Jewish World Review Dec. 29, 1999 / 20 Teves, 5760

This year's
December dilemma


By Brian Mono

http://www.jewishworldreview.com -- WITH THE YEAR 2000 around the corner, the pressure is mounting to commit to a plan of action for New Year's Eve.

The options among my friends include rock concerts, catered dinners, cruises and a few facetious comments about seeking shelter in the wilderness, at least until the millennial computer problems are isolated and solved.

All agree that the best way to celebrate would be anywhere with a boyfriend or girlfriend.

The big surprise, however, occurs when I inform my friends I am leaning toward not going out at all.

"It's Shabbat,'' I tell them.

At first, they think I'm joking. When they realize I'm serious, the challenges mount, even though -- or perhaps especially because -- I regularly celebrate Shabbat with them.

"You can't tell me that if you had a girlfriend sitting next to you right now who wanted to go out, you wouldn't go,'' says one friend, igniting a good deal of laughter.

Econophone "If she wanted me to go out, she wouldn't be my girlfriend,'' I respond, explaining that anyone I date would also understand my reluctance to participate in a "so-called'' millennial event that falls on Shabbat.

He then directs me to the Chasidic enclave of Borough Park to meet my next girlfriend.

Another friend points out that I have broken our particular version of Sabbath observance on a number of occasions this year to attend special events, like a friend's wedding or musical performance. Of all nights to set aside the Sabbath and embrace a secular activity, Dec. 31, 1999, is the night, he says.

Which is precisely the opposite of my viewpoint.

Call it my own personal Y2K problem. I am not shomer Shabbat, but somehow, the coincidence of the greatest secular party of my lifetime falling on a Friday night raises a serious philosophical dilemma for me.

Raised on a Reform movement diet of informed choice, I still walk an unclear line on how to balance my Sabbath observance with aspects of modernity --- like the later starting times of services, the use of electricity or the need to drive somewhere to be with community.

If I were an Orthodox Jew, it wouldn't even be a dilemma. Maybe I would want to go out, but I would not. If I were totally secular, the issue wouldn't even exist.

Yet, here I sit, trying to balance two world views on how we confront the uncertainty of time and take control of it.

CONTEMPLATING THE CALENDAR
I am not unmoved by the significance of the shift from 1999 to 2000. After all, like most of us, I track my life by the secular calendar far more than I follow the Hebrew one. I use it to mark birthdays, balance my checkbook, calculate investments, schedule appointments and recall many of the happiest and saddest moments of my life.

What are these numbers and what do they mean to me as a Jew? Very little.

One might argue that the Sabbath and the seven-day week also have uncertain origins (other than the biblical creation story). While Rosh Chodesh and the festivals are tied to our lives by natural events ‹ the moon and the seasons --- the seven-day week seems to be merely a construct, like the numerical year.

Trakdata Yet, important Jewish values are imbued within the seven-day week. Six days of toil, one day of reflection. Six days among the temporal, one day in tune with the eternal. Here, commitment is needed, but when it is given, the process of Shabbat becomes a method for conquering time far greater than the numerical year. The certainty of Shabbat ritual, with its strict regimen of liturgy and biblical passages, becomes a contrast to the uncertainty we experience the rest of the week.

I am not alone in my dilemma. Many synagogues across the country are holding dinners on New Year's Eve to give their congregants an alternative to going out. In Israel, the rabbis who control kosher certification have again clashed with hotel owners out of concern that New Year's parties will attract more than just Christian pilgrims.

STICK IN THE MUD?
Yet, some of you may rightly suggest that I am simply being a stick in the mud. I will even admit that the more people push me to go out, the greater my desire to "stick it'' to the secular year.

"So, what do you plan to do?'' my friends ask me.

"I plan to go to services, have dinner and sing songs,'' I tell them.

"You won't even have champagne?'' they ask.

I pause and think.

"Champagne is alright. I won't pretend it's not happening.''

"What about music?'' they continue, trying to see where my boundaries lay. "It doesn't seem shabbasdik,'' I say.

A few of them raise their eyebrows at me, knowing full well we have all celebrated many Sabbaths together while a David Broza tape played in the background.

"What about going to services, having dinner, doing the singing thing and then going out?'' one finally asks.

I shrug and run my hands through my hair, indicating that this inquisition is over.

Time, however, is ticking, and I don't have long to decide.



Brian Mono is a staff reporter with the Jewish Exponent in Philadelphia. Contact the author by clicking here.

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