That’s one of the most legendary calls in the history of sports television: Jack Buck announcing Kirk Gibson’s dramatic game-winning pinch-hit home run for the Los Angeles Dodgers with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning during game 1 of the 1988 World Series. If you’re a sports nerd like me, this is a call you probably recognize. If you’re not, well, now maybe you understand the rest of us a little better. Awesome, right?
The reason I wanted to play that clip is because of the phrase Jack Buck says twice: “I don’t believe what I just saw.” Buck, like the rest of America, couldn’t believe that Kirk Gibson did what he did. While Gibby had an MVP season that year, he hadn’t played in the game until then because of injuries to his knees. And on the pitch before the homer, he had a horrible swing. Then, lo and behold, seemingly out of nowhere, he sends the next pitch over the right field wall to bring down the house. Legendary. And: Unbelievable. “I can’t believe what I just saw.”
But what is Jack Buck really saying when he says that? In that moment, Buck was a witness to history—as was anyone else watching the game. And thinking about those words—believing or not believing what we see or experience—it’s kind of the essence of witnessing: Is this for real? Is it true? As unlikely as it seems, Yes, it’s true. I saw it with my own eyes, I heard it with my own ears, I experienced it myself. I was there.
So. Why are we talking about witnessing? Because this is the second episode of our miniseries on Shabbat rituals. Last week we talked about how we enter Shabbat, with lighting Shabbat candles, and today we’re going to talk about the next major ritual of Friday night: The Shabbat evening Kiddush, the special prayer we say while holding–and then drinking–a cup of wine or grape juice. And a big part of what Kiddush is all about is being a witness and testifying, as it were.
The text of Friday night Kiddush itself is made up of two paragraphs. The second one is a blessing that invites us to remember and express gratitude to the Creator of the Universe for the gift of our tradition, and above all the gift of Shabbat, which it describes as a reminder of both the act of Creation itself and our people’s exodus from slavery in Egypt. The first paragraph of Kiddush actually comes directly from the Torah: It’s the very end of the Creation story, and it’s the first time the Torah mentions Shabbat. God rested on the seventh day, and so do we.
But what are we doing when we recite this blessing? We’ve probably already acknowledged that Shabbat has started—when we lit candles, or if perhaps we went to synagogue. If we haven’t done those things, then Kiddush can serve as kind of the formal beginning of Shabbat. But what if we already have—then what is it about?
This is where the idea of witnessing comes in. Many Jews have the custom of standing while reciting all of Kiddush, or at least the first paragraph, that part from the Torah. Why? Because, as our tradition teaches, when we recite those words we’re really bearing witness, giving testimony that the Creator created all of this; that this incredible thing we call life—dude, it’s real, and not just our imagination. Or even if it is our imagination, it’s like Dumbledore tells Harry in Book Seven, when Harry asks, “Is this all real, or is it just happening inside my head?”: “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
The practice of Kiddush itself is an act of speech—just as in Jewish tradition God created the universe through words, we’re creating Shabbat with words too. And so I’d encourage you to spend some time with those words, which you can find just by Googling “Friday night kiddush.” Read them more as poetry than prose, and see what they evoke for you.
In addition, when you say Kiddush on Friday night, here’s a practice from my friend and colleague at the Institute for Jewish Spirituality, Rabbi Marc Margolius:
Before you even pour your wine or grape juice, just gaze at the empty cup for a moment. Take a breath. Imagine that cup being filled up with blessings in your life. Try to bring to mind three things from the past week for which you’re grateful. (And they don’t need to be new things week after week—some blessings are worth remembering all the time!) As you slowly fill the cup, imagine that you’re pouring in those blessings.
Now, if it’s something you can do, take the cup in your right hand—but hold it in a special way, different from how you might normally hold a cup. Try holding it not with your fingertips, but with your palm underneath, supporting it. In Jewish mysticism, the right side is associated with Hesed—loving connection. So see if you can channel that, and maybe bring to mind a kavvanah, an intention that all your actions and words spring from a place of innate love and desire to express that loving connection inside.
As you’re doing that, take your left hand to steady the cup. In the Jewish mystical tradition, the left side is associated with Gevurah, setting limits—the complement to Hesed. As you use that left hand to provide balance to the cup, make a kavvanah, an intention to use whatever strength and power we have in service of loving words and actions.
Take a breath. Perhaps close your eyes. Be present with this moment of testimony. And now, according to your custom, recite the Kiddush, and testify to the reality of all these blessings—even, perhaps, in the midst of real challenges; of this life in this world that we’re privileged to live. Even if this week was hard, Shabbat arrives as a shelter in the storm, a time when we can tap into the deeper truths and rhythms, a moment when we can believe what we’ve just experienced.
Shabbat shalom.