Q: Why Havdalah Ends the Shabbat with Fragrance?
A: If you happened to walk into a place in Israel just as Saturday night begins, you might catch something unexpected: a cup of wine, a braided candle and the sharp, sweet scent of myrrh filling the air. Eyes close. People inhale deeply, as if drawing in something precious before it slips away. This is Havdalah—literally “distinction”—the ceremony that marks the end of Shabbat.
The Nose Knows:
A Matter of Life and Death Rabbi Elazar of Worms offers a fascinating insight in his writings. He points out that dogs possess an extraordinary ability to detect life behind walls, from remarkable distances. A dog can sense people buried beneath snow or rubble. In the aftermath of earthquakes, floods, or bombed-out buildings, dogs can locate living souls trapped in seemingly impossible situations. What Rabbi Elazar understood is that smell is the sense most directly linked to the detection of life itself.
The Biblical Blueprint of Breath
The foundation for this understanding comes straight from Genesis. “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul” (Genesis 2:7). This verse teaches us that the primary stream of life flows through the nose—through the nostrils, or in Hebrew, “Apav,” meaning a breath of life. The Hebrew word “Apav” itself hints at a deeper truth. The letter Aleph (א) represents the divine source, while “Piv” (פיו) means “his mouth.”
There’s a chain of transmission: from source to nose to mouth, like the sequence of actions in resuscitation. This is the essential pivot of life—the airflow blown through the nostrils. It’s not merely the external features we can see with our eyes, but an inner gateway that remains hidden from view.
A Spiritual Compass
The nose functions as an excellent navigator. It can detect from a distance the sweet smell of life and the sharp odor of decay. Instinctively, we pull back from foul smells, which are typically associated with death and decomposition. Even our everyday language reflects this: when something “smells fishy,” we mean it’s suspicious, wrong, or potentially dangerous. Conversely, good fragrance is associated with life and holiness.
The prophet Isaiah speaks of the Messiah: “And shall smell in seeing the being: and he shall not judge after the sight of his eyes, neither reprove after the hearing of his ears” (Isaiah 11:3)—tradition interprets this to mean he will discern truth through smell. After the flood, when Noah emerges from the ark and offers sacrifice, “the Lord smelled a sweet savour” (Genesis 8:21), marking the end of destruction and the renewal of life.
The Signature of Life
David in his psalms captures this connection between breath and praise in a striking verse: “All my bones shall say, Lord, who is like unto thee” (Psalm 35:10), but the prophet says: “ותהלתי אחטם לך”—”my praise shall be signed by my nose” (Isaiah 48:9) linking the breath of life directly to the expression of vitality and worship. The nose, with its ability to detect life from death, becomes an aperture of living spirit.
Why We Smell Myrrh at Havdalah
This brings us back to Saturday night, to that moment when the Shabbat fades and the workweek looms ahead. We bless the fragrant myrrh for a reason: as we plunge back into the six days of doing—of deadlines, obligations, and endless tasks—there is a chance of losing ourselves. We might drown in time and space, forgetting who we are and what is the source.
The blessing over the myrrh delivers this: You who are traveling with all our engines open into the week—whatever happens, you are never lost. You don’t belong to that realm of mere doing. And here’s the proof: the sense of smell. This ancient indicator can detect what matters from a distance. It can awaken people who have already fainted, who are lying horizontal on the ground like the dead.
The fragrance reminds us that we carry within ourselves a navigation system, an inner compass that can always find its way back to life, to the source. No matter how deep we venture into the demands of daily life, the breath of life—that divine gift blown into our nostrils at creation—continues to guide us home.
