It’s been a while since we talked about Phoebe on the podcast, so I thought it was time to bring her back. For newer listeners, Phoebe is our family dog. Since my wife works from an office while my office is at home, I’m the one who walks her around the neighborhood most of the time.
On some previous episodes, I’ve shared how the experience of walking Phoebe is often a wonderful opportunity to practice what we talk about a lot here: Making a kavvanah or intention, noticing when that kavvanah gets interrupted, responding with curiosity and compassion, rather than judgment and anger. You want to practice mindfulness? Walking a dog is a great activity.
One of the things that can happen when we’re out walking is that we run into neighbors. Now while I know a lot of my neighbors, there are a lot of people on our various routes, and I certainly don’t know all of them. So, much of the time, we’ll come across someone who’s unfamiliar. And in that case I might offer a hello, or I might just acknowledge them with eye contact or a head nod and move on. And, much of the time, there just aren’t that many people walking when we’re out—people are at work, school, making their own mindfulness podcasts, whatever.
But dog walking is a seven day a week activity. And in my neighborhood on Shabbat, it’s totally different. There are plenty of people out and about–often people I know because I go to synagogue with them, but also others who I don’t necessarily know personally, but who, because they’re wearing Shabbat clothing or a yarmulke, I can, without embarrassment, guess are Jewish. And in those cases, something extraordinary happens: We say “Shabbat shalom” to each other. While on a weekday I might say hello to one or two people during a 30-minute dog walk, on Shabbat I might say Shabbat shalom a dozen times. It’s a totally different vibe, and it’s part of what makes Shabbat so different from the rest of the week.
This is the sixth episode in our seven-episode miniseries on Shabbat rituals, and today–you guessed it–I want to talk about this tiny little ritual that I think is so meaningful and, really, transformative: saying Shabbat shalom.
Just so we’re clear, there’s no Biblical requirement to say Shabbat shalom. In that respect, this custom is different from a lot of our other Shabbat observances, which have their roots in the ancient laws of the Torah and their interpretation by the Rabbis of the Talmud. Saying Shabbat Shalom seems to be a much more spontaneous, voluntary human custom. At least, it feels that way to me.
On the other hand, I think there’s something really deep in this practice—and, frankly, I think old Phoebe herself might help to explain why. You see, Phoebe loves to go up to strangers. When we encounter people on the sidewalk, she just naturally approaches them with fundamentally trusting attitude: no fear, peaceful inside, all smiles and tail wags as she greets the neighbors. It’s like she’s saying, “Shabbat shalom!” to everyone—even on a Tuesday.
But that’s the thing: that trust in the world, that inner peace, that friendliness—those are all the things we express when we say Shabbat shalom. Six days a week we might walk through the world in a hurry, focused on what we have to do and where we have to be. Or we might feel suspicious of other people. Whatever it is, during the rest of the week, we often don’t stop to say hello. But on Shabbat, we do. On Shabbat, it’s like we can slow down enough to not feel rushed and hurried, to not feel that saying hello to other people is a bother. On Shabbat, we have enough spaciousness to practice this most basic, tiny, but infinitely valuable little thing: greeting the other images of God who share this planet with us.
Shalom, of course, means hello, goodbye, and peace. When we say shalom, we’re wishing peace upon someone. Jewish tradition also tells us that shalom is actually one of the names of God. So when we say shalom to someone, we’re not just saying a casual “hi,” we’re blessing them—with peacefulness, with the divine Presence. And when we say “Shabbat shalom,” perhaps what we’re doing is nothing more than reminding ourselves, and each other, that today is Shabbat—so let’s experience the blessing of peace.
So our practice this week is pretty simple: Say Shabbat shalom. And try to say it with some intention.
You might think about a loved one you want to call on Friday afternoon and offer the blessing of Shabat shalom. Or maybe you want to make an intention to say a genuine Shabbat shalom to someone you’ll see on Saturday morning, or to a neighbor you might run into while you’re walking the dog Shabbat afternoon.
Whoever you choose to be the recipient of your blessing, just take a moment to align your kavvanah, your intention, with your actions.
Take a moment to breathe.
Perhaps close your eyes.
And touch into your own inner sense of shalom.
And, from that place of peacefulness, with your eyes open and your metaphorical dog tail wagging, offer that other person the blessing of Shabbat shalom. And if they respond with a “Shabbat shalom” for you, take it in.
This is part of the essence of Shabbat: realizing the peace that is already here, within us and between us. Saying Shabbat shalom is our way of helping one another to experience it.
So, shabbat shalom.