The Shabbos Dishes
The Shabbos dishes have changed. Over the years of our marriage the Shabbos dishes have really changed.
I remember when we were first married, or within a couple of years thereof. I would be standing at the sink, with my wife and baby daughter (or two) asleep in their beds. Lorie and I would have worked an entire week and enjoyed a nice dinner; maybe with guests maybe without and it would be 10:00PM or later. The world would be silent, the water would be flowing over my hands; suds would occasionally release a bubble or two that would go floating past my nose. I would be alone, quiet, lost in thought and scrubbing away.
There were even times when I would get weepy. No really, I would actually get weepy. Amidst the peace and solitude, the love that would fill my heart, the simplicity of the moment, it would all overwhelm me. Now, I wouldn’t sob like a baby but I would get a little weepy. I can clearly remember wiping away a tear with a soapy, wet hands and laughing at myself for forgetting once again to dry the hand before I dried the tear.
I can distinctly remember leaving the water running and walking through the little apartment known as “The Cave” to just look in on my wife and our miracle baby. Or walking through “The Levitan” apartment to check out two little girls squashed into a bedroom no bigger than a utility closet. Both times I stood at the doors and looked in. It was like a Hallmark Card. I’m not the most macho guy ever there was but man, looking back what a wuss!
All of that has changed. Now, I stand there at the current sink (our 14th, I think) tired, grumpy, and resentful. Those damn dishes should either learn to clean themselves or with two High School students I shouldn’t have to do it at all! Let’s see where are they tonight? At a shabbaton? Walking the streets with their Shabbat friends? Asleep and therefore taunting me since I am awake and washing the dishes. Damn these dishes.
Now, wait, there are four of them – the children. Why can’t any of them just get up and do the dishes? Lorie and I sometimes have a system whereby whoever makes dinner the other ones does the dishes. Or, whoever makes dinner and supervises the table setting gets to sit out the dish washing. Now to be fair I am home hours before Lorie and she usually does her best to get the rest of the house clean when she gets home. I am doing what I can because I can, I like to cook and I have the time. 99 times out of 100 no matter the worker before dinner I stand before the sink 97 out of those self-same 100 times.
Be that as it may, it is the dishes that are the problem, not the cooking nor the setting of the table. I hate them now. I have lost that weepy feeling. Lost it, I fear never to find it again. The water makes my hands chapped, or splashes all over the place and runs down my underwear. Now, I am sorry to report that often as not guests mean more dishes, larger meals mean even more dishes. Passover is flat out unacceptable with it’s thousands of dishes and the need to get them clean and put away right away.
What to do? A solution that I have toyed with has been to get up early on Shabbat morning (more on my insomnia at another time) and wash the dishes in the early AM. Actually I have tried this system and have been occasionally forced into it because of Friday night exhaustion a few times. This is not a good solution. I do not like starting my Shabbat morning that way. I like getting up, eating something that is really not good for me, reading the Saturday newspaper, getting dressed, and going to shul. Washing dishes slows me down and makes me even later than I am normally. Not good. Not good at all!
OK, let’s see, we can just eat on paper for now on. We can train our beloved children to do their part, we can force our wife to do the dishes more often, and we can also take a knife and stab ourselves in the eye.
I think the answer, and it hurts me more than you to say this, the answer is to just keep our mouth shut and to do the dishes. I had that warm and fuzzy feeling once, maybe, just maybe, I can get it back.