I didn’t grow up reading the Talmud. I’ve never been to a bar mitzvah. I have watched "The Fiddler on the Roof" a couple of times….

And now, during my final year of college, I have begun to celebrate Shabbat.

Entering into a Sabbath time isn’t a new tradition for me. It was at the onset of my freshman year of college that I decided to prioritize a weekly Sabbath. But what started out as a Sunday phenomenon with an English title has recently transformed into a Friday-Saturday habit with a Hebrew name. So how did the change come about?

Remember the Year of Jubilee in the Bible? (Lev. 25) It’s the time every seven years when those serving in the Israelite community are to be released from their labors, to return to their own home and land. Well, the Jewish calendar marks the most recent Jubilee as having begun on Sept.13, 2015. And it was during this year—known as a time of people returning to their families—that God decided to reveal something of a family secret to my mom.

A number of hints began stacking up—a dream God gave to my mom years ago, a vague recollection of a conversation she’d had with her father, a sermon about trees from her grandpa—and my mom began to research. As it turned out, both my mom’s paternal grandparents had Jewish last names.

The stories she had heard about her family history began to match up with the information she was discovering. Her Jewish relatives had fled a land, then known as Galicia, and come to America.

And that made my mom, and by extension, myself, Jewish.

It came as a big surprise to me.

An exciting one, but also a big one. Having grown up considering myself a Gentile Christian, I am now coming to terms with the fact that I share in the inheritance of the people in the Bible: God’s people. It’s no longer just an understanding that I am a spiritual heir of Christ and child of Abraham. Nope, there’s something physical about it, too.

Enter Shabbat.

Since my mom learned that we are Jewish, she has dived into the culture, even beginning to study the Hebrew language. All summer while I was home, we celebrated Shabbat, which begins with lighting candles 18 minutes before sunset (Shabbat ends Saturday 72 minutes after sunset, and a day of rest, Saturday).

We also observed the holiday that honors the giving of the Law to Moses, Shavuatov. Because God is amazing, He woke us up with lightning in the middle of the night, just as there was lightning surrounding the mountain when God’s presence came upon Sinai.

As I’ve begun to observe Jewish traditions,

I’ve experienced some tension. I grew up feeling a bit afraid of the Law, relieved that Christ made a way so that I wouldn’t have to uphold it. I do think there is validity in realizing that I can’t uphold the Law. Because I can’t. On the other hand, so much of what God gave to the Jews, to my people, wasn’t as burdensome as we (as I formerly considered myself) Gentiles make it out to be. So much of what He called His people to was remembrance of Him and the things He had done for them. Isn’t that what we’re getting at in celebrating Communion regularly?

As Gentiles, we frequently shy away from the traditions God gave His people—perhaps because we’re afraid of trying to justify ourselves through them. It’s true. We are justified only because of what Christ did. But part of what He did was promising us an easier, less burdensome yoke.

And for me, one way to accept that light yoke is to celebrate Shabbat—knowing that Christ is the ultimate rest, the Great Shabbat.