Shabbos Calls

When people discover that I was raised in a very strictly Orthodox Jewish family, their first question is usually something along the lines of, "How does your family feel about what you're doing?"

"Well," I start, "it depends on which member of my family we're talking about." As for cousins, aunts and uncles- I've detected varying degrees of disapproval though we've never discussed my lifestyle explicitly. Same goes for my older sister. Though we speak frequently and have a nice sisterly relationship, we never discuss how I sometimes spend my weekends. I am always self-consciously editing myself during our conversations.

This is not the case with my mother. I am completely honest with her because she's made it clear that she supports me and loves me no matter what. I tell her about what I'm up to whether or not it is Shabbosdik. I tell her about the new restaurants I've tried even if I know she can't eat in them. I tell her about my day, my week, my life, and I don't feel judged for what I say.

Last week, I called my mother after Shabbat as I always do. I was in Philadelphia attending a breaking battle. Now that I no longer maintain a strict observance, I don't know precisely when the Jewish day goes out so I tend to wait for several stars to appear in the sky before I dial. I don't want to call too early and have her pick up the phone, transgressing the halacha. And she would answer if she saw my name flash across the caller ID, as she has on a few different occasions. She assumes that if I'm calling her on Shabbat, it must be an emergency. This happened when I was practically living out of my car and on a temping income when I first moved to Los Angeles. I was still very observant at the time but sometimes the anxiety got the better of me and I called her in tears on Friday nights when I couldn't sleep. Technically, this example didn't meet the criteria for permissible Shabbat violation- I wasn't in physical danger and I've never had a tendency to hurt myself outside of a gymnastics setting- but my mother knew her youngest daughter well enough to know that I needed to be talked down, Shabbat be damned.

When I spoke with her last Saturday night, she confessed that she had called her therapist that day because she was feeling a bit down. I had known she had been blue and I had been making an effort to call her every day to check up on her. She lives alone and has since I left for college. My parents divorced when I was 7- I'm now 27- and my mother never remarried. The Orthodox community can be an unforgiving place for a single, older woman and Shabbat can be especially tough to bear without mechanical distractions, such as the phone and television. Hell, it is can be hard for the younger single folks, too. "Mom," I asked, "why didn't you call me? Isn't that the point of having a nonobservant daughter? So you can call her whenever you want to chat? It doesn't even have to be a mental emergency." She promised to call if the situation arose again.

But I didn't trust that she would. I had a feeling that she was too embarrassed to do so. It was one thing to violate the Sabbath for me- she would do anything for her children. Unfortunately, she wasn't ask kind to herself.

So today as I was walking to the park I decided to call the house. I hoped she wouldn't pick up, suspecting that I was having emotional breakdown. I hoped that she was feeling fine, enjoying a cup of coffee as I rang. I hoped she would laugh as I left a rambling answering machine message (as I am sometimes wont to do).

But she did pick up and she was not at all upset that I called. In fact, she sounded grateful. I spoke with her for awhile as I basked in the Prospect Park sunshine. We spoke about our Passover plans. I told her I was planning on joining a local CSA. We barely noted that we were speaking on the Sabbath. After 20 minutes or so, we hung up. I was off to a cafe to write. She would soon be getting ready for her Shabbat Torah study class.

I figured I wouldn't hear from her again until after later that night but about ten minutes later she called and left a message (I was indisposed at the time) thanking me again for my phone call.

Now, this phone call doesn't mean that my mom and I are about to start enjoying Saturday day trips to Philadelphia anytime soon. Orthodoxy is a way of life for her and though there have been a few hiccups here or there, she will likely remain so for the rest of her life. But it does go a long way to explaining why my mother has so been so wonderfully accepting of my choices. She understands what it's like to be alone, to be sad. She knew that I was all of those things while I was Orthodox. And to her (if not according to the rabbis), emotional distress and sorrow (especially that of her children) always defers the Sabbath.