As we sanctify shabbat, so shabbat sanctifies us.

I’ve always done things my own way, and in my own style. For me to do something, it has always had to have personal value or meaning, and this holds especially true for religious observance. I’ve always tended to put my own spin, my own twist if you will, to the way I express myself spiritually. Tradition with a twist.

The truest example has been my relationship with Shabbat candles. I grew up in a home where Shabbat candles were never lit or even thought of, where Saturdays were for shopping and cleaning and mom going to the beauty parlor. Even my grandmothers didn’t observe Shabbat.

But, it’s a ritual that I took on for myself in my adulthood. I’m not good with time management, to put it lightly, and it seemed to me that as far as lighting candles to usher in Shabbat goes, it was more important that I do it than that I do it on time.

There’s an old joke that goes like this: Everyone who’s more observant than me is a fanatic, and everyone who’s less observant than me is a gentile.

It’s a little window into Jewish mentality.

I know you’re supposed to light 18 minutes before sunset. But there are a lot of rules surrounding Shabbat that I don’t follow. That doesn’t make me unusual as a Jew. Even rabbis are not all in agreement on what’s required for Shabbat observance. I don’t tear toilet paper in advance, I turn my lights off and on, and I drive my car to shul. Everyone has their own level of observance, so why should this 18 minute thing matter?

I do what feels right to me, what works for me, and I respect other people’s choices. After all, we’re all on our own journeys, right?

And so, it became the habit in my home to light the Shabbat candles just before making kiddush and sitting down to the meal. No matter what time that happened.

Currently, I’m staying at my daughter’s while I convalesce from surgery. I’m well enough now (Baruch HaShem) to fend for myself a bit, so she went off to visit friends for the weekend.  

It might seem strange, but I was looking forward to spending Shabbat alone, lighting candles, making kiddush and hamotzi, having a traditional dinner, attending services at my shul via live stream, and then spending the evening in my own head. What’s more, I was determined that this once, I would light the candles at exactly the right time.

And there were no candles.

I forgot that I used the last pair last week. I made a quick run to the store to buy a box. The store was also out of Shabbat candles. Undeterred, I decided I’d use my mini, travel candlesticks with Chanukah candles. Better than nothing. But I couldn’t find those either, and I spent a serious amount of time looking.

So there were no candles.

I did the rest of those things exactly as I had planned, and it was lovely.

But something was really missing. It felt off.

As I was spending the evening in my own head, I got to thinking …

My mother gave wonderful, elegant parties, and it’s something that I’ve become known for as well. I think it’s great fun, and I don’t miss a single detail. Back in the day, a friend labeled me “The hippy Martha Stewart.”

But, there’s more to a great party than a gorgeous table, fabulous food and drinks, and lovely lighting and music. It’s about the people. My mother taught me to greet each guest as though they were the most important person there, to keep an eye out to make sure that no one was lacking for a drink or was standing on the sidelines with no one to talk to, and to be sure to have at least a short personal conversation with everyone present.

And tonight my dinner party for one was perfect. Everything went off without a hitch.

Except for the fact that I was expecting a very important guest and I never greeted her.

She slipped in the back door silently and I didn’t notice.

Oh, I’d invited the angels with Shalom Alechem, and they’d arrived early and were properly greeted. But my most honored guest, Shabbat, the Shechinah, was never welcomed and never even spoken to directly. Some time after she’d arrived, I became aware that the sky was dark—she was there—but the most I offered her was a nod. I hadn’t lit candles to usher in Shabbat.

It made me think. Week after week she arrives, precisely on time, and she stands outside my door, knocking. Sometimes it’s hours before I actually invite her in. How horribly rude! If I were that guest I’d have probably left and then written a nasty note the next day. And yet, each week she returns and stands there, patiently waiting. And let’s not forget who this guest is. It’s the Queen! It’s the bride! Standing outside in all of her splendor and glory!

And so, this is my letter to her. I’m hoping that in her kindness she will forgive me. Going forward I intend to light those candles 18 minutes before sunset, no matter what else is happening.

That should give me just enough time to run out to meet her on her way before the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

I can see myself standing in the field next to my house, facing the setting sun. I’m singing Lecha Dodi to her as she approaches. Then I take her hand, and together we walk to my door.