What Happens When Havdalah Haunts Halloween

Edmon J. Rodman
Jewish Telegraphic Agency

LOS ANGELES

There will be no eerie glow coming from your Havdalah candle on Saturday evening, Oct. 31. No boiling or toiling in your kiddush cup or the smell of sulfur in your spice box. Shabbat will be ending, Halloween beginning, and you can use this time to light up their differences by creating a Halloween Havdalah.

It's not that I am proposing a Goth Shabbat.

Each October, our print media gives us umpteen articles about how to carve a pumpkin. Here, we will also be carving -- carving out time, that is. What I'm suggesting is to use the transition from Shabbat to Halloween to accentuate the distinction between Holy Shabbat time and the secular everyday.

Recent surveys show that the average American home with children will spend more than $50 on Halloween. But how much will we spending on Havdalah?

Requiring a braided multi-wicked candle ($4), a little kosher grape juice or kiddish wine ($4), and some cloves, nutmeg or cinnamon in a shaker, Havdalah is a wonderful observance whose rewards continue long after the costumes have been put away and the candy gobbled up.

The October horror story is not about whether Jews celebrate Halloween; it's now observed largely as a secular day. The story that should have us shaking is whether or not Jews celebrate Shabbat.

Work's necessity makes us forget the almost tangible distinctiveness to Jewish time.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in his classic book The Sabbath, speaks of Shabbat as a spiritual place, a "palace in time."

Using the drama of Havdalah to take leave of this palace can help create a defining change of scene, especially before you and the kids head out into an October's All Hallows eve.

The heart of Havdalah can be found in the phrase ha'mavdil bain kodesh l'chol -- "distinguishing between the sacred and the secular."

The name Havdalah comes from the verb l'havdil-- "to separate" or "distinguish."

Some Jews even say the word l'havdil when they want to make it clear that two things are much different -- that they have no business even being thought of together.

With Havdalah, you are saying l'havdil between Shabbat and Halloween, expressing that there is indeed a difference.

How to Observe It
For a text for your service, most prayerbooks have a page or two for Havdalah. A little light on prayerbooks? Go online.

Rabbi Amy Scheinerman of Beth Shalom Congregation of Carroll County in Maryland has prepared a service complete with Hebrew transliteration, including a tip on how to create a homemade Havdalah candle. She suggests using warm water to soften two or three Chanukah candles, then twist them together.

Wait until you see three stars to begin. Doorbells may be ringing; the kids may be restless. But hold your ground, look up to the sky, and go for the full difference between darkness and light.

Lower the lights. Light the candle and hold it up. Read the first part about deliverance. In contrast to the fear and shock themes of Halloween, the first line ends with resolute words for both child and adult: "I am confident and unafraid."

Say kiddush, but don't drink yet. The wine or grape juice is a simple drink -- not Halloween bubbling punch. It's sweet, and one hopes, so will be your week.

Next, pick up the spices (b'samim) and say the blessing. They are a kind of smelling salts to revive your post-Shabbat spirits. Shake them, fully breathe them in, and then pass them around. So much of Halloween is a me-me-me grab fest, while b'samim is a communal pleasure.

Bless the flame. Two or more wicks burning as one proclaim, especially in a darkened room -- no jack o' lantern or blinking skulls required -- the difference between light and dark. Hold your palms up toward the candle, curve your fingers inward and see the shadows they cast.

Say the final blessings about God creating everything and everyone distinctly different. Distinguish between the sacred and everyday. Drink some wine.

Put out the candle in the wine. Listen to the sizzle. Better than any Halloween sound effect, it's the sound of Shabbat ending, and the promise of a new week beginning.

Sing "Hamavdil," a feel-good song that connects the blessings of Shabbat to the rest of the week. One verse goes: "Our families and our means, and our peace, may God increase."

It's our own kind of candy.

Now, wish each other a Shavuah tov or a gutte vokh -- a "good week"; no "boos" allowed.

Close the ceremony by singing "Eliyahu HaNavi."

Better than any costumed character or mask, we have Eliyahu, who legend has it ascended to heaven in a fiery chariot. We leave the door open for him at the Passover seder and invoke his name here at Havdalah, hoping for a time of Shabbat-like messianic peace -- a time without candy wrappers, fake fog or cardboard skeletons.

Edmon J. Rodman is a JTA columnist writing on Jewish life from Los Angeles.