When I was growing up, Shabbat meant a nice dinner at home on Friday night followed by services at our classical Reform congregation. Saturday meant yard work, housework, homework. Shabbat was like a dinner date when you don't get the phone call the next day. A religious one-night-stand, quickly forgotten.

When I began observing Shabbat as an adult, particularly after we joined the Kahal community, things changed. After the dinner date with Shabbat on Friday night, Shabbat called the next day to invite us to "hang out" and spend the day together. There was even a romantic kiss goodbye on Saturday night under the starry sky during Havdallah. This was a love connection alright!

As we began to see each other regularly, the relationship started to get serious. And something magical happened.

Now, every Friday night as the sun slowly sinks and transforms the sky into lovely colors, I find myself in front of my candlesticks and beyond them at the same time. As I strike the match and cover my eyes, I feel part of my soul reaching out to and connecting with Jewish women all over the world who are, at this very moment, doing the exact same thing I am doing, whispering the exact same words I am whispering.

And then, inevitably, I feel something ephemeral reach out and gently grasp that connection, slowly, softly stretching it beyond this world into the past, back to the Old World where hundreds of years ago my great-great-great grandmothers covered their eyes and whispered the exact same words I am whispering now. And for one, liminal moment, we are together in the glow of the candlelight, the women of the present and the women of the past.

And then, Shabbat arrives, kissing me at the door, gazing at me lovingly, and sighing at how wonderful it is to be together again.

Friday, February 27