by Reisha Golden

Ahad Ha’am said, “More than Jews have kept the Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.”

G-d plagued the Egyptians and set us free. With this freedom came the ability for us to live an ordinary life in an extraordinary way. According to Abraham Heschel, this is the meaning of Shabbat, a day in which we sanctify space and time. And when we sanctify space and time on Shabbat, we, in essence, are bringing together the divine masculine and divine feminine within each of us, space being an inherent masculine quality, time being an inherent feminine quality.

Space is the aspect in which men have predominated in our culture, such as, in the creation and use of tools with which to achieve mastery over their surroundings, such as for hunting or for protecting or conquering territory or space or in the creation and use of tools with which to build space or dwellings for their loved ones or to commune with god, such as the Temple.

Women inherently have always been at one with time. Women have inherent physiological cycles, for example, menses, pregnancy, and birthing, which can all be symbolized by the womb, a symbol of receptivity. In the agrarian culture, the women often were the ones who tended to the life cycle of plants, the harvest, the young.

Let us examine the various rituals and symbols of Shabbat, and how they are inherently masculine and feminine, how they inherently sanctify space and time. Then we will see how they, in turn, bring about a yichud, a bringing together of the divine feminine and the divine masculine within each of us.

We begin every Shabbat, or make it kadosh, or set it apart from the rest of the week, by lighting two candles. Kabbalists (mystics of the Jewish tradition) suggest that the two candle lights represent the light of the sun and the light of the moon. The sun representing the masculine divine — achievement, conquering, penetration and the moon representing the feminine divine — receptivity, intuition, flow.

The early rabbis imagined our foremother Sarah lit candles long before the Torah was given. In the temple, we had a Ner Tamid, an eternal light.

Light, in essence, links us eternally to the beginning of creation, when light was the first element god created, which in turn links us to what G-d did on the sixth day, when mankind was created in G-d’s image, feminine and masculine.

On the seventh day, on Shabbat, we stop working, we stop creating, or as Aryeh Kaplan explains, we stop, as God stopped, interfering with god’s world, we emulate God and we give up our Mastery over the world. To experience this, many homes turn off their televisions, computers, and telephones and put away their pens and pencils.

Then we bring in the Shabbat. We sing songs, we pray, we recite the kiddush, we wash hands, cut, salt and eat from two challot, sit at a table dressed in white and enjoy a festive meal.

Each of these rituals are symbolic of the feminine and masculine.

The songs, the act of praying, where and when did that begin? The act of praying comes from our foremother Hannah, who instead of sacrificing an animal in the holy Temple to ask g-d for a child, she prayed deeply from her heart to have a child. Her wish was granted. It was through prayer she communed with god.

We recite the Kiddush. We fill our kos or kiddish cup to the brim. This symbolizes how grateful we are for our overflowing plentitude, with wine representing our wealth. Traditionally, the man of the house holds the Kiddush cup in his right hand with his palm face up, supported with upturned fingers. According to Adin Steinsaltz, a contemporary writer on Jewish mysticism, this resembles a rose of five petals, as well as the womb, symbolic of the feminine divine.

The wine also reminds us of the Sabbath wine sacrifices our priests performed in the space of the Temple, a masculine symbol.

Then we wash our hands. The washing of the hands is similar to what our priests did in Temple times before they entered a sacred space to commune with god.

Then we cut and salt the 2 Challot.

We have two braided breads or challot? In the Temple, there were 12. Some Chassidic homes have 12 challot every Shabbat. Most of us have two. This represents the extra portion of manna G-d gave us on Fridays while we wandered in the desert. God apportioned manna for each day but on Fridays the portion doubled so we wouldn’t have to collect manna or do work on Shabbat.

But why do we braid the bread? According to Tamar Frankiel in her book “The Voice of Sarah” braids are an archetypal feminine image, related to weaving, to the web, or net, as we may “do up” our hair into braids or circles, symbolic of our understanding of time or the the natural cycles within us and in nature.

We salt and cut the bread with a knife. This represents the sacrifices performed by the priests in Temple times, again a masculine symbol.

Then we sit down at our table, representing the Temple alter. The meal representing the Sabbath sacrifice. Our table is dressed in white, as we would a bride, in our sacred space, our home, then the Temple, and we eat our Sabbath meal.
As you see many Shabbat symbols are both feminine and masculine. The feminine symbols being prayer, the kiddish cup, the braided bread, and the white tablecloth. The masculine symbols being space-related symbols, such as the Temple, our home, the wine as a Sabbath sacrifice, the cutting and salting of the 2 challot as we would a sacrifice, and the table representing the Temple alter.

It was in the giving of the Torah that it was realized that space, an inherent masculine quality, and that time, an inherent feminine quality, both needed to be sanctified.

When Moses was up on the mountain, and the people waited impatiently below, Midrash says that it was men who contributed their gold jewelry to the Golden Calf. The men needed what the Golden Calf represented: a means in space to commune with the divine. Men in turn were given the Tabernacle, and to sanctify that space, they had male representatives, Priests, who sacrificed on alters the various elements in nature: animals, grain, wine. This was done in order to come closer to G-d. A sacrifice or, in Hebrew, korban, comes from the root, karov, which means to approach or come near.

Women, on the other hand did not contribute jewelry, they had faith, that, in time, Moses would bring what he had promised.

For this faith in time at Mt. Sinai, women were given the celebration of the New Moon, a marking of time in a cycle.

Perhaps this is one reason, but not the only one, why Shabbat, as a marking of time, represents, in our kabbalistic or Jewish mystical tradition, the feminine divine or the Shechina. The song L’chah dodi that we sing every Friday night, a song composed by the sixteenth century kabbalist Rabbi Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz , is about welcoming the Sabbath bride, the shechina.

But also, for the mystic, the feminine is represented by the womb, or the receiver of the divine masculine, where the masculine is represented by the qualities of god that penetrate from above. In other words, the masculine signifies g-d’s transcendent qualities, or those qualities that exist beyond the material universe, or the manifestation of god outside time, space and finite beings, whereas the feminine aspect of god signifies god’s immanent qualities, or god’s presence throughout the universe, or the manifestation of God within time, space and finite beings. For the kabbalist, this is the experience of Shabbat, a Yichud, the bringing together, or the penetration of the transcendent, the masculine aspect of god into the feminine, the womb, the receiver, or the immanent aspect of God.

So what do we do every Shabbat?

With the lighting of the candles, singing, praying, reciting the kiddush, washing our hands, cutting and salting two challot, dressing the table in white, we, in essence, are creating an atmosphere in which to sanctify time and space. And when we sanctify time and space, we are in essence sanctifying the feminine and masculine qualities within each of us.

This process, in turn, brings that which is transcendent, that which dwells beyond time and space, such as our souls, into the immanent, that which dwells within time and space, such as our bodies. We remember on Shabbat who we are both in body and soul; we link ourselves back to our essences, to our deeper self, and in turn, with the divine.

It is as though on Shabbat, there is an exchange of you with your deeper self, you and a lover, you and God, of giver, receiver, receiver, giver.

We find that it is a day we can experience heaven on Earth, a day we experience ordinary life in an extraordinary way.

So that the rest of the week, when we, as Jews, are involved with Earthly matters, such as providing or caring for our loved ones, such as listening and watching the news and seeing devastation at home or around the world, such as in Asia, where people now can no longer experience a sense of freedom or rest, we give of our feminine and masculine qualities, our time and our resources to help them out of their environmental enslavement, and bring again to them the experience of heaven on Earth, what we experience as Shabbat. Or equally important, we continue to take the time and resources to keep our planet clean, and realize perhaps that our creative use of nature may at times pollute, more than preserve, this G-d given space called Earth, in which we are just transient beings.

“Ahhh Savasana…” Those longed for words at the end of an intense class. Even the newest yogi knows the pleasure, relief, and release that comes with Savasana. It is the time to bliss out, recover, and be at peace.

Countless Jewish Yoga articles have mentioned the relationship between Shabbat, the day of rest, which comes at the end of a long work week, and Savasana. Rest is important for healing, creativity, and a justly deserved reward for hard work. However, the hard work in this pose, and what it is really is about, is often left aside. In fact, there are elements – solemn, perhaps even grave, sobering concepts – that are not discussed, misunderstood, and forgotten. Forgetting Corpse Pose is about death, one risks losing the pose’s effects entirely.

Ecclesiastes 7:2 states, “It is better to visit a house of mourning, than to attend a party, for this (death) is the end of all men, and the living should take this to heart.”

Ok so, Savasana is Corpse Pose. It’s about experiencing death – and to forget this removes an integral element of the pose and it’s desired effect. What desired effect though? Why is it important to feel death, if just for five minutes a day? What are we missing in our Savasana that Ecclesiastes wants us to internalize?

This week, I attended my grandmother’s funeral. I looked down in the ground and saw her simple wooden casket. I shoveled earth onto her grave and shivered with the sound of the dirt hitting the wood, speaking with a distinct finality. The night before, mom and I sat and discussed what dying is all about. I told her that in Hebrew, we describe a dead person as “niftar.” The shoresh or root of the word “niftar” is “PTR”, and has a number of different meanings: deceased, exempt, redeemed. The question was though, how were each of these words related, and what did it teach us about death and dying in Judaism?

I found an answer in an introduction by Gregory Hillis, to a version of the Tibetan Book of the Dead by W.Y. Evan-Wentz. To paraphrase, Hillis makes a sharp distinction between the Western and Eastern approach to death. In the Western approach, fear of death comes about from fear that there is nothing after this world. This world is our one chance to live – and then it is all over. In the Eastern approach to karma and samsara, the fear of death comes from the exact opposite: the fear of returning to this world, with unfinished business. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan writes in Jewish Meditation on the very first page that, “Judaism is an eastern religion.” Could this approach to death be a Jewish perspective as well?

The Hebrew definitely supports that this could be so. Why do we call someone who died “niftar?” It’s because we’re being respectful. We assume that this person fulfilled his or her life’s mission, the soul’s mission, and has no need to return to this world. This is why the person is now “exempt” or patur from mitzvot – because the soul has been “redeemed” or niftar by his or her actions.

Savasana is there to make us realize how blessed we are to have completed our practice. It exists to inspire us to move and be active, to breathe deeper. The fear of death should be part of our Savasana practice. It should instill within us the motivation to do every other pose actively and meaningfully and to live a meaningful life. Instead of seeking the relieving Savasana in every pose, perhaps try to find an inspirational Savasana in every pose, in every moment, and in every experience life offers.

Shalom and Namaste

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SHALOM ISAACSON is a RYT 200 yoga instructor. He teaches at the Jewish Community Center in Houston, both mixed and men’s only classes, as well as at other studios and health clubs around the city. He also teaches chair yoga to the elderly at different Jewish synagogues/temples. “My Judaism and Yoga definitely impact one another. Whether it be teaching yoga in shul on Yom Kippur, using Jewish music in class, or adding a Jewish theme to teaching…you could easily call it ‘Jewish Yoga.’ Additionally, lessons from the mat can be applied to prayer, be it through internal focus, or deep breathing.” In addition to yoga, Shalom teaches spinning and enjoys dance cardio.

Email: Shalom Isaacson
Mobile: 810-373-2231.

By Dr Zvi Bellin

I recently co-lead a Contemplative Shabbat retreat at Pearlstone Conference Center near Baltimore, MD. I leave the weekend feeling that I am doing the work that I am supposed to be doing. The group consisted of 22 people from New York, DC, Philadelphia, Virginia, Boston, and Baltimore. My co-director was Rabbi Jacob Staub of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. Rabbi Jacob is a mentor and friend of mine through the Nehirim community. I feel that our personalities blended well and we created a beautiful container for the group to engage in contemplative practice.

Silent retreats at Pearlstone have a unique challenge that I have not encountered in other settings. We share space with other groups that are talking. At first, I was concerned about this fact. Last retreat, I managed this by reserving a completely separate space of the facility. This year, that space was not available. Also, I wanted our practice space to be held in one of the newer and nicer rooms of the main building. My concern increased when I learned that one of the groups would be a middle school group from a local Yeshivah. When the students checked-in for their retreat, I noted that their rambunctiousness exceeded my imagination. I seriously wondered if this would work out. Our group ended up in a separate wing of the main building. We had our own meeting room (with several huge windows looking out on the beautiful grounds of Kayam Farm), took our meals in a smaller private dining room, and had access to a connected private lounge area. I protected our sacred space by posting signs on all the entrances – “Entering SILENT SPACE. Please enter and exit QUIETLY.” To my delight, our space was seldom “invaded,” and only by the kitchen staff when they were dropping off food.

Our group also shared the intention that we would be impacting the groups around us by our contemplative practice. The other groups were told that they were sharing space with silent Jewish meditators and they can expect to see people walking slowly and not answering their greetings of “Good Shabbas.” (Though we were holding a gentle silence, so it was still in practice to regard others in a way that seemed the least disturbing to one’s inner peace.) It was fun for me, almost a game, to demonstrate to other Jewish people that we were dedicating a Shabbat to slow down and see what was going on inside. I hope that some of those guests will find themselves at a silent retreat one day.

During the retreat, I wanted to give an example of how a desirous thought can occupy the mind. I used an example of sitting and thinking about kissing a man. This felt risky for two reasons: 1. Talking about sexual intimacy in general, and 2. Coming out in such a causal way in a public space where I was holding a professional role. I considered that thoughts about sex come to everyone’s mind during meditation at some point and if I was going to talk about sex, I might as well be honest and not waist energy hiding. I knew I was sitting with progressive-minded people, though there was still that moment’s hesitance – “Is this okay?” I feel good about my decision to open the space up for sex to emerge with less shame, in general and for same-sex intimacy. Similarly, Rabbi Jacob talked specifically about painful memories that can arise during meditation practice. Through our teachings, we created an environment where any piece of anyone’s story was safe to notice, acknowledge and to gently send off. We bring our whole selves to the cushion, might as well be whole with that!

During individual sessions I listened carefully to what participants were reporting. I waited for a thought to come through intuitively and then, if there was space, I shared it. I learned that my initial response should be acknowledgment and an honoring. What thoughts, judgments, and feelings arise for a person is real and true for the person. Before I attempt to loosen a judgment, or create perspective in a thought by guiding an individual back to the practice, I first need to let the person know that they have been received and heard. A key word that resonates for this Shabbat is honoring. Empathy first.

Perhaps the most intense experience I offer on retreat is what I call, “Dynamic Breath Practice.” In this past retreat, I guided the group through two 10-minute sessions of Rebirthing breath work (continuous deep full inhales, completely relaxed exhales). After each session I posed the question for contemplation, “Who am I?” I think it is the most intense because it can be physically demanding to sustain this kind of breath, and there is a quick integration of body-heart-mind that leads to rapid energy release. I know that there is more for me to learn in guiding such breathing sessions, especially with the mix of group dynamics. I would like to commit to learning more.

Finally, I want to share about one assumption that was put in check for me. After retreats that I have attended, I generally have felt a sense of love and connection for the people that I have sat with. My experience is that there is something in the silence that bonds people together, perhaps more solidly than regular social bonding activities. I have received similar feedback from my friends who have attended meditation retreats. What I think I should notdo (which I did this weekend) is say that people can expect to feel bonded when we end the retreat. I feel it created a general expectation about the quality of group cohesion for the individuals sitting. Also, perhaps people were waiting to feel a strong sense of connectivity develop as the weekend progressed. It is probably the case that not everyone at the end of our retreat felt completely integrated into the group. There were also probably those that did not care about feeling close to others in group.

All in all, I am looking forward to growing in this work, leading Contemplative retreats. I feel very nurtured when I get to hold this kind of space for other people. I hope to integrate more of my meaning work into retreat leadership – having personal meaning emerge as a theme that is touched upon and explored through my talks and contemplative exercises.

December 2010
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Dr. Zvi Bellin holds a Ph.D. in Pastoral Counseling and is a licensed therapist in Maryland and DC. Zvi directs intimate retreats for the Jewish community that are both spiritually uplifting and intellectually stimulating. Practicing Vinyasa-style Yoga for over ten years, he completed a Yoga Alliance approved Registered Yoga Teacher training at Flow Yoga in D.C. in 2008. His teaching style follows the tradition of blending Torah study with contemplative Jewish practice. Zvi has studied extensively with teachers spanning various Jewish denominations, including, Rabbi David Zeller, Miriam Ribner, Rabbi Zvi Miller, and Rabbi Jeff Roth.

“I personally do not think that Yoga can co-exist with Judaism, because, Yoga is for Satanists, while Judaism is not, unless if I am misinformed.” You are, but even non-lunatics agree this is an issue!
For those of us too lazy, poor or contrary to jump on the yoga bandwagon, there are many ways to justify our indolence. But rarely do we invoke higher powers. Not surprisingly, yoga’s getting big in Israel. But for the country’s sizable Orthodox population, it’s the subject of hot debate. The issue? Many yoga practitioners involve Hindu chants dedicated to multiple deities in their practices, which flies in the face of the Jewish injunction to worship only one God. Cranks like the poster quoted above are obviously not going to whip out a mat any time soon. But for those craving the physical and mental benefits of yoga, the question’s trickier. Some authorities, after studying the matter, have granted a qualified OK. As Israelity puts it,

theologians have posited that since they all essentially represent manifestations of the one primary godhead, Brahman, the additional Hindu gods can be seen as analogous to Jewish mysticism’s concept of the sephirot, the kabalistic manifestations of the Jewish God’s various components of holiness.
​Even so, American-born Aviva Schmidt, whose “Power Flow” is known as “Israel’s first kosher power yoga studio” is at pains to keep things, well, kosher, emphasizing yoga’s physical – rather than spiritual – aspects. As she puts it, “I don’t say the names of the positions, there is no chanting, no ohming. I do focus on the breathing, as this is very important in yoga, but any kind of eastern philosophy stays outside.” Adds another practitioner: “Yoga physical exercise can be kosher as long as it remains within the context of physical fitness and stress management.” Some rabbis even recommend studying Torah before practice, to keep one’s mind clear of polluting influences.


To serious practitioners of yoga, this is problematic to say the least; as one commenter on a message board commented, “Can’t be done. Yoga without the spiritualism is like a martini without the drink. You’re missing the point.” Or, as a friend of mine put it, “Sure, you can stretch and breathe – but it’s not going to be yoga.” This is a particularly stark example of the kind of culture clashes that are not uncommon in modern Israel. Says Isreality, “We’ve heard of kosher cell phones and kosher sex, so kosher yoga? Why not.” Well, there is the devil-worship issue…


Yoga Puts Religious Israelis In An Uncomfortable Position [Israelity]
Israel: Can Yoga And Judaism Coexist? [Global Voices]
Kosher-Style Yoga [Haaretz]

Frustrated by not finding a Jewish community that fit her needs, Jo Borkan thought about leaving Portland for another city. Instead, she co- created Havdallah* Yoga with Yael Podebski. Havdallah Yoga is a monthly yoga class that is for Rosh Hodesh** and marks the end of Shabbat.

In 2011 the Jewish Federation of Portland found there were twice as many Jews living in Portland than previously thought. The increase in numbers was due to unaffiliated synagogue Jews and those living on the Eastside.

The grassroots movement of find your own Judaism and spirituality has been on the rise across the US. Organizations such as Birthright Israel NEXT Shabbat and Moishe House Without Borders have been facilitating and funding DIY Judaism for young adults. For the over 35 crowd, no funding or support currently exists.

* Havdallah is the ceremony separating Shabbat from the rest of the week,
** Rosh Hodesh is the ‘rosh’ or head/start of the new Jewish month.
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http://www.oregonlive.com/faith/2015/03/jewish_yoga_alternative_judais.html
http://forward.com/articles/216058/portland-finds-trendy-new-jewish-world-in-the-east/