As the light fades on Saturday evening, we run outside to say goodbye to Shabbat. Standing in the grass, necks craning back, we stare up at the twilight sky and spot the first star. There it is! I yell. My daughters stare and stare. I see it too! Slowly another star appears, then another. Three stars in the sky: time for Havdalah.
We return inside slowly, excited for the ritual ceremony but reluctant to end the day of holiness and rest, family time and sacred togetherness. Still, our growing sadness is transforming into joy as we gather together around our table. I dim the lamps and light the braided havdalah candle as the girls climb onto chairs. Alon holds the siddur (prayer book) because he likes to chant the verses. Our eight year old holds the candle over the mound of wax drippings we’ve been collecting for 15 years. I hold the cup of wine and grab my favorite spice, the etrog we covered in cloves years ago. The little ones each take a bell and begin softly ringing.
Hinei El yeshu'ati, evtach v'-lo efchad. Ki ozi ve-zimrat Yah Adonai, vayhi li liyshu'a. Ush'avtem mayim b'sason mi-ma'y'nei ha-yshu'a. L'Adonai ha-y'shu'a, al amkha virkhatekha selah. Adonai tz'vaot imanu, misgav lanu Elohei Ya'akov selah. Adonai tz'vaot ashrei adam boteakh bach. Adonai hosheea, ha-Melech ya'aneinu b'yom kor'einu. La-Yhudim hayta orah ve-simcha ve-sason viykar, ken tihyeh lanu. Kos yeshu'ot esa uvshem Adonai ekra.
Behold, God is my unfailing help; I will trust in God and will not be afraid. God is strength and song, my Deliverer. With joy shall you draw water out of the wells of salvation. God alone is our help; may God bless His people. God of the universe is with us; the God of Jacob is our protection. There was light and joy; gladness and honor for the Jewish people. So may we be blessed. I will lift the cup of salvation and call upon God's Name.
I begin the niggun (Ya-dy-da-da-da-da-dy-dy) and the others quickly join in. We chant an extra set, just because we love it. I look at each of my beloved family members and my heart swells with joy. Each is so earnest, so cute, so dear to me. I touch cheeks and give kisses and stroke hair. The baby is mesmerized by the flame. The four year old has started to hand out spices to everyone.
With the same niggun we chant the blessing over the wine:
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, borei peri ha-gafen.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, Creator of the fruit of the vine.
I place the cup of wine back on the table. We will taste its sweetness only after we finish with the other blessings. Again with the niggun we chant the blessing over the spices:
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, borei minei v'samim.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, Creator of many kinds of spices.
We don’t stop chanting but we stay with the Ya-da-dy for a while as we each lovingly touch and smell each container of spice. Over the years we’ve made quite a few! Cinnamon, cloves, etrogs, lavender, even a beautiful silver spice box from our wedding. We ring the bells louder, wakening our selves through all the senses.
Now our focus shifts to the candle flame. It is dripping a lot now and burning tall and bright. Hold it higher! Your future husband will be that tall! (But keep the wax on the plate.) Within the niggun, we chant the blessing over the candle’s flames:
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, borei m'orei ha-eish.
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the universe, Creator of the fire's light.
We reach out our hands towards the flames, palms down and then up, and then fold back our fingers so we can see our fingernails. The light is reflected strongly and we create a shadow underneath for contrast, to show our eyes the distinction between light and dark. We remember the moment last night of drawing in the Shechinah’s gift of our extra Shabbat soul, from the Shabbat candles, into our hands and into our closed eyes. Now, we let go of the Shechinah as we again turn our palms down and reach towards the flames with spread fingers. The melancholy of this inevitable loss is a deep sigh but we keep chanting the niggun. In the same melody, we pray:
Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam, ha-mavdil bein kodesh l'chol, bein or-le'choshekh, bein Yisrael la-amim, bein yom ha-shevi'i l'sheshet y'mai ha-ma'aseh. Barukh ata Adonai, ha-mavdil bein kodesh l'chol.
Blessed are You, Eternal our God, Ruler of the universe, Who distinguishes between the sacred and the profane, between light and darkness, between Israel and other people of the world, between the seventh day and the six days of the week. Blessed are You, Who distinguishes between the sacred and the profane.
Our dog Samuel, actually recognizing the end of this prayer, begins to tip tap around our feet. We sip the wine, each of us, giving the baby a small taste too. Then we douse the candle in the cup and listen to the sizzle. The dog is going crazy and we take his lead. Alon grabs the four year old, I grab the baby, and the eight year old dances with the dog. We start to dance and sing, beginning with Hamavdil bein Kodesh l’Chol, our most lively dance. Then Shavua Tov gathers us into a circle and we hug as we sway, ending by adding our particular wishes for the week (“a week of rest, a week of safe travels, a week of fun”). Finally Eliyahu Hanevi (we have not learned Miriam Hanevi’ah). Before the kids this was our cozy head on shoulders dance; lately it has become more fun and silly. Either way we turn our hearts to Eliyahu’s promise of redemption as our bodies begin to turn back to the tasks and mundane requirements of our secular week.
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