Arukh HaShulchan, Orach Chaim 299:13-20

Hook

Imagine the scent of freshly ground besamim—cloves, cinnamon, and dried myrtle—wafting through a courtyard in the Jewish Quarter of old Aleppo or the bustling lanes of Tetouan as the sun dips below the horizon. The Sabbath Queen does not depart with a whimper, but with a vibrant, melodic flourish that bridges the sanctity of the seventh day with the pragmatism of the workweek. We are looking at the transition of Havdalah, a moment where the Sephardi and Mizrahi traditions elevate the mundane, treating the conclusion of the Shabbat not merely as an end, but as a fragrant, musical "see you soon" to the holiness that defines our existence.

Context

The Geography of the Soul

The Sephardi and Mizrahi experience is not a monolith; it is a tapestry woven from the distinct threads of the Iberian Peninsula, the Maghreb, the Ottoman Empire, and the ancient communities of the Fertile Crescent. When we discuss the laws surrounding the Havdalah candle and the separation of holy from profane, we are tapping into a heritage that spans from the scholarly centers of Córdoba and Toledo to the intellectual hubs of Baghdad and Djerba. These communities operated under the heavy influence of the Shulchan Aruch—the foundational legal code compiled by Rabbi Yosef Karo in 16th-century Safed—which remains the heartbeat of Sephardi religious life.

The Era of Codification

The Arukh HaShulchan, written by Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein, serves as an Ashkenazi counterpoint to the Sephardi dominance of the Shulchan Aruch. While Epstein’s work is a masterpiece of Lithuanian erudition, exploring it through a Sephardi lens requires us to look at where he agrees with the Rishonim (early authorities) and where he diverges from the specific customs (minhagim) that define the Mizrahi world. We are looking at an era where the legal nuances of how one holds the candle or smells the spices were not just technicalities; they were expressions of communal identity and theological precision.

The Community of Practice

The Sephardi/Mizrahi community is characterized by a "living law" approach. Traditions are often maintained through oral transmission and the authority of local hachamim (sages). Unlike the rigid textualism that sometimes characterizes other traditions, the Sephardi approach to the Arukh HaShulchan sections on Havdalah—specifically the nuances of the candle flame and the blessing over spices—reflects a deep, tactile engagement with the physical objects of the mitzvah. Here, the law is felt in the hands and smelled in the air before it is parsed on the page.

Text Snapshot

"And one must take care that the flame of the Havdalah candle is not from a single wick, but rather that it is twisted... for it is written that the blessing is for the 'lights' (plural) of fire."

"One should not derive benefit from the light of the candle until after the blessing has been recited... this is the way of the pious, who guard the mitzvot with love and precision."

"The custom is to look at the fingernails in the light... some say this is to acknowledge the labor of the week, while others see it as a reflection of the first light of creation."

Minhag/Melody

The practice of Havdalah within the Sephardi and Mizrahi world is an auditory and sensory event of the highest order. While the Arukh HaShulchan provides the legal framework for the Havdalah candle—emphasizing the plural nature of the flame—the Sephardi minhag takes this and turns it into a performative art form. In many North African communities, the candle is not just a tool; it is often a braided masterpiece, sometimes crafted by the family members themselves throughout the preceding week, symbolizing the weaving together of the disparate moments of time.

The melody of Havdalah in the Sephardi tradition is often set to the Maqamat—the modal musical system of the Middle East. When the cantor or the head of the household begins the Hamavdil (the liturgical poem that follows the Havdalah service), the mode chosen is specifically designed to evoke a sense of longing for the returning Sabbath and hope for the week ahead. This is not a rushed conclusion; it is a deliberate, melismatic meditation. The melody lingers on the vowels, stretching the transition to allow the spirit to catch up with the body as it prepares to enter the chol (the profane, or mundane, workweek).

Consider the Piyut "Hamavdil ben Kodesh le-Chol." In the Sephardi tradition, this piece is sung with communal participation, the congregation echoing the verses with a fervor that borders on the ecstatic. This is the moment where the Arukh HaShulchan’s focus on the Halakha (the law) meets the Kabbalah (the mystical tradition). The light of the candle, which the Arukh HaShulchan defines through the lens of utility and blessing, becomes, in the Mizrahi imagination, a spark of the primordial light. By looking at one’s fingernails—a common practice across many traditions but imbued with specific mystical significance in the Sephardi world—one is effectively capturing the Ohr HaGanuz (the Hidden Light) of Creation and tucking it into the pockets of the soul for the coming week.

This musicality serves a vital function: it demystifies the "profane." In the Mizrahi worldview, the workweek is not a descent into darkness, but a continuation of the sanctification process begun on Shabbat. By singing these specific melodies, the community asserts that they are bringing the holiness of the sanctuary into the marketplace. The Arukh HaShulchan might view the candle as a legal requirement of the blessing, but the Sephardi tradition views the candle as the bridge, the hefsek (the pause) that allows us to walk from the King’s palace into the world with our eyes still adjusted to the brilliance of the crown.

Contrast

A profound point of departure between the Ashkenazi interpretation found in the Arukh HaShulchan and the Sephardi/Mizrahi tradition lies in the handling of the spices (besamim). While the Arukh HaShulchan discusses the requirement of the spices as a means to soothe the soul after the departure of the Neshama Yeteirah (the "Extra Soul" of Shabbat), the Sephardi tradition often places a significantly higher emphasis on the physicality of the spices themselves.

In many Sephardi homes, particularly those of the Maghreb and the Levant, the spice container—the besamim box—is a centerpiece of the evening, often crafted from intricate silver, shaped like a tower, or, in more traditional rural settings, simply a bundle of fresh myrtle (hadasim) or cloves. There is a distinct practice in many Sephardi communities to hold the spices and recite the blessing with a focus on the scent as a source of tikkun (repair). While the Ashkenazi approach often treats the besamim as an intellectual or emotional comfort, the Sephardi/Mizrahi approach treats it as an olfactory bridge to the Garden of Eden—the Gan Eden whose fragrance is said to linger in the world of the living.

Furthermore, the Arukh HaShulchan reflects a tendency toward a more singular, standardized liturgical approach. In contrast, the Sephardi tradition is famous for its "liturgical elasticity." Depending on the specific community—whether one is of Syrian, Moroccan, Iraqi, or Yemenite descent—the order of the blessings, the specific piyutim sung, and even the way the candle is held can vary wildly. This is not a lack of order; it is a manifestation of the Sephardi commitment to local minhag as being equal in weight to the written code. To a Sephardi, the minhag is the halakha in practice, and to disrupt that local custom is to disrupt the history of the family lineage itself.

Home Practice

For anyone looking to adopt a piece of this rich tradition, I invite you to focus on the "Sensory Transition."

During your next Havdalah, avoid the impulse to rush through the blessings. If you do not have a braided candle, try to use two candles held together to create the "plural" flame mentioned in the Arukh HaShulchan. Most importantly, engage the sense of smell with intention. Instead of using a pre-packaged spice box, curate your own blend of whole cloves, cinnamon sticks, and dried myrtle or rosemary. As you inhale, don't just smell the spices; visualize the transition of time. Take a moment to name one thing from the past week that was "holy" or meaningful, and one thing you hope to infuse with "holiness" in the coming week. Hold the scent as a bridge between these two states of being.

Takeaway

The Sephardi and Mizrahi approach to the Arukh HaShulchan and the laws of Havdalah reminds us that the separation of holy and profane is not a wall, but a doorway. Through the interplay of Halakha, Maqam (melody), and sensory engagement, these traditions teach us that we are the architects of our own transition. We do not leave Shabbat; we carry it forward, spark by spark, scent by scent, into the work of the world. By honoring the specificities of our history and the vibrant textures of our practice, we ensure that the light of the Sabbath doesn't just flicker and die—it illuminates the path for everything that follows.