The Bubble.

School let out early on Fridays with Shabbos on the horizon. It built excitement for the day of rest, where us Jews go incognito for 25 hours.
 
The smell of fresh schnitzel consumed the airspace and let me know Shabbos was almost here. We all showered off the week’s problems and set the lights. (As observant Jews, we did not use electricity during Shabbos and had to meticulously plan which rooms would need lights beforehand)
 
My mom lit candles and welcomed in the day of rest. A warm blanket of tranquility cast over my family as the sun set outdoors. We gathered around the Shabbos table ready for a special Friday night dinner that never got old. My brother, sister, and I assumed our assigned seats.
 
Grape juice hung onto the rim of the silver cup, while my dad held it high and recited the blessing. “Amen,” my mother always answered the loudest.
 
I splashed my right hand twice, then repeated with the left and muttered the washing blessing under my breath while flinging the towel at my sister who was up next.
 
Quietly we sat at the table, forbidden from speaking until bread. Someone always cracked a silent joke or make an unconventional noise to get a chuckle. My dad uncovered the two full challah breads and announced the final opening blessing before slicing and dishing out.
 
My mom flung up to serve soup, having everyone’s orders memorized. Broth and a matzo ball did it for me, while my brother preferred the full load of onions, sweet potato, matzo ball, noodles, carrots, and croutons. No wonder he was sleeping on the couch ten minutes later.
 
The rest of the meal was filled with laughs. Shnitzel was the fan favorite, but other greats like steak or meat pizza occasionally made their appearance. By the end, the weight of the week in combination with the food induced an extreme downiness.
 
“Get up Henri, its 8:30,” my mom whispered. She ripped opened the blinds and the sunlight flooded past my eyelids. I never heeded that first call. I flipped over and pulled the covers tighter, dozing into a deeper slumber.
 
It could have been five minutes or three hours later when I heard her footsteps tracking down the hallway again. I snapped to my feet like a cadet on base, pretending to get ready for synagogue (or the colloquial Yiddish shul we used, pronounced shool).
 
We lived down the block from our shul, luckily a short walk for a day we couldn’t drive. Some of my friends were not as fortunate. Nonetheless, we all congregated.
 
Most of the adults went to shul to pray, but we mainly went to ensure plans for later in the day. We got a taste of the old-fashioned ways of life, where you couldn’t pick up the phone to locate each other. Whatever the set plan was in shul, we tried to stick to it. It often ended in
knocking on a friend’s door to receive the next clue in the scavenger hunt: “He went to Ariels.”
 
While we spent a lot of time in the building, none of my friends were super into praying. The words were in biblical Hebrew, which I only know to a certain degree. The words came together nicely though, especially when the whole congregation harmonized in unison. Shabbos morning prayers are longer than usual. It includes regular weekday morning prayers, in addition to reading from the torah scroll and recitation of another short section called ‘Musaf’ afterwards.
 
It was bearable when I went. Most of my time in middle and high school though, I served as a youth group leader downstairs. I’d play games with kids, give snacks, and try to incorporate some elementary prayers. My friends always got a kick coming into my room to catch a laugh.
 
After shul, we hosted another meal like Friday night with similar opening rituals. While the food was still special, we kept it much lighter in the daytime. Except for cholent.
 
Cholent is a traditional Jewish dish special to Shabbos day. Like a stew, it is slow-cooked overnight or for an extended period in a crockpot. This way, it's ready to eat without breaking the rule against cooking on that day. It is a blend of beans, barely, potatoes, and various seasonings. Some people throw in chucks of meat to make it heartier. Whatever form it takes, cholent is a staple and its creation is often a competition for who can make the best batch.
 
After lunch, my parents often retreated for a nap or a book, while I met up with friends. These hangouts were crucial because it was the only time to see home friends who went to different high schools. We played sports and hung out wholesomely without anybody distracted by social media. I miss those elements of the Bubble.
 
When it was warm out, we’d swim by the pool for hours. The winter months were duller, sitting indoors waiting for nightfall to be able to turn on the television or go out.
 
Three stars marks the end of Shabbos. The Havdala ritual ended the holy day, a two-minute process with a multi-wicked candle, spices, and glass of grape juice. Immediately after, we’d run upstairs to check all the notifications from the previous day. And just like that it was all over.