Jerusalem, We Have a Problem

As Artemis II returned to earth, and members of its crew shared their religious reflections about their experience, my own thoughts went to another sojourner in space who never made it home. This man had asked one of the most interesting theological questions in the history of space travel, one which is bound up with our own technological future, and to the age in which we find ourselves.   

I refer to Ilan Ramon, a crew member of the space shuttle Columbia. As the first Israeli in space, Ramon had sought to represent his people by marking the Jewish Sabbath in orbit, observing the ritual known as Kiddush, welcoming the sacred day over a cup of wine.  At first blush, this desire seems symbolically sublime. The celebration of the Shabbat is meant to be a commemoration of creation: “for in six days God made the heaven and the earth… wherefore God blessed the Sabbath day.” Where, then, is it more fitting to recall the creation of heaven and earth than in the very heavens?   

Yet in another way, there is an ostensible oddity to observing this ancient ritual while engaged in the futuristic activity that is space travel. Sabbath, whose Hebrew equivalent means “stop,” is bound up with the rhythms of earthly existence; those that observe it mark the passing of six 24-hour days, and then, in tranquility, embrace a day of rest with the setting of the sun.  Ramon, in contrast, would be orbiting the earth at 17,500 miles per hour; he would experiencing a new sunrise and sunset every 90-odd minutes. There seemed therefore, a strange, if charming, anachronistic aspect to Ramon’s religious quest. Undaunted, and in consultation with a rabbi on the space coast, he chose to mark the Sabbath based on the time of Cape Canaveral time—the last location he had left. We therefore have the indelible image of Ramon, floating in space, holding a goblet aloft, and marking the Sabbath day.