It 's said that there's nothing as intimidating as a blank page, and as I start putting my thoughts on Shabbat into words, I can feel the truth in this. However there's also something incredibly liberating about a fresh start----a clean slate. To me, this is one of several liberations I look forward to each week as Shabbat nears.

Unlike the High Holidays or Passover, so fraught with weeks of planning, ideal expectation and pomp, Shabbat arrives quietly, gentle as a sunset. At our house, the menu rarely changes, so the shopping list is rote, and I don't get stuck in the details. I just look forward to coming home from work Friday and pouring a glass of wine, putting on some music, and setting about making a dinner that is special, simply because it's what we eat when we come together for Shabbat.

This time----while I cook and my husband Jonathan directs the boys in other preparations----is as important a part of the ritual to me as dropping coins in the tzedakah box or lighting the candles. It's time in the margin, between looking outward----toward work and school, carpools, sports and the rest, and the respite when I can focus inwardly, toward my family, my community, and myself.

And though we never seem to achieve an ideal, peaceful über-world, where conflicting priorities and squabbling children are unknown, part of Shabbat's beauty is it comes around every week, so there's no need to set extreme expectations or lament if the juice spills or potatoes burn. Whatever happens, there's always next week, another chance to put some space between the world at large, and the little piece of the world I live for.   

Sara Hartman-Seeskin is a publishing professional and Mold-a-Rama enthusiast who enjoys dark chocolate, black coffee and red wine, not necessarily in that order. She lives in Chicago with her husband, three sons, a dog, a cat, and fifteen zillion Lego bits.