“Saturday morning” seems to be synonymous with watching TV and drinking iced lattes, while "Friday night" is often associated with going out with friends. Keeping Shabbat can sometimes feel like someone pulled the plug on the weekend fun. Why does Judaism place so many restrictions precisely on the day meant to be the most enjoyable? Are these limitations truly party-poopers, or do they offer a different, perhaps even greater, kind of pleasure? Get ready to discover a type of weekend FUN you've never experienced before
We live in an age where everyone is stressed, rushed, and desperately trying to get things done in the endless race against time. We're surrounded by smartphones, social media, news sites, newspapers, television, communication apps, text messages, to-do lists, digital calendars, and reminders. Today’s world is a far more pressured place than it ever was before. In the modern lifestyle, where everything demands our attention, finding time for relaxation, reflection, contemplation, and peace of mind has become a luxury.
Why Isn’t Every Day Shabbat?
The Torah tells us the world was created in six days. Each day brought forth something new—light and darkness, the sun, moon, and stars, plants, animals, and humanity. At the end of the sixth day, God rested from His work. The seventh day is unique: nothing new was created. It became a day of pure delight and rest. And so, every seventh day, we also take a pause for a full day.
Throughout the week, we strive to improve the world, making it a better place through continuous effort and activity. One day a week is devoted to listening and absorbing what we’ve done and reflecting on our surroundings. Refraining from work isn’t a punishment. It’s an essential component of the work itself, like the moment that an artist steps back to admire the painting he’s just completed. He enjoys its beauty as it is, even if there’s still more to add or change.
Shabbat encourages us to reconnect with our family, ourselves, and our inner worlds. It instructs us to disconnect from technology, from screens, from the constant urge to “get things done.” Through its mandated pause, Shabbat transitions us from a state of “doing” into a state of “being.” It offers tranquility and recharges our spiritual batteries. Weekdays are life itself; Shabbat reminds us why we are alive.
The sanctity of Shabbat is so profound that it uplifts not only the soul but also the body. “Oneg Shabbat” (Shabbat enjoyment) means savoring excellent food, drinking good wine, and getting a little more sleep than usual. Physical pleasures that drag us down during weekdays become instruments of elevation through the holiness of Shabbat.
Shabbat as a Progressive Social Concept
Shabbat also has a distinct social dimension. The Torah explains that Shabbat itself is a reminder of our past as powerless slaves in Egypt, when we were enslaved to a powerful economic system no one could oppose. Keeping Shabbat is the ultimate expression of human freedom—for a full seventh of our lives, we are not beholden to human dictates or whims:
Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out of there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore, the Lord your God has commanded you to observe the Sabbath day (Devarim 5:15).
The freedom brought by Shabbat carries tremendous moral significance. This was precisely the argument made by Natan Sharansky, the famous Prisoner of Zion in Soviet Russia, who later became an Israeli government minister and head of the Jewish Agency. At a trial whose verdict was already predetermined, he bravely told the judge:
You think, Your Honor, that you’re free, because after this trial you’ll go home, and I’ll be enslaved because I’ll be headed to prison for a long time. But know this: of the two of us, I am truly free! My body may be imprisoned, but my spirit remains free, because I know I didn’t submit to your decrees and stayed true to my beliefs. But you, judge, were told in advance what to say. Your body may be free, but your spirit is enslaved, and that is far worse (Natan Sharansky, Fear No Evil, 1989).
This is one reason the Torah views violating Shabbat as a grave transgression—a life without Shabbat is a life without freedom. If you take away a person’s freedom, you also take away the meaning of their life, their spirit, and their very body.
Throughout history, keeping Shabbat has been fundamental to Jewish society. Today, however, as public Shabbat observance weakens, people find themselves forced to work non-stop, missing precious family time and losing spiritual freedom. What a loss…
Shabbat Protects You
In recent decades, the pervasive presence of electronic devices and social media has created growing alienation within families. Have you ever asked yourself how much leisure time you spend watching television or browsing the Internet? And in contrast, how much leisure time do you spend in relaxed conversation with your spouse or child?
Online entertainment offers fascinating and absorbing content, so it’s easy for many of us to get drawn into another hour in front of a screen instead of dedicating precious time to our loved ones.
Close-knit families have always been a prominent characteristic of observant Jewish communities, and Shabbat plays a crucial role in this. Spending a full day together every week, and enjoying Shabbat meals in relaxed conversation, is an excellent way to deepen family bonds.
Psychologists recommend deliberately setting aside special family time without disruptions from phones, televisions, and other screens, even if it sometimes requires artificial enforcement.
This is precisely the reason we are “compelled” to avoid certain activities on Shabbat. It’s a tremendous gift that helps protect us from ourselves. External limitations might feel restrictive, but paradoxically, they often enable true freedom. As world-renowned family psychologist Dr. Gordon Neufeld taught in his book Hold On To Your Kids, structures and boundaries preserve what matters most. Our culture protects values we cherish but rarely perceive as urgent in daily life. Only rarely is our sense of urgency strong enough to consistently honor these needs. As our culture erodes, so do the rituals that protect family life. If left to chance, our families gradually fall apart under personal commitments, social demands, and financial pressures. Without fixed times, places, and rituals, the pressure of urgency inevitably dominates.
We all know that we need limitations to fulfill our dreams and desires. A person who wants to lose weight must limit their food intake and improve their diet. Someone dreaming of writing a book cannot surf the Internet all day. An athlete aiming for the Olympics must commit to training and give up many other activities. The most successful people limit some aspects of their lives to reach deeper goals.
Precisely for this reason, God gave us Shabbat, with all its restrictions. He knew that we needed these limitations to achieve the holiness of Shabbat. As Achad Ha’am famously said: “More than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.” Indeed, Shabbat is the perfect ritual for preserving sanity: it has a defined time, its own rituals, and a long list of distractions to avoid—a synthesis that has succeeded for over three thousand years.
Shabbat as a Day of Inner Wholeness
When God rested from His labor on the seventh day, it was because at that moment, nothing more was needed. Everything was perfect as it was. Nothing needed to be fixed (even if it seemed otherwise). The world had reached perfection: “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day” (Bereishit 1:31).
Each week, Shabbat restores this sense of wholeness present at the end of Creation. It teaches us to step back and accept reality. Stopping work means suspending our endless judgment of reality. When we cease judging, we can embrace the world as it is, even if it seems imperfect. No need to travel, complete urgent tasks, write, paint, or move apartments. Everything is good as it is. This is true perfection. Shabbat offers us a taste of eternal perfection right now—”Shabbat is one-sixtieth of the World to Come” (Berachot 57).
Shabbat is truly special. It seems full of commandments and prohibitions, but those very limitations enable us to gain the most from its sacredness. Disconnecting from the world is precisely what reconnects us to our loved ones, ourselves, and the profound joy of Shabbat.
Observing Shabbat is a personal declaration of faith—a testimony that we believe in the God of Israel who created the world. This is why, in most Jewish communities, it is customary to stand during Kiddush on Friday night, just as a person giving testimony in court stands while delivering their statement.
Neglecting to observe Shabbat is, in essence, a declaration of disbelief in the Creator. By failing to affirm faith in God (in other words, by denying faith in God), a person severs the loftiest dimension of the Jewish soul, a dimension unique to Jews and absent in the souls of other nations. That is why desecrating Shabbat is punished in Jewish law with karet (spiritual excision), or the cutting off of this elevated, sacred part of the soul. As the Torah states: “You shall keep the Shabbat, for it is holy to you…whoever performs work on it shall be cut off from among his people” (Shemot 31:14).
When a Jew accepts upon himself the observance of Shabbat, that higher portion of his soul returns to its original place.
As sacred as Shabbat is, there’s one thing that overrides it completely: saving a human life. In Jewish law, pikuach nefesh—the obligation to preserve human life—takes precedence over all Shabbat restrictions.
If someone’s life is in danger, it’s not just permitted but required to do whatever it takes to help: call an ambulance, drive to the hospital, contact emergency services—whatever is needed, as quickly as possible.
Jewish law defines pikuach nefesh as any situation involving serious danger: a critically ill person who needs urgent care, the risk of losing a limb, or a woman in labor. When it comes to babies and young children, the rules are even more lenient to ensure their safety.
The guiding principle is simple: if you suspect that someone’s life might be in danger, take action. Immediately. Even on Shabbat. Because in Judaism, saving a life always comes first.
Shabbat is unique among the other commandments, since it was chosen by God as the sign of His covenant with the Jewish people—a profound symbol of their enduring bond and mutual faithfulness.
As the Torah states:
You shall speak to the children of Israel, saying: ‘Nevertheless, you shall observe My Sabbaths, for it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you’” (Shemot 31:13).
The children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant. Between Me and the children of Israel, it is a sign forever, for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day He ceased and was refreshed” (Shemot 31:16–17).
By way of analogy: a wedding ceremony and the act of kiddushin (betrothal) establish a committed relationship between a man and woman, but it is the ongoing faithfulness to that marriage covenant that proves their mutual loyalty. So too, the revelation at Mount Sinai marked the covenant between God and the Jewish people—a spiritual wedding of sorts. And it is the full observance of Shabbat each week that affirms the enduring bond of loyalty between the Jewish people and God.
Like many other mitzvot (Divine commandments), it is best to start gradually. Start with the parts that feel uplifting and enjoyable: Kiddush, Shabbat meals, sharing words of Torah at the table, singing Shabbat songs. Turn off your devices before Shabbat begins, cook everything in advance, and keep the food warm on a Shabbat hot plate (ideally plugged into a timer). Try spending Shabbat with families who already observe Shabbat—you’ll learn a lot just by being there.
It also helps to prepare activities ahead of time: books, games, and other things that are Shabbat-friendly, so you’re not left with too much unstructured time. Slowly, you’ll start learning the laws of Shabbat—what’s permitted and what’s not, including the 39 categories of creative work that are prohibited, along with their many details.
Before you know it, you’ll find yourself counting down to the next Shabbat as soon as this one ends.
Shabbat isn’t just about restrictions. The Torah teaches that Shabbat has two dimensions: shamor—”safeguard,” which refers to the commandments to refrain from work—and zachor—”remember,” which includes all the joyful additions that honor and enhance the day.
On Shabbat, we enjoy three festive meals: one on Friday night, one on Shabbat morning or early afternoon, and one later in the afternoon. Each meal features delicious food, meaningful Torah thoughts, heartfelt singing, and relaxed conversation, without the distractions of phones or television. Just people, presence, and peace. That’s true oneg Shabbat—the deep, simple joy of the day.
Observing Shabbat is a personal declaration of faith—a testimony that we believe in the God of Israel who created the world. This is why, in most Jewish communities, it is customary to stand during Kiddush on Friday night, just as a person giving testimony in court stands while delivering their statement.
Neglecting to observe Shabbat is, in essence, a declaration of disbelief in the Creator. By failing to affirm faith in God (in other words, by denying faith in God), a person severs the loftiest dimension of the Jewish soul, a dimension unique to Jews and absent in the souls of other nations. That is why desecrating Shabbat is punished in Jewish law with karet (spiritual excision), or the cutting off of this elevated, sacred part of the soul. As the Torah states: “You shall keep the Shabbat, for it is holy to you…whoever performs work on it shall be cut off from among his people” (Shemot 31:14).
When a Jew accepts upon himself the observance of Shabbat, that higher portion of his soul returns to its original place.
Shabbat is unique among the other commandments, since it was chosen by God as the sign of His covenant with the Jewish people—a profound symbol of their enduring bond and mutual faithfulness.
As the Torah states:
You shall speak to the children of Israel, saying: ‘Nevertheless, you shall observe My Sabbaths, for it is a sign between Me and you for your generations, to know that I am the Lord who sanctifies you’” (Shemot 31:13).
The children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, to observe the Sabbath throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant. Between Me and the children of Israel, it is a sign forever, for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day He ceased and was refreshed” (Shemot 31:16–17).
By way of analogy: a wedding ceremony and the act of kiddushin (betrothal) establish a committed relationship between a man and woman, but it is the ongoing faithfulness to that marriage covenant that proves their mutual loyalty. So too, the revelation at Mount Sinai marked the covenant between God and the Jewish people—a spiritual wedding of sorts. And it is the full observance of Shabbat each week that affirms the enduring bond of loyalty between the Jewish people and God.
Shabbat isn’t just about restrictions. The Torah teaches that Shabbat has two dimensions: shamor—”safeguard,” which refers to the commandments to refrain from work—and zachor—”remember,” which includes all the joyful additions that honor and enhance the day.
On Shabbat, we enjoy three festive meals: one on Friday night, one on Shabbat morning or early afternoon, and one later in the afternoon. Each meal features delicious food, meaningful Torah thoughts, heartfelt singing, and relaxed conversation, without the distractions of phones or television. Just people, presence, and peace. That’s true oneg Shabbat—the deep, simple joy of the day.
As sacred as Shabbat is, there’s one thing that overrides it completely: saving a human life. In Jewish law, pikuach nefesh—the obligation to preserve human life—takes precedence over all Shabbat restrictions.
If someone’s life is in danger, it’s not just permitted but required to do whatever it takes to help: call an ambulance, drive to the hospital, contact emergency services—whatever is needed, as quickly as possible.
Jewish law defines pikuach nefesh as any situation involving serious danger: a critically ill person who needs urgent care, the risk of losing a limb, or a woman in labor. When it comes to babies and young children, the rules are even more lenient to ensure their safety.
The guiding principle is simple: if you suspect that someone’s life might be in danger, take action. Immediately. Even on Shabbat. Because in Judaism, saving a life always comes first.
Like many other mitzvot (Divine commandments), it is best to start gradually. Start with the parts that feel uplifting and enjoyable: Kiddush, Shabbat meals, sharing words of Torah at the table, singing Shabbat songs. Turn off your devices before Shabbat begins, cook everything in advance, and keep the food warm on a Shabbat hot plate (ideally plugged into a timer). Try spending Shabbat with families who already observe Shabbat—you’ll learn a lot just by being there.
It also helps to prepare activities ahead of time: books, games, and other things that are Shabbat-friendly, so you’re not left with too much unstructured time. Slowly, you’ll start learning the laws of Shabbat—what’s permitted and what’s not, including the 39 categories of creative work that are prohibited, along with their many details.
Before you know it, you’ll find yourself counting down to the next Shabbat as soon as this one ends.
My Journey Toward the Day of Rest
By Sharon Rotter
I already believed in God. I kept kosher. I followed mitzvot (Divine commandments). But when it came to Shabbat, it was different. Even after we technically started keeping it, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. For a long time, I just couldn’t connect to the concept of Shabbat.
Of all the mitzvot, Shabbat was the hardest for me to take on. Maybe because of its central importance, I kept pushing it off and trying to hold onto my faith without committing to shutting down for an entire day each week.
I had already accepted that God exists, and not just as some vague spiritual energy, but as the God of Israel, specifically. I had come to believe that the Red Sea really did split, that manna fell from the sky, and that our ancestors are buried in the Cave of the Patriarchs in Chevron. I had grown to accept as truth all the things I once dismissed as fairy tales or fables.
I had begun to respect halacha and the Code of Jewish Law, even though I didn’t know much yet. I saw it as a kind of instruction manual for living a better life—a guide to help me suffer less, embrace more, and maybe even find some joy along the way.
Keeping kosher came relatively easily. I didn’t feel like I had to sacrifice much to fulfill that mitzvah and experience its spiritual impact. But Shabbat was another story entirely. Even though I knew how special it was, I just couldn’t bring myself to try it for real.
It’s not like we spent our Saturdays at the beach or barbecuing with friends. Quite the opposite. We would often go to observant friends for Shabbat dinner, soaking in the holiness, the light, and the spiritual vibes. We’d dress up, sing along, hear words of Torah, and bask in the experience—but afterward, we’d head home. Not before sneaking out to the yard for a post-meal cigarette.
It was wonderful. We celebrated Shabbats, bar mitzvahs, circumcision ceremonies—all the joyful gatherings—and absorbed the holiness without having to commit or work for it. Honestly, I could have kept that up for years. But deep down, I knew I was faking it. After a long while, I started feeling uneasy with myself and with God.
One night, I was driving alone, listening to the radio. A rabbi came on. I had never heard his name before, and his tone felt harsh and heavy. Still, I kept listening. “Keeping Shabbat,” he said, “is the most essential mitzvah for every Jew. It’s the foundation. Without it, your Judaism has no foothold.”
My heart skipped a beat.
I turned off the radio. I didn’t like what I had heard.
Until then, our journey toward religious observance had been gentle and loving. It was focused on the idea that every small step matters and is precious to God. This rabbi’s words clashed with everything I had come to believe.
What? None of it counts if I’m not keeping Shabbat?
My husband reminded me, as he often did: “Torah is supposed to open your heart, to bring joy, and elevate—not to make your heart stop beating.”
“But he’s right,” I said quietly. “We need to start keeping Shabbat. There’s no getting around it. The sooner, the better.” I swallowed hard and spoke the truth quickly, before I could back out.
That week was the first time we really kept Shabbat. (Or so I thought, until, years later, one of us admitted to sneaking a few drags from a cigarette in secret. Still, it was a start.)
I guess it’s no surprise I resisted. It really wasn’t easy at first, not by a long shot. It took me a long time to warm up to it, at least the way we were doing it. I can’t even name all the reasons why. Maybe I wasn’t ready to embrace it with love. Maybe living in a secular neighborhood made it hard to create the right atmosphere. Maybe it was just my yetzer hara (evil inclination) doing what it does best.
I felt trapped, suffocated, and bored. The stillness of Shabbat magnified everything that wasn’t working in my life: my marriage, how we were raising our kids, my role as a stay-at-home mom. There were no screens to disappear into, no noise to cover the silence. The meals were lovely and the food was great, but I felt like something had been taken from me, and I didn’t know how to fill that void. I felt lost.
When I was pregnant with our fourth child, I knew something had to change. I was tired of dreading Shabbat or looking for ways to escape it. I decided to move to a religious community, to be surrounded by people who could support us and help us experience Shabbat differently, joyfully. The change was everything I hoped for and more. I finally found what my soul had been longing for. Everything I’d dreamed about became real.
Now, I live from Shabbat to Shabbat. It’s the highlight of my week. The one time I let myself breathe. No Facebook, no WhatsApp, no checking the bank account. Just a bubble of peace. A break from the madness of daily life.
In that stillness, each of us finds our own Shabbat. Together, we experience a deep sense of comfort and rest from the noise of the world. There’s delicious food, singing, friends, and classes for men, women, and kids. The roads are empty, and every Shabbat feels like a holiday.
It’s a chance to slow down and just be—with yourself and with each other. No pressure. No demands. No endless striving. Shabbat is about expansiveness, freedom, and acceptance. It’s quiet inside your head and in your body. Shabbat is loving what you already have.
I’m no longer afraid of Shabbat. If anything, I’m afraid of losing it.
A Hebrew version of this article was originally published in the Hebrew-language newspaper Makor Rishon.