Shabbat Eve to Remember 

If you’re Jewish, the Shabbat eve (the Sabbath) starts Friday, ending at night the next day. If you’re a bit OCD like me, it doesn’t take much to upset the routine of preparing for Shabbat. Here’s my Shabbat eve to remember.

Thursday

Panic started Thursday, around noon. When the Verizon telephone ID lady says, “wireless caller,” we immediately know it can’t be good. It’s usually one of our kids needing something. Yep. That’s what this call was about.

un “Uh, Hi, Mom. Can you do me a favor tomorrow? Can you pick up the kids from school at 3:30? I’ve got Weiner Tournament* stuff to take care of. And I forgot to tell you we’re sleeping over your house Friday night. Me and the kids will be at school all day on Shabbat so don’t worry about feeding us lunch.”

(*What’s a Weiner Tournament? It’s not a hot dog eating contest. It’s the school’s annual basketball tournament, with the varsity and junior varsity boys’ and girls’ teams playing four schools from across the country. It begins on a Wednesday. The championship games are played Saturday night, and the program wraps up on Sunday. Running the tournament is part of our son’s job.)

Getting ready for Shabbat in the winter, when it begins as early as 4:25 p.m., can be a challenge. The day goes by too quickly, especially if errands need to be run, the house has to be cleaned, and all the food has to be prepared before lighting the Shabbat candles at sunset. But what’s a mom to say to her son in distress? And it’s no big deal having four last-minute Friday night guests, especially if three of them are your grandchildren. Right? Not so much for this OCD grandma.

Only two pieces of chicken for my husband and me were defrosting in the fridge for Friday night dinner; the “soup of the day” was going to be split pea. The kids won’t eat that “yukky” green soup. I really did not want to make another trip to the store to buy more food. Luckily, I found four drumsticks in the freezer as well as a large container of chicken soup. I was too tired to make the kids their Friday night favorite – matza balls. Instead, they’d have to make do with noodles in their soup.

A Duncan Hines yellow cake was cooling in the dining room. At least dessert was made. Best of all, I found a package of Rosendorff challah rolls, the only ones the kids will eat. Often, the rolls are the only thing they eat!

Friday morning

I heard a “ding” early in the morning. It was my cellphone, gosh darn it! But the text was good news from our son. “I got the times wrong; I can pick up the kids.” Whew. I dodged a bullet by not having to do that. My “crunch time” to have the chicken in the oven, the soup simmering, salad made, table set, etc., is 3:30 p.m., the pickup time.

Friday afternoon, 3:25 p.m.

My stomach dropped when the phone rang, and the Verizon lady declared, “Wireless caller. Wireless caller.” Guess who? Now what?

“Hi. I was going to pick up the kids from school, but I’m stuck at the apartment. The car won’t start. I think I’m out of gas.”

“What??!! Pick up the kids now?”

“I’ll call the school and tell them someone is on their way to get them. But please go now as the staff doesn’t want to stay late.”

“Ken,” I yelled. “I’m going to pick up the kids!”

“What??!!, he answered.

I tried to explain the situation, but he kept asking questions for which I had no answers. And time was ticking.

Before I left the house, we called our son back.

“Devorah is bringing me gas,” he said. Devorah is his assistant. She, too, keeps Shabbat and has a family. Candle lighting was at 4:25 p.m. How was this all going to go down?

Ken was still sputtering while I put on my shoes, grabbed my driver’s license and car keys and ran out the door. The school is about five to six minutes away, and it was hard not to rush. As the saying goes, “time was of the essence.” The soup was on the burner, and the chicken was baking in the oven, needing another 35 minutes or so. My personal reminder, the oven timer, would go off in 10 minutes, letting me know the chicken needed that other 35 minutes. As I drove away, I asked myself, “Does Ken know how to turn off the timer?”

3:35 p.m.

Our three grandchildren attend the school’s aftercare, BT Plus. Monday through Thursday they are picked up at 5 p.m. Getting three kids into the car with all their stuff is a balagon (chaos). Fortunately, not as many kids attend BT Plus on Fridays, so getting them into the car this time wasn’t too difficult. Of course, they expected their dad to pick them up and were confused.

As usual, the second my car pulled up to the house, the kids quickly unbuckled themselves and ran inside. I had the task of schlepping in their heavy backpacks, bulky coats and other miscellaneous stuff.

They ran downstairs and began playing with Legos. Luckily, there were no requests for snacks or drinks, nor were there any fights. Ken was with them, keeping an eye on things.

I called our son to tell him the kids were home. He sounded even more upset, as Devorah had brought some gas, but the car still didn’t start. Either she hadn’t brought enough or he had a leak in the gas tank. While he was waiting in the car in the apartment parking lot, she went back to the gas station for more fuel.

4:15 p.m.

It was time to take the chicken out and put all the food on the hot plate to keep warm until dinner. However, according to the digital oven thermometer the temperature in the oven was 175°. What? It should have read 350°. Oh no. Oy. Evidently, when the timer went off, Ken also turned off the oven. With 10 minutes to candle lighting, was the chicken still raw? I stuck a fork in it, and it appeared to be cooked through. Lucky for me the pieces were small.

However, just to make sure the chicken was thoroughly cooked, I began to preheat the oven to 350°. Maybe the chicken could have a few more minutes in the oven before Shabbat. I was freaking out at this point.

4:25 p.m.

I see our son standing on the porch. He usually lets himself in without knocking. Why was he just standing there? I opened the door. He had his suit in one hand and grocery bags in the other. The look on his face was one of resignation. My first thought was, “Where were the kids’ clothes?”

Well…Devorah brought him more gas, and his car started. He was able to drive to school without a problem. Since he had to leave his car in the school parking lot over Shabbat, she followed him, dropping him off at our house. However, in the haste to get to us, he left the kids’ clothes in his car, which was now parked at school.

At first I didn’t say anything. Then, I handed him my car keys and said, “Go!”

Needless to say, by this time, I needed a drink. Welcome, Shabbat wine! This was going to be a Shabbat eve to remember.

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Read more by Eileen Creeger.