College is a deeply transitory stage of life. Home is still home, yet the dorm slowly becomes one too. Our classes, summer plans, friends, and schedules are always changing. Even our sense of self feels in flux. Stability is a rarity, and we must actively seek belonging.
I create my own stability in college through Jewish traditions like Kabbalat Shabbat. The one constant, the one melody in the background throughout a busy semester, is Kabbalat Shabbat.
Familiar Strangers
I began this past summer on an internship program in Tel Aviv, eager to explore shuls (synagogues). On my first Friday night, the synagogue’s melodies felt familiar, yet I felt like an outsider. A week later on a kibbutz up north, Kabbalat Shabbat sounded entirely different: guitars, drums, and even an unexpected rendition of “Country Roads” by John Denver (the most proficient songwriter since Rabbi Shlomo Halevi, of course). It was creative, but out of my spiritual comfort zone.
In college I am often in a room full of strangers or I am faced with a new way to do something familiar, but Kabbalat Shabbat is usually the exception, protected from the miscellany of everyday life. It is a haven of much needed familiarity.
Safety from Crisis
A week later, I found myself in a Tel Aviv hotel, sequestered with the rest of my program during an attack from Iran. That Friday night, Kabbalat Shabbat moved from the crowded hotel Beit Knesset (synagogue), to a bomb shelter, and back again. The singing felt tenuous, as if our prayers for a peaceful Shabbat would not make it through the thick concrete walls. It was a tense weekend and I could not fully embrace the joy of Kabbalat Shabbat because of the threat of danger.
Soon after that, I was on a cruise ship evacuating to Cyprus, davening Kabbalat Shabbat in the ship’s large theater. The makeshift sanctuary worked for that night, but I could not tell if I was being moved by the Sabbath Bride herself, or the not-so-gentle rocking of the boat.
By the time I returned to campus last week for my junior year, marking the end of my long, discordant summer, I was longing for some sort of normalcy.
Unlike in Tel Aviv, I was not an outsider, because I could tap into the continuity and consistency that builds a strong community.
Unlike in the kibbutz, there were no surprise additions to the liturgy.
Unlike the hotel, there was no threat of danger.
Unlike the cruise, the place was permanent.
Finally: no strange distance, no “Country Roads,” no bomb shelters, and best of all, no rocking.
The Rhythm of Kabbalat Shabbat
On the first Friday night back, I davened Kabbalat Shabbat with my Hillel’s Conservative Minyan. Even though the faces were slightly different than the year before, with a new guard of freshmen replacing the now graduated seniors, it felt like my community.
Of all the places I daven, my Hillel community now feels the most like home. The uncomfortable red plastic chairs in our sanctuary have become comfortable and familiar. After a summer of both voluntary and involuntary exploration, it was nice to begin to settle in the place, the people, and the prayers that ground me.
College students are learning how to live by ourselves and become the people we ought to be, which requires discomfort. Yet all of us still need continuity—a through line stabilizing us within each day, week, month, and semester. The uncertainty in our lives makes the routine of something like Kabbalat Shabbat in the same place each week even more important.
After a summer of uncertainty, I am very appreciative of the continuity in my life. Kabbalat Shabbat for me is a rhythm, a gathering, and a reminder that even as everything shifts, some melodies and spaces can endure. I am so grateful to know where I will be next week.
