My first glimpse of a Shabbat Table was in a photograph of East European immigrants on the Lower East Side at the turn of the century.

A man sat alone at a tiny wooden table cramped into the space under an overhanging bed. This was the space he had carved out for himself in a room shared with other workers separated from their loved ones while they saved up to bring their families to America.

The table was bare except for two small loaves of bread. The caption read: "A poor laborer at the end of the week celebrates the Sabbath."

The photograph affected me. I sensed a certain majesty and transcendence in the face of the man where he had set up a porthole to Eternity.

It took many years after I saw that old photo for me to actually sit at a Shabbat table. I was visiting Jerusalem with my mother. A friend from the Old Country invited me to spend Friday night in the Jewish Quarter.

It was a card table with the addition of a coffee table to fit the guests. I was squeezed into a corner with my mother at my side. I can't remember what we discussed or what we ate. Only the Shabbat melodies stand out in my memory as hauntingly beautiful. And the weariness I carried with me to that table had vanished by the time I made my way back through the Old City Gate and the trek to my hotel at the bottom of King George. It was after 3 A.M. by the time I got to bed, but I was kept awake by my mind trying to process my experience.

I had finally made my way to a real Shabbat table, and there was no turning back. A year later, I was Shabbat observant, married, and savoring the privilege of sitting at my own Shabbat table with my husband and guests.

What happens at the Shabbat table that can infuse even old planks of wood with a sacred quality?
We begin by welcoming the angels who have joined us. Apparently, nothing in the celestial worlds rivals the beauty of Shabbat.

We ourselves become elevated with the Divine mission to proclaim the purpose of earthly life and acknowledge the Creator. The Kiddush blesses the Seventh Day and proclaims its purpose in Creation in the blessing we say over a raised cup of wine.

We pour water over our hands and sanctify them for the meal. This eating is like no other eating. We honor G-d with each bite. The challah, the fish, salad, chicken soup, and other foods laid out before us. If, for some reason, there is only bread or beans, as in a famous Baal Shem Tov story, then even these simple foods can taste like the greatest delicacies when a person is infused with the Shabbat spirit.

The Shabbat table heightens our senses. As we look around the table, it is possible to see the souls within the faces. The clanking of the silverware against the plates sounds like celestial bells.

The Shabbat table is a raft carrying us safely through stormy waters. It anchors us to a point of interface with G-d. We remember our true identities as beloved children sitting at our Father's table.

Varda Branfman vardab@netvision.net.il offers Virtual Writing Retreats.