Friday Evening

Shabbat Shalom

It is strange that I have never written about Friday evening. Perhaps, because it is so important, and so personal, it has seemed too exposing. But, how would you know me, and make sense of the views I express, without this?

Friday is the eve of sabbath. I am not religious in the sense that it is generally understood, at least by those who are not Jewish, but my identity, history, community, and all that go with it, are of profound importance to me. I hold on to it, sweet and bitter. Friday evening is the moment I most connect with this, and something more.

I do not remember a time when it was not so. Friday evening with my parents was the heart of family life, an inheritance from their parents. Though tired from a week of work and school, we sat round the dining room table, lit candles and said blessings over the bread and wine. My mother produced a 3-course dinner - chicken soup, goulash, apple cake - or similar ... made with love, not necessarily with delicacy, but good nevertheless. And we would talk - politics, philosophy, history, a bit of physics, yes really - some German, a bit of Polish.

Around the table, my parents, my brother and sister, my grandmother, Lotte, sometimes my parents’ or my grandmother’s friends, but often academic visitors - earnest Professors from Eastern Europe’s technical universities, doctoral students - bemused, but grateful for the hospitality. Of course, we sang, tunelessly, ‘grace after meals’ and zemirot - songs - with wandering melodies but consistent enthusiasm.

Over the years Friday evening changed. Some people were no longer there, empty spaces. But not empty seats … partners arrived, their families became part of the circle, then babies, and then children, playing football in the hall between courses, and adding their own part to the event. Finally, it became too much for my parents and the event migrated. Mostly to my sister (because, if you know her, my sister), but sometimes my house, or that of my brother.

The children now are the biggest part of Friday evening and I am part of the older generation. There is a varying cast as university, travel and work intervene. They sometimes hold a ‘cousins shabbat’ in flats in trendier, but less salubrious, parts of London. Possibly vegan chicken soup makes an appearance, but the songs are the same.

There is another generation, and now there will be a buggy in the hall. I should eat less challah bread, drink less diet coke. We can talk about the forthcoming Budget. Friday night, Shabbat Shalom.