How One Shabbat Sparked a Journey Back to Faith

The Friday Night That Changed Everything

My name is Ronit. I'm 31 years old, and I began keeping Shabbat when I was just 16.

It all started one Friday afternoon. I had made my usual round of calls, looking for friends to go out with. But, strangely, no one was around. One friend was sick, and another was with her grandmother. This was the first time that none of my friends could meet up on Friday night.

As I sat at home that Friday afternoon, the TV was playing in the background. A rabbi was speaking about the holiness of Shabbat. I wasn’t really paying attention, just catching bits and pieces. But something struck a chord.

In a split-second, spontaneous decision, I said to my mom, “Tonight, I’m going to keep Shabbat. I’ve got nothing else to do anyway. What do I have to lose?” She respected it, and so did the rest of my family.

That first Shabbat wasn’t easy. I had no idea what to do. I counted the hours until it would end. I stood on our balcony scanning the sky, waiting to see three stars so I could turn on my phone or the TV again. When I finally did, I thought I’d feel relieved, but I didn't. Instead, I felt empty. Friends invited me out as “compensation” for staying in the night before, but I wasn’t in the mood.

What I didn't realize then was that I was feeling the departure of the neshama yeteIrah, the extra soul we receive on Shabbat. That sense of loss stayed with me. And though I hadn’t enjoyed that first Shabbat, I felt drawn to try again.

So I did.

Week after week, I observed Shabbat, even if I didn’t yet understand why. I didn't have a religious background, I didn't know anything about Shabbat, and no one was guiding me. And yet, something inside told me not to give up.

A Slow and Steady Return

Eventually, I told a friend that I was keeping Shabbat. He suggested I attend a Friday night Torah class given by Rabbi Lugassi. At first, I refused. I didn’t want to become “religious.” I just wanted to keep Shabbat, nothing more.

But the idea stuck with me. I thought to myself, why not? At least it would pass the time.

That class changed everything. The room was full of young people who looked like me. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and the talk was genuinely inspiring. I came home glowing.

Still, the next morning brought the same long hours and that same sense of waiting for it to be over.

Gradually, though, things began to shift. When my mom saw how consistent I was, she offered to start making Kiddush together. I started going to synagogue. I began preparing and enjoying Shabbat meals. Bit by bit, Shabbat became a source of joy.

For years, I continued to think of myself as secular, even though I consistently observed Shabbat.

At 22, I began working as a secretary at a large law firm in Tel Aviv. In those days, there were several terror attacks in Israel. One day, there was a bombing near the Azrieli Towers. We went up to the roof to see what was happening. During a conversation about the conflict, one of the Jewish lawyers said, “Maybe they’re right. Maybe this land isn’t really ours.”

I couldn’t hold back: “The Torah says that Hashem gave us this land!” I found myself defending the truth of the Torah with all my heart. It became a regular occurrence. Whenever there were debates in the office, I found myself standing alone against a room full of skeptics.

Choosing Faith, One Shabbat at a Time

The spiritual emptiness around me became hard to bear. I longed for something deeper. That’s when I heard about a group trip to Uman announced by Rabbi Lugassi during a Friday night gathering. My heart raced. I asked for time off, and it was approved, until my manager called it off a few days before my flight.

I was devastated. I asked Rabbi Lugassi for advice. “Quit,” he said. “Hashem will send you something better.”

The next day, I handed in my resignation.

After returning from Uman, I received a job offer at a bank with a religious environment. At my new office, there were kosher kitchens, prayer groups, and study sessions. The salary and work conditions were better, too. Everything had shifted.

Shabbat became the highlight of my week. I went to Friday night events, prayed on Shabbat mornings, and sang zemirot (religious songs) during seudah shlishit (the third Shabbat meal, eaten shortly before the end of Shabbat).  I no longer counted down to the three stars that marked the end of Shabbat. I wished that Shabbat would never end.

My style of dress began to change naturally. One day, I simply felt like wearing a dress I usually reserved for synagogue. The reactions were swift: “What, are you religious now?” “You’ve been brainwashed?” But I stood strong.

Looking back, I realize I didn’t even know I was doing teshuvah (repentance). It happened one step at a time. Slowly, quietly, with Hashem leading me by the hand.

Today, I live in Jerusalem with my husband and children. Our Shabbat is filled with light, laughter, music, and meaning. As the Midrash says, “I have a special gift in My treasure house, and its name is Shabbat.” Who doesn’t love gifts? And this one is Divine.

Taste it for yourself, and see just how sweet Shabbat is!

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