As a rabbi who has spent years teaching about Shabbat to both Jews and Christians, I’m often struck by a particular reaction when Christians first encounter traditional Jewish Shabbat observance. It’s not the candles, prayers, or festive meals that raise eyebrows—it’s the list of prohibitions.
“You don’t use your phone for an entire day?” “You don’t drive anywhere?” “You can’t even flip a light switch?”
It’s an understandable initial reaction. Many Christians associate Shabbat prohibitions with the Pharisees, who sometimes appear in the New Testament as critics of Jesus regarding Sabbath observance. Unfortunately, this has led to centuries of mischaracterization, with the Pharisees being unfairly portrayed as overly legalistic or rigid. In reality, they were dedicated teachers trying to help people live out their faith in everyday life.
Beyond this historical misunderstanding, in our culture more broadly, restrictions are generally viewed as limitations on freedom rather than pathways to it. Yet after writing my new book “Shabbat Revolution: A Practical Guide to Weekly Renewal,” I’ve become more convinced than ever that Christians seeking deeper Shabbat experiences might find unexpected wisdom in some of these traditional prohibitions.
Let me be clear: I do not believe Christians have an obligation to observe Shabbat according to Jewish law. The Bible specifies these commandments for the Jewish people. However, there is wisdom in these practices that transcends religious obligation—wisdom that speaks directly to our common human condition in the modern world.
Imagine a man desperately thirsty in the desert. Before him sits a pitcher of pure, crystal-clear water, but he has no cup. He tries to drink directly from the pitcher, but the water spills everywhere. The water is wasted, and his thirst remains unquenched.
The water represents spirituality—our soul’s deep thirst for connection with God—while the cup represents the structure of Shabbat observance. Without the framework, even the most exalted spiritual experiences eventually dissipate, like water spilling to the ground.
The Hebrew Bible presents the Shabbat commandment with two different verbs. In Exodus, we’re told to “remember” (zachor) the Shabbat, while in Deuteronomy, we’re instructed to “guard” (shamor) it. Jewish tradition teaches that God miraculously spoke these words simultaneously at Sinai—something impossible for humans but possible for God—because both aspects are essential. “Zachor” encompasses all the positive actions that make Shabbat special, while “shamor” refers to the protective boundaries around this sacred time.
This is where prohibitions enter the picture. Traditional Jewish Shabbat observance includes refraining from 39 categories of creative work. But where do these prohibitions come from? The Bible itself places the commandment to keep Shabbat right next to the instructions for building the Tabernacle—the portable sanctuary in the wilderness. This placement teaches us something essential: the same creative activities used to build sacred space (the Tabernacle) are precisely what we set aside to create sacred time (Shabbat). The Tabernacle itself functioned as a microcosm of creation, with its activities mirroring God’s creative acts in forming the universe. So when we refrain from these forms of creative work on Shabbat, we’re not just following arbitrary rules—we’re acknowledging God as the ultimate Creator while temporarily stepping back from our own creative control over the world.
Today, perhaps the most transformative application of this principle involves our relationship with technology. Charlie Kirk, the founder of Turning Point USA, has embraced this aspect of Shabbat in his own life. Despite his high-profile public role and the constant demands of leading multiple organizations, Kirk completely disconnects from technology for Shabbat. He turns his phone off every Friday evening, places it in a drawer, and doesn’t touch it until Shabbat ends. Instead, he and his wife Erika spend the time resting, reading the Bible, praying, and occasionally taking walks. “The Shabbat day is restorative,” Kirk explains. “It’s a gift to mankind.” His wife notes that in our current cultural climate, “if you don’t take time to literally quiet your mind from the noise of life you will be inundated. From news articles to press releases, to your friend doing something… it’s really something special to be aligned with the Shabbat, to be able to just take the time to just breathe, cut out the noise.”
This is precisely where Shabbat’s wisdom offers an unexpected gift. When we can’t check our phones, we notice who is actually with us. When we can’t drive anywhere, we appreciate where we are. When we can’t spend money, we remember that our worth isn’t determined by what we own or produce.
Restrictions create true freedom.
I’ve witnessed Christian friends experiment with technology-free Shabbat practices, creating what some call a “digital Shabbat.” The results are often remarkable. Families rediscover conversation around the dinner table. Individuals find mental space for prayer and reflection. Communities experience deeper connection when screens aren’t competing for attention.
Beyond technology, there’s wisdom in other traditional Shabbat boundaries as well. Refraining from shopping for one day reminds us that we are more than consumers. Pausing creative projects—whether writing, building, or gardening—helps us remember that the world can continue without our constant intervention.
For Jews, the exact details of these boundaries are essential, as we believe these are divine commandments. For Christians exploring Shabbat practices, what matters most is creating sacred space—a sanctuary in time where we can experience God’s presence and our own humanity more fully. You don’t need to adopt all traditional Jewish practices to benefit from their wisdom. Even one well-chosen boundary—perhaps regarding technology, commerce, or creative work—can fundamentally shift your experience of sacred time.
G.K. Chesterton once wrote, “The more I considered Christianity, the more I found that while it had established a rule and order, the chief aim of that order was to give room for good things to run wild.”
For Christians, Shabbat’s boundaries aren’t about legalism or obligation. They’re about creating space for good things to run wild—for relationships to deepen, for gratitude to flourish, for communion with God to expand beyond hurried moments of devotion.
Sometimes what we don’t do creates the space for what matters most.
Rabbi Elie Mischel is Director of Education at Israel365 and author of “Shabbat Revolution: A Practical Guide to Weekly Renewal,” available now through Israel365 Publishing. CLICK HERE to purchase your copy.
