Why I Asked Someone Else to Fast for Me

Vienna Shliach Rabbi Shaya Boaz, who is battling a serious illness, writes about the pain of being unable to fast on Shivah Asar B’Tammuz and the simple request he made of a friend that brought him comfort.

By Rabbi Shaya Boaz, Shliach in Vienna Austria

One of the hardest parts of my illness is not only the physical side. It is the moments when illness touches places inside me that are much deeper than the body.

Like Shabbos.

There are times when I need to take a taxi to the hospital on Shabbos. Or use my phone for a medical consultation.

Halachically, it is clear. Not only is it allowed, it is required. Preserving life and health is itself the will of Hashem.

I know that. My mind knows that. But my heart struggles.

Because Shabbos is not just a day on the calendar for me. Shabbos is something engraved into my bones. For 45 years, its holiness has shaped me. Its boundaries have protected me. Its silence, its peace, its separation from the weekday, all of that is part of who I am.

And suddenly, I find myself holding a phone on Shabbos. Sitting in a taxi on Shabbos. Doing things that, my entire life, I trained myself not to do.

And yes, the rational voice keeps explaining: this is not a sin. This is a mitzvah. But another voice answers: who wants such mitzvahs?

There are mitzvahs we run toward with joy. Lighting Shabbos candles. Making Kiddush. Giving tzedakah. Putting on tefillin.

And then there are mitzvahs that come wrapped in pain. Jewish divorce can also be a mitzvah in the right circumstances. But who wants that mitzvah?

This past Shabbos morning, after much thought and hesitation, I found myself sitting in a taxi on the way to the hospital. My body was in the car. But my heart was somewhere else.

I was asking myself: if this is Hashem’s will, then there must be a purpose. There must be a meaning. There must be some Shlichus hidden in this.

But what could possibly be the purpose of Hashem wanting me, of all people, to do something that feels so much like breaking Shabbos?

That heaviness stayed with me the whole afternoon. Thankfully, I made it back in time for Mincha.

And then, after Mincha, one person from the community came over to me with a smile. He said proudly: “Rabbi, for the first time today, I came to synagogue by foot and not by car.”

I cannot explain why, but his words touched me deeply.

And a quiet thought entered my heart…

Who knows? Maybe when one Jew has to serve Hashem through the painful mitzvah of caring for his health on Shabbos, another Jew receives strength to serve Hashem through keeping Shabbos in the regular way.

Maybe my strange Shabbos journey somehow gave another Jew the strength not to drive.

Maybe Hashem takes all of these broken pieces and connects them in ways we cannot see.

And now, once again, I find myself just a few days before the fast of the 17th of Tammuz.

And again I hear the voice of the doctor and the rov: you are ill. You are undergoing intensive therapy. You cannot fast this year.

I understand it. I accept it. But only barely. Because inside me, something cries out. Really? After 33 years of fasting on the 17th of Tammuz? After 33 years of standing together with the Jewish people on this painful day?

This is the day when the walls of Jerusalem were breached. The day that opened the road to the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash three weeks later. The day Moshe Rabbeinu shattered the Tablets. A day that carries the pain of our people.

And I will sit with a cup of cold water in my hand? I will eat while the Jewish people fast?

I know the answer. I know the halacha. But knowing does not always remove the pain.

And then a thought came to me.

Maybe I cannot fast this year. But perhaps another Jew can fast with me in mind. Perhaps if I can find someone willing to fast properly this time, then my eating will not feel like separation. It will feel like connection.

Not instead of the Jewish people. Together with the Jewish people, in the only way I can this year.

So I found myself texting a friend.

Me: “I know this might sound crazy. But would you mind fasting instead of me this Thursday?”

Him: “Yes. Sure.”

Then he asked, “What are the times?”

I replied, “It does not begin the night before like Yom Kippur. It begins at alot hashachar, dawn, and ends at tzeit hakochavim, nightfall. In Vienna this Thursday, that means from 2:26 in the morning until around 21:44 at night.”

He answered, “I’m in. From 2:26 until 21:44.”

And I know how this may sound. Maybe emotional. Maybe childish. Maybe not fully rational.

But it gave me comfort. It gave me the feeling that even in this strange and painful place, there can still be purpose.

So if you are reading this before Thursday, and you would consider fasting this time as well, please message me. It would mean a lot to me.

Not because I need someone to “cover” for me. But because I am looking for a way to remain connected to this fast, to this mourning, and to our people, even when my body does not allow me to participate in the normal way.

May Hashem give strength and healing to all who need it.

And may this be the last 17th of Tammuz that we need to mark as a fast.

May Moshiach come now, and may these days be transformed into days of joy, with the rebuilding of the Third Beis Hamikdash very soon. Amen.

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