How to Survive the Effects of Daylight Savings on Shabbat

There are three times of the year that I dread like an imminent root canal: first, the weeks of incessant cleaning and shopping leading up to Passover (imagine bumping elbows with hundreds of frantic shoppers as you search for a $9 bottle of Kosher for Passover ketchup); second, the arrival of summer break (I have small children who, for some reason, aren’t content with boredom for three months); and finally, the approach of Daylight Savings each fall. 

I have only one reason to associate Daylight Savings with stress and depletion: It’s not due to the fact that my kids currently wake up at 5:30 a.m. as a result of turning the clocks back one hour. It’s not even due to the fact that it’s dark when I wake up and dark when I arrive home. I am anxious in the days leading up to Daylight Savings because Shabbat will begin impossibly early at roughly 4:30 on Friday afternoons. And given that this reality affects each and every observant Jew, particularly women, in the country (except for Arizona and Hawaii, where Daylight Savings doesn’t exist), let’s really break down its ramifications. 

Here are what the demands of preparing for Shabbat meals in general, and in the weeks after Daylight Savings in particular, would entail for the average married man: Still depleted from never-ending work obligations and from preparing everything for the previous Shabbat, he would text invitations for the upcoming Shabbat meal on a Wednesday morning; frantically jot down a grocery list on a Wednesday evening; leave work early to shop at a kosher market Thursday afternoon; visit yet another market two hours later (because he had forgotten to buy two additional ingredients); prepare the ingredients and cook an entire meal Thursday night (when all he really wanted to do was to watch Netflix and take a shower); and on Friday morning, he would realize that had cooked a delicious meal for guests he’d invited to Shabbat lunch, but his wife and kids would still need something to consume for Shabbat dinner. 

Now replace the married man with a married woman, but throw caring for several children into the mix, and then turn the clocks back an hour so that Shabbat begins at 4:30 p.m. Even someone who observes Shabbat, but doesn’t have children, would be flustered by having to prepare everything by 4:30 p.m. 

Here’s the hardest part: When you observe the laws of Shabbat, your computer must be closed shut; that meal must be completely cooked; those floors vacuumed; the kids bathed; and your hair relatively presentable (or at least, partially combed) by 4:20 p.m., leaving you with ten minutes to clear the kitchen counters and quickly plug in a Shabbat hot plate. Did I mention that you still worked that day and had to log off your computer at 3 p.m., leaving you with a whopping hour-and-half to ensure that everything was prepared? 

By 4:29 p.m., you realize that you probably didn’t prepare enough Shabbat dinner for your own family and, horror of horrors,you can’t identify the location of the bottle opener so that you can sneak in a few extra belts of wine during kiddush (I realize there’s an extra eighteen-minute window of cushioning before lighting Shabbat candles, but let’s not kid ourselves. The only food that can be prepared in that amount of time is a bag of Orville Redenbacher popcorn. And even Mr. Redenbacher forgot where he put the wine opener every now and then).

I’m also aware that many people don’t even enter supermarkets anymore, thanks to shopping apps. But try visiting Los Angeles’s kosher stores on a Thursday afternoon or Friday morning and you’ll surmise that the majority of us still need to shop-in-person for Shabbat.

We can’t control what time Shabbat begins, but we can make a few small changes that will have an enormous impact in our home by offering more support to those who shoulder the biggest burden when it comes to Shabbat preparation. 

We often imagine that serving an elaborate Shabbat meal takes much time to cook. That’s partially true. What we seem to forget is the laborious amount of time it takes to shop for groceries for Shabbat meals and the food preparation that’s involved long before the oven is even turned on. This is why I now boycott buying fresh herbs for Persian stews. Between working and constantly responding to my kids’ demands for food, attention or conflict intervention, I don’t have time to wash half a dozen bunches of various greens, check them for bugs and finely chop them. Do you know how long it takes to finely chop six to eight giant bunches of fresh leeks, cilantro and parsley? I’d rather spend that hour trying to decide what to watch on Netflix.

If you currently live with a partner who is responsible for most (or all) of the grocery shopping and the cooking in your home, I implore you to commit to the following: Ask your partner for a detailed grocery list and visit at least one supermarket a week yourself. If supermarkets feel like foreign territory to you, you’ll truly begin to appreciate what it takes to maneuver one, two, three or four of them a week. You’ll probably buy the wrong type of marinade; you may bring home turkey when the shopping list clearly stated “chicken,” but at least you saved your partner a trip to the store and landed within a general category of poultry. 

If you don’t know how to cook, help with food preparation. Chopping herbs, cucumbers or potatoes doesn’t require a master’s degree (I prefer to use my master’s toward pulling tiny bits of shells out of raw, cracked eggs). If you don’t know how to chop a cucumber, wash the dishes. If you can’t wash dishes, clean the countertops. If you don’t know how to do any of these tasks, walk straight out of your home and buy your partner a bottle of wine, a great dessert or simply an expensive pair of dish gloves, because your partner will most likely have to wash dishes for the rest of her life. Yes, I’m aware that I used the feminine pronoun. 

I’ve heard from many male friends that early Shabbats are incredibly difficult for men as well, because they work a half-day on Fridays (as do many observant women). But I also know men in traditional marriages who offer tremendous support to their partners, men who, before attending Shabbat morning services, sweep the kitchen floor, put toys away, set a nice tablecloth on the dining room table and help in other ways that relieve some of the burden of a completely messy and chaotic home. I’m deeply thankful to my own husband for his embrace of responsibility.

Shabbat is not only beautiful; it’s a lifeline for the Jewish people. I know I’ve painted a picture of inconvenience and even depletion in my descriptions above, but neither I nor anyone else is a victim of the demands of Shabbat (even a Shabbat that begins early). Still, it’s important to speak openly of the challenges that modern Jews now face in embracing this wonderful, ancient ritual.

I’ve realized that there’s a big silver lining to those early Shabbats: They’re more kid-friendly, they offer a chance for more connection and sleep, and when they’re over, we’re left with a small sense of longing, almost as if this beautiful day did not last long enough. 

And in the years since I first began to observe the laws of Shabbat, I’ve realized that there’s a big silver lining to those early Shabbats: They’re more kid-friendly, they offer a chance for more connection and sleep, and when they’re over, we’re left with a small sense of longing, almost as if this beautiful day did not last quite long enough.

Tabby Refael is an award-winning LA-based writer, speaker and civic action activist. Follow her on Twitter @TabbyRefael.