Grandma lit her heavy candlesticks in the kitchen. As a little girl, I had no idea why she did this. We would visit grandma and grandpa in their Orthodox synagogue on the holidays. Grandma sat upstairs in the balcony, praying softly. Grandpa sat downstairs; I never saw him there. We celebrated Passover at my grandparents. Most of us didn't have a clue about the service.

A German Jewish woman helped to take care of me when I was a little girl. One day, she told my mother to send me to the Reform synagogue that she was active in, so that I could learn "why." Although my parents didn't go, my best friend and I took the bus to get there.

This was the place that I learned the answers to all those "whys."

I absorbed everything I was taught, like a sponge. I was lucky to have the rabbi as my teacher all through school there. He helped to develop my spiritual feelings for being a Jew. I learned about Israel from the Rabbi's wife, who was from Israel.

It wasn't until I was married and had children that I started observing Shabbat in a formal way. My husband and his family did not observe at all. I wanted something more. I started to go to Friday evening Shabbat services by myself. I also registered our children for religious school.

Soon after, my husband started to join us, and Shabbat became our family's joy.

Now I am one of the Friday night Shabbat "regulars," but I do have a dilemma in this Jewish life of mine: I find myself torn between observing Shabbat or going to a grandchild's activity that is scheduled for Friday night. I enjoy the services. Sometimes, I opt for enjoying my grandchild. If I'm at home - and now, "home" is usually just my husband, Roger, and myself - we say prayers together.

Shabbat continues to be our joy. But the grandchild Friday night activity continues to boggle my mind and soul and I'd love some feedback from others about this.