Sadly I can’t post photos of Bill and Dina's family dinner. Bill, is an Orthodox Jew; Dina his outspoken but totally sweet Jewish wife. After sunset, Friday Jewish Shabbat dinners don’t allow photographs, or anything electrical/mechanical. You’re can't open even a door. Even tins of food for dinner are opened before sunset.
Regular readers know I only discovered I was Jewish when aged 47, two years after my mother died. I’d been raised a Christian, sang in Canterbury Cathedral’s choir, and was ordained a priest in a branch of the Liberal Catholic Church. So being invited to my first Friday Shabbat was special.
Religious symbolism ruled. I donned a skull cap, to show our limits, and G-d's higher power. As the sun's last rays died, special Shabbat candles were lit. G-d worked for 6 days, and rested on the seventh. So the flame symbolises the end of the dark working week, bringing Light to the weekend holiday, G-d’s rest day. Everyone made a wish.
Bill sang from the Torah, mystically, seriously, and the family sang too. Dina cracked jokes and laughed at his words. Not disrespectfully, but as a family debating the love of G-d.
Before dinner came a ‘washing of hands ceremony’. I held one handle of a two handled jug, and poured water ceremoniously on the other hand 3 times, to cleanse away the hard working week. It’s repeated with the other hand.
Everyone had to stay silent, except for Bill, who sang songs with religious fervour, while holding two woven brown-topped loaves, Challah, in the air. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Challah He broke off pieces of bread for all to eat with inner religious feeling. When last crumbs passed ones lips, speech was allowed again.
Processions of starters arrived, mainly salads and dips.
Eventually the main course arrived, the same dish Dina had cooked for every Friday evening Shabbot for the past 27 years – Yemanite Soup. It’s a chunky chicken vegetable soup, as made by her mother when she lived in Yemen.
More Torah readings brought arguments from a young Jew, a guest, to read it differently. Apparently he’s not an Orthodox Jew, so didn’t understand. But arguments simply debate Jewish tradition.
If we were orthodox Jews, we’d have had to stay the night - and only open the door at sunset the next day! But we aren’t orthodox Jews so we opened the door and left, refreshed by a fabulous family’s food for our bodies - and by their songs for our spirits.
In religions the world over, traditional meals bring fun and family as one.
Regular readers know I only discovered I was Jewish when aged 47, two years after my mother died. I’d been raised a Christian, sang in Canterbury Cathedral’s choir, and was ordained a priest in a branch of the Liberal Catholic Church. So being invited to my first Friday Shabbat was special.
Religious symbolism ruled. I donned a skull cap, to show our limits, and G-d's higher power. As the sun's last rays died, special Shabbat candles were lit. G-d worked for 6 days, and rested on the seventh. So the flame symbolises the end of the dark working week, bringing Light to the weekend holiday, G-d’s rest day. Everyone made a wish.
Bill sang from the Torah, mystically, seriously, and the family sang too. Dina cracked jokes and laughed at his words. Not disrespectfully, but as a family debating the love of G-d.
Before dinner came a ‘washing of hands ceremony’. I held one handle of a two handled jug, and poured water ceremoniously on the other hand 3 times, to cleanse away the hard working week. It’s repeated with the other hand.
Everyone had to stay silent, except for Bill, who sang songs with religious fervour, while holding two woven brown-topped loaves, Challah, in the air. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Challah He broke off pieces of bread for all to eat with inner religious feeling. When last crumbs passed ones lips, speech was allowed again.
Processions of starters arrived, mainly salads and dips.
Eventually the main course arrived, the same dish Dina had cooked for every Friday evening Shabbot for the past 27 years – Yemanite Soup. It’s a chunky chicken vegetable soup, as made by her mother when she lived in Yemen.
More Torah readings brought arguments from a young Jew, a guest, to read it differently. Apparently he’s not an Orthodox Jew, so didn’t understand. But arguments simply debate Jewish tradition.
If we were orthodox Jews, we’d have had to stay the night - and only open the door at sunset the next day! But we aren’t orthodox Jews so we opened the door and left, refreshed by a fabulous family’s food for our bodies - and by their songs for our spirits.
In religions the world over, traditional meals bring fun and family as one.
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