It was Shabbat and it was Sukkot.  It was a beautiful day with a shining sun and warm but not hot air.  I watched as my neighbors walked from their shul down the street to the Rabbi's home a few doors down from mine. I was washing my car.  Rabbi Montrose invited me into his sukkah for kiddush.  He said nothing about me washing the car but I could feel the gaze of the congregants of his traditional congregation looking me over and judging the goyishe Jew from the neighborhood. I sat in the sukkah and recited the blessing along with everybody else. I expected to bless the lulav and etrog but then remembered that it was Shabbat and those blessings would not be done. I had a few conversations, sat and let time pass. When I got home I realized Rabbi Montrose had given me a chance to experience Shabbat without lecturing me about it.

I had spent the morning riding my bike while Rabbi Montrose led his morning service. I often saw his flock walking to services as I pedaled by. I rarely came to my own shul, to Beth Emet, on Shabbat morning. I had been to Kahal a couple of times and had enjoyed the shared feeling of the DIY Shabbat. However, I had not been moved to the point of abandoning my ritual of a Saturday morning bike ride. I would often go to services on Friday night and would stand as my wife lit candles on Friday evenings. Yet, I was not so moved as to devote the day to rest, contemplation and separation from the everyday tasks of building the world. I still struggle with honoring and celebrating this weekly Jewish holiday. I generally stay away from work and mostly avoid household chores but may still wash a car or run a few errands. I feel that my bike ride takes me away from building the world but am fully aware that I am rationalizing, trying to convince myself. I know better.

On a Shabbat where my wife and I have been to services, taken a leisurely walk, ignored our demanding devices, lounged in the hammock, read a book, or had a seamless conversation I know we have spent Shabbat in a meaningful way.  My legs still get itchy. I remain the little boy who wants to run around. That little boy, who was once told not to bring a ball with him to Junior Congregation, is still trying to figure out how to gracefully dance with his responsibility and his desire. His quest for rest is still a work in progress.