic, overwhelming, overstimulating lives, and so often know the feeling of trying to make Shabbat happen when none of the logistics seem to be working out as planned. Seeing together what happens when we don’t sweat the details but instead let the purpose of the moment lead the way was a powerful message, and one I think will make Shabbat more accessible for all of us moving forward.
I hope these students remember the time their rabbi was willing to take the food they cooked home with him to make sure their families were fed. I hope these students remember that time that services started late to make sure they had enough time to eat. And most of all, I hope these students remember that Shabbat can be beautiful regardless of circumstances, as long as they are surrounded by people who love them and are excited to create special moments together.
Austin Zoot is the Rabbi Educator at Valley Temple in Wyoming, Ohio.
