Shabbat She-Zoom turns 100

I’m a complete non-conformist, and yet, for 100 straight weeks—since March 27, 2020—I’ve logged into a zoom link at six o’clock mountain time. I know it’s sundown somewhere, and a screen full of gal pals (or maybe just one or two) will join me.

Fewer than half of us are Jewish. Only one—not I—had a prior practice of lighting candles to usher in the day of rest. Some have never met in person. And yet, week after week, we show up. We make space in our hearts for a prayer.

If we don’t have actual Shabbat candles, we kindle tea lights. Or birthday candles. We hold up Bic lighters. Or nothing at all. We make it up as we go along.

It would be a stretch to say creating the group was a mitzvah—a good deed done from religious duty—because I gave that no thought. Actually, I felt selfish sending out the weekly emails and text reminders. I worried the friends would grow weary of obligation but would be afraid to tell me. So every now and then I’d offer to pull the plug.

The Friday night calls reminded me of the every-Sunday-at-noon command performance phone call my mother required after I moved away from home. I resented her rigidity, but of course I called anyway. No reason ever seemed good enough for me to skip a week.

But to this day, obligation gives me hives. I over commit. I back pedal. I hate myself and the other guy (or gal) for boxing me in. I forget to breathe.

But Shabbat She-Zoom works. And here’s why.

First: Routine actually reduces anxiety.

Second: Associating with other strong women makes us stronger.

And third: Intrinsic interest—doing things because we want to—is a powerful motivator.

Shabbat She-Zoom gives structure to our lonely weeks. We admire each other. We participate willingly.

Over the past 100 weeks, we celebrated an engagement. A graduate degree earned. A course of chemo completed. We lost B. to cancer. S’s father died, and then, 135 days later, her mother followed suit. L. lost a nephew to a drug overdose. I sprung two macular holes—first in my right eye and then in my left. My dog died.

In the future, everyone else can do as they please. But I’ve promised to observe Shabbat every Friday night for the rest of my life. But not just just as a Jew. I’ll do it to honor the women who’ve shared and bonded and showed up for me and for each other.

I’ll mark time from Friday to Friday, not from Sunday to Sunday as my mother did.

And if I do things right, my son will call me any day the spirit moves him.

He’ll call because he wants to hear my voice.