Rabbi Oberstein leading a study of The Sabbath, by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, 9/12/25
Rabbi Andrew Oberstein
Qabbalat Shabbat, September 12, 2025
Temple Israel of Boston
Parashat Ki Tavo 5785: It’s a Love Story, Baby Just Say Yes
Back in 2018,
I was working at Columbia/Barnard Hillel,
where I was the only Reform rabbinic presence on either campus.
Our Reform community,
called Kesher,
was small but mighty,
and I loved helping to facilitate a religious space that was welcoming,
inclusive,
and accessible to all.
I only led services a few times a year—
otherwise,
Shabbat was a student-led,
community-driven experience.
My main role was relationship building and mentorship,
most often taking place over a cup of coffee.
One afternoon,
I sat down at the Hungarian Pastry Shop on 111th and Amsterdam with one of my favorite students.
She was a poet,
an emerging leader in Kesher,
and most importantly,
a proud and passionate Reform Jew.
As we sat together,
she looked at me with a deep sadness in her eyes.
“I love Kesher so much,”
she said.
“I love the community I’ve built there and I love the way we pray.
But I’m sorry to say I think I need to leave the Reform community and join a different denomination.”
Confused,
and a little apprehensive about what was going to follow,
I asked her why.
She answered:
“Well,
I’ve been thinking about turning my phone off for Shabbat and making Shabbat a more central part of my life.”
And my heart broke just a little bit.
She had internalized the message—
sadly common—
that because Reform Jews don’t always observe Jewish law in a strict,
traditional way,
there was no place for her if she wanted to take on more.
She believed,
as so many do,
that Reform Judaism is defined by what we don’t do,
rather than by what we choose to do.
But that’s not what Reform Judaism is about.
Our guiding principle is “informed choice” or “choice through knowledge.”
We study tradition,
learn about the wide array of Jewish observances,
and then make our own meaningful decisions.
Thankfully,
after many long conversations,
this student not only stayed,
but deepened her involvement in Reform leadership on campus,
all while observing Shabbat in a way that nourished her soul—
regardless of what others in the room did or didn’t do.
And yet,
that conversation has never left me.
I’m still disturbed by the notion that a deep and abiding relationship with Shabbat could preclude someone from being a Reform Jew.
Which is why I am so proud that here at Temple Israel,
we have chosen Abraham Joshua Heschel’s classic,
The Sabbath,
as our annual congregational read.
For context,
each year,
your clergy select one book to enrich our spiritual and intellectual preparation for the High Holy Days.
Then,
throughout the month of Elul,
each Shabbat sermon is devoted to exploring its wisdom.
Some of you,
(connected to the wider Temple Israel community,)
may be hearing about this for the third week in a row.
Others may be encountering it for the first time tonight.
Either way—
with this book,
you’re in for a treat.
And if you haven’t started reading yet,
it’s not too late.
Heschel’s The Sabbath is a true masterpiece—
and I don’t use that word lightly.
The book is rooted in the belief that Judaism is not defined by sacred space,
but by sacred time,
with Shabbat as its absolute pinnacle.
Heschel contrasts humanity’s drive to conquer space and accumulate things with God’s invitation to sanctify time.
Shabbat becomes,
in his words,
a “palace in time,”
an expression of eternity itself.
No matter who you are,
and no matter what your Shabbat practice does or doesn’t entail,
there is spiritual gold to be mined in these pages.
In Chapter 5,
Heschel recounts a famous Talmudic story:
“At the beginning time was one,
eternal.
But time undivided,
time eternal,
would be unrelated to the world of space.
So time was divided into seven days and entered into an intimate relationship with the world of space.
With every single day,
another realm of things came into being,
except on the seventh day.
The Sabbath was a lonely day.”
He continues:
“After the work of creation was completed,
the Seventh Day pleaded:
Master of the universe,
all that Thou hast created is in couples;
to every day of the week Thou gavest a mate;
only I was left alone.
And God answered,
The Community of Israel will be your mate.”
Here Heschel gives us a breathtaking vision:
Shabbat is not simply something we need;
it is a relationship.
It is mutual.
It is covenantal.
And this week’s Torah portion,
Ki Tavo,
offers a striking parallel.
The parasha opens with the mitzvah of bringing the first fruits,
the bikkurim.
An Israelite farmer does not just drop produce at the Temple and move on.
Instead,
they stand before God and the priest and declare their story:
“My father was a wandering Aramean,
and he went down to Egypt and sojourned there…
The Egyptians dealt harshly with us…
We cried to the Eternal,
the God of our ancestors…
and the Eternal freed us from Egypt…
and God brought us to this place and gave us this land,
a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Deut. 26:5–9)
Then,
the farmer rejoices:
“And now I bring the first fruits of the soil that You,
The Eternal One,
have given me.” (26:10)
In Ki Tavo,
the ritual is not just transactional—
it is relational.
It binds the farmer,
the land,
the people,
and God together in a covenant of gratitude and love.
Both Shabbat and this ritual are,
at their core,
about relationship:
about gratitude,
about memory,
about joy.
Heschel writes:
“With all its grandeur,
the Sabbath is not sufficient unto itself.
Its spiritual reality calls for companionship of man.
There is a great longing in the world.
The six days stand in need of space;
the seventh day stands in need of man.”
In other words:
Shabbat is a love story.
A passionate,
emotional,
sacred relationship between the Jewish people and our palace in time.
And most importantly—it’s ours.
Some of us will observe it in traditionally halachic ways.
Some of us will not.
But it feels incredibly reductive to distill the intimacy between the Jewish people and Shabbat to a checklist of do’s and don’ts.
Heschel understood this,
writing:
“This,
then,
is the answer to the problem of civilization:
not to flee from the realm of space;
to work with things of space but to be in love with eternity.
Things are our tools;
eternity,
the Sabbath,
is our mate.
Israel is engaged to eternity.
Even if they dedicate six days of the week to worldly pursuits,
their soul is claimed by the seventh day.”
Ki Tavo reminds us that relationship with God and Torah is enacted not only in words or laws but in joy:
“You shall enjoy,
together with the Levite and the stranger in your midst,
all the bounty that the Eternal your God has bestowed upon you” (26:11).
To rejoice,
to remember,
to offer gratitude—
this is covenantal life.
So here is my question for us tonight:
whether “traditional or not,”
what actions could we take around Shabbat in the new year to show that we,
too,
are “in love with eternity”?
Maybe it’s something big,
like turning off your phone.
Maybe it’s something small,
like changing your sheets on Friday morning so that your bed feels fresh when Shabbat arrives.
Maybe it’s wearing a signature scent so that Shabbat smells distinct from the rest of the week.
Maybe it’s a prayer of gratitude,
naming aloud the blessings already present in your life,
like the Israelites reciting their history over baskets of fruit.
Let’s actually take a moment and turn to our neighbor and brainstorm a little bit together. (And if you’re with us online, feel free to jot down some ideas for yourself).
(PAUSE for answers from the community. Take a few answers and come back together).
At the end of the day,
in this Reform community,
when it comes to Shabbat,
what matters is not that we do it the same way.
What matters is that we do it with intention—
that our practice,
however it looks,
demonstrates that we are engaged in covenant.
Because Shabbat is our mate.
It’s our love story.
So as Elul carries us toward the Days of Awe,
I ask you:
How will you choose to show that love this year?
Shabbat Shalom.