The Top Ten Shabbos Board Games

By: Ben Levi

Part I: The Games That Didn’t Make the Cut

Like many important communal discussions, this one began at a wedding, between a group of people at a table who had opinions and nowhere else they needed to be until the next course. The subject? The best Shabbos board games.

You’d think this would be harmless territory. Nobody was discussing politics, tuition, or whether the band needed to be quite so loud. Just board games. Yet, one individual nominated a favorite; another one questioned whether it belonged, and soon we were defending games several participants had not played since the first Bush administration. Naturally, I decided this needed an article.

What followed was a highly scientific process by which I accepted nominations and unsolicited opinions while retaining my right to disregard both.

The result was a top ten list. But before I begin, let’s talk about the exclusions. Because a great board game and a great Shabbos board game are not the same thing.

A good board game brings people together, draws out quieter family members, and reveals that the sweet child you raised has absolutely no intention of showing you mercy. But some favorite games involve writing. Others feel too much like the workweek. And some simply haven’t held their place at my table.

Clarification: This is a ranking, not a psak. Halachic questions belong with your Rav. My authority extends to strong opinions and newspaper columns. Neither comes with semicha.

Category One: The Problem of the Pencil

Clue: A Murder Mystery with Paperwork

Clue deserves considerable affection. It also received a high number of nominations from the 45+ crowd. Several younger respondents didn’t have a clue about Clue. A painful sentence to write, but the facts left me no choice.

Somebody has been murdered in a house large enough to contain a ballroom, conservatory, and billiard room, yet apparently nobody thought to install adequate security. Your job is to determine who did it, with what, and where.

Colonel Mustard? Professor Plum? Miss Scarlet? These were people we suspected before knowing anything about them. Introducing yourself as Professor Plum does invite follow-up questions.

The genius is that everybody holds a different piece of the truth. You make suggestions, watch who can disprove them, and eliminate possibilities. An innocent question about the candlestick may be a carefully constructed trap. You listen even when it isn’t your turn. Why did she ask about the library again? Why is somebody who supposedly knows nothing looking so pleased? Then comes your accusation. You open the envelope and discover that you have built an airtight case against an innocent man in the wrong room.

Clue rewards deduction, patience, and keeping your mouth shut for one more turn. Unfortunately, its usual format also involves marking a detective notepad. Writing those notes is not a Shabbos option. Can you play by memory? Possibly. Whether that resolves concerns about a game normally accompanied by writing is a question for your Rav.

I sometimes forget why I walked into a room. Remembering who couldn’t disprove Professor Plum three turns ago may be asking a lot. The murder will have to remain unsolved until after Havdalah.

Beyond Balderdash: Credit for Making Things Up

Had it qualified, Beyond Balderdash would have landed in my all-time top two. I’m not merely excluding a good game here; I’m disqualifying one of my personal favorites. Please remember this brief display of integrity when you disagree with the actual rankings.

If Clue rewards discovering the truth, Beyond Balderdash rewards making nonsense sound like the truth. A wonderful distinction.

Players encounter obscure words, initials, people, movie titles, and dates. Everyone invents an explanation. Those fabrications are mixed with the real answer, and players try to identify it. You earn points for recognizing the truth and persuading the other players to believe something you invented thirty seconds ago. Finally, confidently having no idea about what you’re talking about is a marketable skill.

The obscure word category is particularly enjoyable. Someone confidently defines the word as a medieval farming tool. Someone else insists it describes a rare skin condition. The real definition sounds less believable than either. Naturally, nobody chooses it.

You study the wording, question the details, and try to determine which relative would have written “an eccentric botanist.” Meanwhile, the quietest person at the table may have supplied the answer that sends everyone into hysterics.

But those inventions are written privately so they can be read without revealing their authors. Writing is central to the arrangement. Ask your brother-in-law to announce his own explanation of the International Federation of Turnip Inspectors and see how long he maintains his composure.

Boggle: Too much like the weekday!

While a terrific vocabulary game, standard play requires recording your words. “We’ll remember everything” is neither a simple practical solution nor an automatic halachic one.

Category Two: A Little Too Much Weekday

Monopoly: Please Direct All Complaints to the Banker

Now for the exclusion most likely to generate correspondence: Monopoly. Yes, I know, a Shabbos staple for generations. Fake money. Fake properties. An iconic gentleman in a top hat whom you do not casually disinvite. He has been welcome for decades, looking prosperous and respectable. Now I come along with a newspaper column and try to kick him to the curb.

Monopoly deserves its following. Luck, strategy, negotiation, and the possibility that one purchase will transform your fortunes. It also teaches you that somebody offering a “very fair deal” has probably calculated something you haven’t.

And play money does not automatically make it prohibited. There are halachic authorities who permit Monopoly. I’m not announcing that your childhood was one long aveirah interrupted by cholent.

My objection is editorial: buying property, collecting rent, mortgaging assets, and negotiating until somebody gives in feels too much like the workweek. Then Shabbos arrives and we appoint a banker.

Soon, a child who needed reminding to clear his plate is explaining why your financial difficulties are not his problem. That atmosphere of mekach u’memkar, buying and selling, keeps it off my list. This is about the game’s feel, not a ruling that pretend transactions constitute commerce.

The Game of Life: Haven’t We Done Enough of That?

If this upset you, allow me to make matters worse: The Game of Life.

The little cars. The spinner. The childhood excitement of acquiring a spouse without anyone asking what your father does. Charming, familiar, and great fun. But consider the details of the game: choose a career, collect a salary, buy a house, manage expenses, and retire comfortably. I already have this game: it’s called Sunday through Friday.

Again, an editorial exclusion, not a blanket halachic ruling. I simply look forward to the day when retirement planning doesn’t involve a spinner.

Category Three: A Little Past Their Prime

Trivial Pursuit: You Had to Be There

Twenty years ago, Trivial Pursuit would have ranked very high. Those wedges mattered. All those apparently useless facts could finally earn you a small piece of plastic.

But tastes change. Waiting between turns became less appealing. An aging edition asking about television personalities nobody under forty recognizes stopped feeling fair. There is a difference between possessing general knowledge and having been alive when the question was written. Newer editions reverse the problem: somebody with millions of followers whose name I’ve never encountered. I accept that this is my problem. I enjoy it less when demonstrated before my children.

Sorry!: An Apology Nobody Means

Sorry! introduced generations of children to the insincere apology. You send somebody’s pawn back to start and say, “Sorry!”

You’re not sorry. You have rarely been happier. Approachable rules, dramatic setbacks, and the pleasure of sending an adult home make it a fine childhood game. At a table of adults and older children, too much involves waiting for the right card, moving forward, and being informed that I must start again. I have had errands like that.

Both games earned their places in the childhood hall of fame. But this is a top ten, not a pension plan. Years of service do not automatically guarantee a spot.

Category Four: Everybody Gets a Seat

I also wanted games with broad appeal across ages, genders, and levels of enthusiasm. Chess is magnificent, but it accommodates two people, both of whom ideally know what they’re doing. Everybody else gets to watch someone think.

Mahjong deserves a more qualified mention. In our circles, its regular tables have traditionally leaned female, but it is enjoying a comeback that includes younger players and a growing number of men. Apparently, while everyone else was searching for the next big thing, our mothers already had it in a carrying case.

So, this is less a dismissal than an acknowledgment that my impressions may need updating. For this list, I’m favoring games that already bring our whole crowd to the table. Mahjong may yet qualify. The men are finally pulling up chairs, and the women would appreciate it if they stopped acting as though they discovered the game.

Next week, the countdown begins, where we move from offending people whose favorites were excluded to offending people whose favorites ranked too low. Until then, remember: the opinions are mine. The rules of Shabbos are not.

Complaints may be submitted after Havdalah. But please leave enough time for me to finish a round of Beyond Balderdash. n