The six men stood facing each other, forming a circle just inside the entrance to the hotel conference room.
Five of the men had met in previous years, though never as part of a religious circumstance. They exchanged pleasantries and introduced themselves to the newcomer. The sixth man was not Jewish – “Nobody’s perfect,” someone joked – but he fit in easily with the rest of the group.
They waited a few minutes, making small talk about the speakers they had heard earlier in the day and comparing notes about family situations. They discussed how many years each had been writing and when they first began coming to the conference. When it became apparent that no one else would be joining them, one of the men lifted the glass of wine from the nearby table and the men fell silent.
“Shabbat shalom,”1 he said with a smile.
“Shabbat shalom,” the men replied.
The man with the glass cleared his throat and began the blessing over the wine.
His voice had a deep, almost operatic quality that carried the Hebrew words throughout the large room. The space was much larger than necessary for such a small gathering but the singer’s tones struck the perfect balance of strength and intimacy. One of the other men blinked in surprise at the quality of the leader’s voice and smiled. He waited with the others as the leader chanted the first paragraph of the blessing.
“Baruch atah Adonai,” he sang, raising the glass slightly higher as he reached the blessing, “eloheinu melech ha’olam, boreh p’ri hagafen.”
“Amen,” the others answered.
The leader continued chanting the next section of the blessing, gazing at his companions as the words floated toward the ceiling.
“…zikaron l’ma’aseh v’reishit,” he sang, finishing a line.
Without missing a beat, the other men joined in the blessing.
“Ki hu yom t’chila l’mikra’ei kodesh,” they sang, their voices blending together seamlessly. It didn’t matter that they had never shared a Sabbath meal together or attended the same synagogue; the men knew each other’s stories. They knew each other’s struggles and they shared the common bonds of fatherhood and Judaism. They knew the words and the tune for the blessing, but they also shared the feelings of mutual appreciation and and respect that connected them.
Three other conference attendees wandered past the open door and paused at the sight of the men standing and singing together. One of the men waved them in, welcoming them to join the group. The passersby accepted the invitation and entered. The circle expanded to accommodate its new members, who stood respectfully as the others completed the blessing.
“Baruch atah Adonai,” the leader sang, raising the glass again for the concluding blessing, “m’kadesh hashabbat.”
“Amen,” the others answered again.
The glass was passed around and the men each took a sip of the Sabbath wine.
The leader gave a brief explanation of the blessings for the wine and the Sabbath and introduced the blessing over the bread. Each person touched the bread and they recited the blessing as one.
“Welcome, everyone, and Shabbat shalom again,” the leader said as he passed out pieces of bread for the group. “We’re here together tonight, not just as part of the Dad 2.0 Summit, but also to remember Oren Miller.”
The men nodded accordingly.
“Oren was the founder of the Dad Bloggers Facebook group and is arguably the reason why we know each other today. He set the standard for our online community and encouraged us to support each other as fathers and writers. He was diagnosed with cancer five years ago and today is the anniversary of the day he lost that battle.”
The leader paused for a moment to compose himself.
“Oren was quite open about having a complicated relationship with God,” he continued, “which was yet another thing he had in common with many of us. But, religious observance aside, I’m looking around at our group here and I know that he would be so happy that we are continuing to live out his vision of community, respect and brotherhood.”
“Usually we wouldn’t recite the kaddish with only nine people here,” he explained, “because you need ten to be considered a formal prayer group. But I think God will forgive us for being one short.”
The others nodded in agreement and recited the Mourner’s Kaddish together. They added a few more comments to Oren’s memory and hugged each other to mark the conclusion of the service.
“You know, I think you counted wrong,” one of the men said before the group broke ranks for the evening. “We had nine here in person but there’s no doubt that Oren was here with us tonight. I say that counts.”
“Agreed,” the leader said with a smile. “Oren gave us the group years ago and tonight he gave us a minyan.”
They hugged again and the men all left the room together.
Shabbat shalom, indeed.
1. Literally, “Sabbath peace.” More practically, “Have a peaceful Sabbath.”↩
Photo credit: John Willey
This is beautiful.