The Shabbos Goy

By Wayne Lerner

I have a confession to make. 

I was a Shabbos goy growing up on the west side of Chicago. 

A Jewish Shabbos goy. 

What’s a Shabbos goy, you ask? 

Orthodox Jews who observe halacha (Jewish Law) are not allowed to engage in various tasks or work on the Sabbath. From sundown Friday to sunset Saturday, there are dozens of activities which they are forbidden to perform. Some are proscribed by biblical law and others by rabbinical prohibitions. They include such mundane tasks as turning on lights, heating ovens, carrying anything including money, or driving cars. 

Further, an observant Jew cannot tell or ask a non-Jew to do an activity which is restricted on the Sabbath. On the other hand, if a non-Jew does such an act of their own accord, the Jew may benefit from it. An interesting conflict arises. A service is desired but can’t be requested or pre-arranged, what to do? This is where the Shabbos goy comes in. 

In the shtetls (villages) of Eastern Europe, poor women assumed the job of shabbos goy. Assumed because, as noted above, one could not ask them directly. Initially, they were paid in challah bread. Later, money was used. Regardless, payment was delayed as it could not be given on the Sabbath. 

Today, the advent of electronic and digital timers precludes the need for a Shabbos goy to operate utilities, except in an emergency. Even elevators can be programmed for the Sabbath. In that case, they stop on every floor. Advances in technology help the Orthodox in many ways but not in all everyday situations. 

What does this have to do with the confession above? 

Growing up on the west side of Chicago in the ‘60s, there was a decent size Jewish population among the various other groups of Greek, Italian, Irish, and Black families. Among the Jews, there was a small but cohesive Orthodox community including two of my closest boyhood friends, Ike and Saul. They were raised to observe the Sabbath and all of its laws. As you might imagine, some of the restrictions were difficult for these teenagers. They were anxious to get out of the house any time they could, including Friday nights, and socialize with their friends. This is where I came in. 

I was raised as a Reform Jew. We observed the same holidays and traditions but without the limitations adhered to by the Orthodox. To the Orthodox, we were not real Jews. How could we be if we did not live according to Jewish law? We would go to temple on the Sabbath but we would not hesitate to work late on Friday nights, carry money and drive, or engage in all forms of work and play on Friday or Saturday. 

The Reform movement is on the liberal end of the Jewish continuum. We balance our Jewishness with the activities of a secular life. In other words, we are American Jews, not Jewish Americans, in the eyes of the Orthodox. Not quite a gentile (a goy), but close. 

While I never went to their houses to turn on the ovens or their TVs, I was Ike and Saul’s Shabbos goy. Friday night, they would come over to my house and somehow the doorbell would ring. 

“How did the damn doorbell ring this time?” I would ask after answering the door. I knew what bullshit was coming. Their routine never changed but I played along.

“We didn’t ring it. We saw somebody walking down the street and asked him to ring it for us,” said Ike. 

I walked out on the front stoop and looked up and down the street. 

“I don’t see anyone. Just our neighbor George's mangy dog who is always scrounging for scraps.” 

“Maybe we kinda leaned on the door bell or maybe that tree branch there rang it when it fell,” said Saul. 

“Come on, don’t give me that crap. This shit goes on every Friday night. You rang the goddamn doorbell or one of you pushed the other into the doorbell. It doesn’t matter. You activated electricity. What the hell's amatter with you? Just come clean.” 

“We didn't do that. It would be against Shabbat’s rules. You know that,” they responded in unison, as if the lord was listening in on our conversation.

“You guys are assholes and you’re lousy liars. I know the rules. You tell them to me every chance you get because you don’t think I’m a real Jew. But okay. Let’s assume that somebody did come by and ring the doorbell. Now that you’re here, whaddaya want?” 

Ike and Saul looked at each other and then started to respond but I interrupted them. I wouldn’t let them talk. Not yet. 

“Let me give you some suggestions. Our lights are on as are our TVs. You want to watch Friday night wrestling? C’mon in. You hungry? There’s food in the fridge which I can warm up for you. Remember, it’s not kosher and it’s my mom’s cooking so eat at your own risk.” 

“No, we want to go to Esquire’s. We want to eat something and get one of their milkshakes,” said Ike. 

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You just finished Friday night services, had dinner with your families and now want to walk a half mile to Esquire’s to eat again? Is that it?” 

The boys nodded their heads like a bobblehead dog in a car’s rear window. 

“Bull shit! You’re going ‘cause the cheerleaders will be there after practice, not just to eat at a non-kosher restaurant, right?” 

“Yeah, you’re right. We’re starving and we both got some business to do with our ladies. No more talking. Let’s go,” said Saul. 

Here comes the good part. This conversation takes place every Friday night, I would think to myself.

“Okay, I’ve got a few bucks from my job at the drugstore for my milkshake. How are you going to pay for your food? How are you going to treat your lady friends?” 

“You're gonna carry the money,” said Saul. 

“Okay, give me your money and I’ll carry it for you.” 

“We don’t have any money with us. You know that. Don’t be a putz and drag this out. Pay for us and our dates and we’ll pay you back next week,” Ike said. 

“Me the asshole? Let’s see. You come here, pretend not to ring the bell and ask me to cover you because you can’t carry money on the Sabbath, all because you’re hungry and horny.” 

Gonna get them now. Drive that nail home. Make them suffer a little more before they get their milkshakes and whatever else they’re dreaming about right now.”

“And you call me a bad Jew because I’m not Orthodox. If I was Orthodox, who would carry the money so we could go to Esquire’s? I’m your fucking Shabbos goy!” 

Silence. They were thinking how to respond. 

“You can’t agree with me because then you would have to admit you are violating the Sabbath’s rules.” 

If they don’t agree with me, I could pretend to get pissed off and threaten not to go to the restaurant. Let’s see what you two smart guys do.

“How about if you pay and we owe you the money, with interest?” said Saul. “Okay, that’s fine. You’ll pay me back tomorrow, right?” I said. 

“Don’t be a schmuck! You know we can't do that. We ‘ll pay you back Sunday after Shabbos,” responded Ike. 

“Okay, Sunday then. Right after I get home from Sunday School where I learn about all the reasons I’m really not a Jew.” 

I glared at them. They knew I had them. They could call me names and claim I’m not as good a Jew as they were. In the end, they needed me. Getting them to admit their lifelong beliefs really didn’t hold water in today’s world would have been a real accomplishment, but unnecessary. Don’t need to be hurtful. Just stand my ground. 

They know I know the real story. We each have our beliefs and ways of living. In many ways they are complementary, not in conflict. But I am getting tired of debating this issue of who’s a real Jew every week. I’ll bet this will continue as long as we are friends.”

“We agree. We’ll come by and pay you Sunday afternoon when we come over to watch the Bears game at your house,” said Saul. 

“Fine and I’ll have some of those special non-Kosher snacks you like for you to nosh on,” I said with a smile. 

I borrowed some money from my Mom to cover their food and we started west on Madison Street, walking toward Esquire’s. 

“Thanks for doing this,” they said. “We appreciate it. But, (long pause) you know, the Rabbis in Israel won’t allow folks like you to be buried on the hillsides overlooking Jerusalem. Not if you’re Reform.” 

“I know and that’s okay with me. I was thinking, do those same rules allow Orthodox boys who sleep with shiksies to be buried on those hillsides? Is that kosher?” I said with a smirk. 

They had nothing to say until later that night, when the argument began again. 

I used to feel bad about the discord with Ike and Saul, but it was unavoidable. Each of us had our beliefs and thought we were right. Regardless, we remain friends 60 years later. 

✶

One should never forget that, throughout history, people didn’t care if you were Orthodox or Reform. If you were a Jew, that was enough for them to dislike or even kill you. Anti-Semitism, like racism, has no bounds. And it sure doesn’t care how you practice your religion. Being Jewish or a person of color is enough proof for hatred to show its ugly face. 

So, I was the Shabbos goy as I was growing up, but I was in good company. 

Colin Powell, Thurgood Marshall, Harry Truman, Mario Cuomo and Elvis Presley were Shabbos goyim when they were young. Powell was reported to have said that he learned Yiddish working as a Shabbos goy in the Bronx. Upon reflection, this is a club I am proud to have joined. Even with the consequences a divisive world has to offer.