Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 298:9-15

Hook

Imagine the transition of Havdalah, not as a frantic rush to return to the mundane, but as a graceful, aromatic bridge—a lingering breath of spice that anchors the soul of the Sephardi home in the sweetness of the departing Sabbath.

Context

The Geography of the Mediterranean and Beyond

The Sephardi and Mizrahi experience is not a monolith; it is a tapestry woven across the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa (the Maghreb), the Levant, and the broad expanse of the Mesopotamian plains. The Arukh HaShulchan, written by Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein in the late 19th century, represents a monumental effort to codify the Ashkenazi halakhic tradition, yet it serves as a brilliant mirror to reflect upon our own, often divergent, paths.

The Era of Codification

During the 19th and early 20th centuries, as the modern world began to press upon the traditional structures of Jewish life, sages across all communities sought to preserve the "why" behind the "how." For Sephardim and Mizrahim, this period was characterized by a synthesis of strict adherence to the Shulchan Arukh of Rabbi Yosef Karo and the deep-seated, often ancient, local customs (minhagim) that defined the identity of specific urban centers like Baghdad, Fez, Izmir, and Salonika.

The Community Pulse

Our tradition prizes the Hacham (the wise one) who does not merely recite the law but interprets it through the lens of Kabbalah and the lived reality of the community. Where others might look for a dry legalistic precedent, we often look for the ta'am—the flavor or taste—of the mitzvah, ensuring that every act, from the lighting of the candle to the final sip of the Havdalah wine, resonates with intention (kavanah).

Text Snapshot

The Arukh HaShulchan (298:9–15) navigates the complexities of the Havdalah candle, discussing the necessity of a "multi-wicked" flame. It notes:

"One requires a flame that is composed of several wicks… for the blessing is 'the lights of the fire' (plural). And even if one has a single wick, provided it is a large, thick flame, it is acceptable."

Yet, in our tradition, we look beyond the mere physical requirement. We see the Havdalah flame as a reflection of the primordial light of the first day of Creation, reclaimed and kindled again to illuminate the darkness of the coming week.

Minhag/Melody

The Art of the Flame

In many Sephardi and Mizrahi homes, the Havdalah candle is not merely a tool; it is a centerpiece of aesthetic and spiritual beauty. Often, the candle is braided with multiple wicks—sometimes six, representing the six days of work, or even more, woven together to create a singular, robust pillar of fire. This visual representation of unity is vital. When we recite the blessing Borei Me’orei Ha-esh (Creator of the lights of fire), we are acknowledging that the light of the Sabbath has been fragmented into the diverse activities of the week, yet it remains rooted in the singular divine spark.

The Melody of Separation

The piyut tradition surrounding the end of Shabbat is vast and deeply moving. Take, for instance, the hauntingly beautiful Hamavdil (He who separates). While the text is attributed to Rabbi Yitzhak ibn Giat, its rendition in the various maqamat (musical modes) of the Middle East transforms it into a profound meditation. In the Syrian tradition, or among the Jews of Djerba, the melody shifts to match the emotional arc of the week. We do not simply chant; we sing with a tarab—a state of musical ecstasy—that allows the heart to release the holiness of the Sabbath slowly, like a heavy silk cloth being folded away.

In many Mizrahi communities, the practice of looking at one’s fingernails under the flame—a custom mentioned in the Talmud and reinforced by our sages—is performed with a specific, rhythmic focus. By observing the reflection of the light on our own bodies, we are reminded that we, too, are vessels of light. The Arukh HaShulchan discusses the practical dimensions of this, but the Sephardi home elevates it to a moment of introspection: as the light dances on our skin, we ask, "How will I carry this sanctity into the marketplace tomorrow?" The melody used here is often hushed, intimate, a secret conversation between the individual and the Creator.

Contrast

A Perspective on "Borei Me’orei Ha-esh"

While the Arukh HaShulchan leans into the technical requirements of the flame’s construction, there is a distinct, beautiful divergence in how various Sephardi communities handle the besamim (spices) and the flame.

In some Ashkenazi traditions, the transition is marked by a focus on the separation of the sacred from the profane through a rigid legalistic framework. In contrast, many Sephardi and Mizrahi communities—particularly those influenced by the Zohar—emphasize the "return of the soul." We often view the Havdalah as a moment to comfort the Neshama Yeterah (the "extra soul" we are gifted on Shabbat) as it prepares to depart. We do not just recite a blessing; we inhale the spices deeply to sustain the spirit, often passing the spice box around the table with specific tefillot (prayers) for a week of simcha (joy) and parnassa (livelihood). There is no "right" way—only a difference in focus: the Ashkenazi emphasis on the boundary of the law versus the Sephardi emphasis on the emotional and spiritual sustenance of the soul.

Home Practice

The "Scent of the Week"

This week, adopt a simple practice from the Moroccan Jewish tradition: after your Havdalah, do not just put the spice box away. Place the spices in a small, accessible dish on your dining room table for the entire day of Sunday. Whenever you pass by or sit down to eat, inhale the scent. This is a practice of Harchavat HaDa’at—expanding the mind. It is a sensory reminder that the sweetness of the Shabbat is not a fleeting memory, but a fragrance that can permeate the mundane tasks of the work week. It serves as a physical anchor for your intention to remain connected to the divine amidst the noise of the office or the classroom.

Takeaway

The Sephardi and Mizrahi approach to Havdalah is a masterclass in transitions. We do not run from the Sabbath; we savor the flavor of its departure. By engaging with the physical beauty of the braided flame, the intricate melodies of our ancestors, and the sensory memory of spices, we transform the end of the week into a conscious act of spiritual preservation. Let your Havdalah not be a conclusion, but a preparation—a way to ensure that the light you kindled remains burning in your heart long after the candle has been extinguished.