I've been shomer shabbat (observant of the sabbath) in the past and am still involved in Jewish communities full of observant people, even though I am clearly l

I've been shomer shabbat (observant of the sabbath) in the past and am still involved in Jewish communities full of observant people, even though I am clearly less observant. When I first became shomer shabbat, the first thing I noticed was the peace. The best way to describe it is like the piece you have after the die is cast. If something isn't right, there's nothing you can do about it and there's no sense in worrying about it. The decisions have been made, the work has been done, and whatever will come will come. I'm sure that some of it is the relief to be done with the preparation for shabbat (which can involve a bit of a hurried last-minute pace leading up to it), but I think there's something real about feeling like there's nothing you can do about things. I remember other students in college asking me if it felt like a disadvantage to studies. In fact, it felt like the opposite. Before being shomer shabbat, I would procrastinate (not overly so or in a damaging way, but procrastinate a bit nonetheless) and that procrastination would lead to worry. I should be doing work now. The procrastination and worry would combine to zapping my energy when I would get around to work. Being shomer shabbat meant that there was no need to worry. The die was cast and there was nothing I could do. There's no reason to fret over something you can't change. Motzei (after) shabbat, I'd feel refreshed having not used (wasted) my mental energy worrying, obsessing, etc. over things I needed a break from anyway. It also creates a great atmosphere of socialization - like in the time before technology. You walk to meet up with people around you, you eat meals with people, you talk in parks, etc. Without such socialization, shabbat would drag on. But the other people make it a positive, communal experience. There's also something special about artificially limiting groups. In the modern world, we often flock to those who have the same ideological bent, same hobbies, same professions, and same income levels. While sabbath-observant Jews hardly qualifies as a cross-section of society, there's something special that happens when you need to rely on people who have different politics, different hobbies, etc. for a decent amount of your social life and free time. When a group is small enough (and perceived by those in the group as necessary), one has to be kinder with one's words and a little more flexible to make the group dynamic work in a stable way. It's certainly no ideal society or anything like that, but while a lot of modern society promotes mobility (the ability to take "take my ball elsewhere" if one wants something different), that's less of the case here. At least where I live. If I were writing from New York, I'm sure there's plenty more ability to take one's ball elsewhere and fracture communities over comparatively small things due to the high proportion of sabbath-observant Jews within walking distance. It's also an interesting article to think about on the same day that the NYTimes has published its article on Amazon's working conditions. One of the ideas behind shabbat is that work is never done. You could work every hour of your life and never realize an end-goal because life has no end-goal. A few weeks back at work, the topic of Soylent came up. One coworker noted that many at their school saw it as important because they could save so much time that they could put to work. Another coworker critisized that notion arguing that life wasn't about work and that meals offer time to rest and socialize. The Amazon article had emphasized the drive to create which kept workers going through what could be daunting demands on themselves. I love creating. It's why I'm an engineer. But the creation is never done. I've never looked at something and concluded that it's just done. Is working such long hours merely chasing a "done" state that we won't ever catch? Maybe our schooling has programmed us with artificial "done" states with each semester and graduation just to set us up for a lack of them in the real world. Like the end of a semester or graduation, shabbat provides an artificial "done" state. Even if your paper or exam isn't what you want it to be, it's done when the course is over and there's nothing you can do about it. Even if your work isn't completed to the state you want by sundown friday evening, there's nothing you can do about it. It's done. In a world where we can plan so much and there are very few limitations on our use of labor, it's an interesting way to live. In antiquity, the lack of cheap, artificial light could limit work hours of the day; seasons would limit farming. The lack of easy vehicles to transmit and grow wealth into the future, the lack of easy mobility, the lack of distractions like television to avoid other people, etc. all make antiquity very different from modernity. In some ways, it makes shabbat feel alien to the modern world. You're not allowed to plan for anything after shabbat while it's shabbat. You live within the day. You live where you are and with those around you since you can't go far without a vehicle (which includes bicycles for most). You must find different ways of passing the time (reading, communal meals, outdoor activities). I'm not arguing that it's an ideal way to live, but it's certainly interesting. I'm not sure I have any sort of conclusion, but I keep thinking back to something that happened the summer after my senior year of college. I was wandering around campus because it was shabbat afternoon and a walk seemed like a good distraction. I ran into one of my professors who was more of a socialist/atheist Jew who asked if I would help him carry things. This was acceptable given that there was an eruv (you can watch Wyatt Cenac's piece from the Daily Show if you want more information on what an eruv is). He hadn't known that I was shomer shabbat and it came up in conversation while moving things. He apologised for asking me to move things on shabbat, but all I could think about was how this was what shabbat felt like to me. I hadn't planned on helping him move things. It just happened. If I hadn't happened to run into him, it wouldn't have happened. It was this little island of time where something happened by coincidence that had nothing to do with anything that came before it or anything that would come after it. It was whatever came my way during the day. And it was good and restful and meaningful.