Friday Night Lights

…a blast from the past.

Jews have been following a certain routine of rest for thousands of years and, in our house, Shabbat breaks down this way:

I light candles and cover my eyes, while everyone else covers their ears. Then I sing a prayer of thanks and try to get one note right. Afterward, the man of the house holds up wine and Challah and sings his own prayer of thanks. Talented bastard doesn’t make a single ear bleed.

Then we place hands over our children’s heads and pray they never vote Republican.

Then we sit and eat.

Every once in a while we go to Sweet Tomatoes because, while we are commanded to spend time together, that doesn’t mean I always have to heat up a meal. Friday night is one night a week when we set aside distractions and concentrate on each other.

We tend to avoid criticism and trans fats.

Instead we:

• Look at each other and try not to laugh.
• Yell at Daddy when he logs onto ESPN.
• Feign interest in conversations about Diary of a Wimpy Kid.
• Whistle and stare at the ceiling.

After the boys go to bed, Husband reminds me that headaches are a sin on Friday nights before falling asleep in the middle of my tangents.

As we get older, it is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore sporting events on Friday nights. Husband and I were waiting for the boys to enter high school before figuring it out. Maybe our kids would be part of the Goth scene and never even express an interest. When I was in high school, I only went to games when my sister or best friend performed special routines and requested my attendance. Cathy and I would show up half-drunk, throwing things and making fun.

Good times.

My kids, though, they’re more like Husband. You know, socially appropriate. They enjoy touchdowns and goals and homeruns. Besides, this is where we live – our community – and we want to participate in events around us. High school games, community events…though not every event is up for discussion. I draw the line at carnivals.

My rabbi used to say, “What are you going to teach your children? Sports are more important than family and tradition?”

I’m not suggesting we do away with off-key prayers and silent judging. It’s nice to have a night together – no matter what the rest of the world is doing.

Thus, the confusion.

As is often the case when faced with Jewish Conundrums, I think of The Cohens. Every Jewish family should have The Cohens in their lives. I don’t know what we’d do without ours. First of all, Mrs. Cohen knows more than God. And Mr. Cohen may not know immediately but he can find out. And when he makes up his mind, he’s always right.

Seriously, they’re our best friends from Boston and more Jewish than the Accounting Dept. at work.

In Mrs. Cohen’s house growing up, Friday nights were broken down this way: Dinner with matching cloth napkins – set in stone. Then everyone would go watch her throw her pom-poms around a football field. (How do all these fur-wearing, veal-eating, ex-cheerleaders find me?) She grew up to revere the Jewish faith and now raises her children the same way.

Everybody wins.

If it works for them, it can work for us, right? As long as my boys and I are together, isn’t it okay to join the community as well?

Every once in a while, we’re going to venture outdoors and catch a game or two around town. I feel good about showing some support. I just wonder how everyone will respond to a shout-out like “Shabbat Shalom!”