In the 1950's, acclaimed journalist Edward R. Murrow created the radio series This I Believe, in which people from all walks of life were invited to share the values that shaped their everyday lives. A year and a half ago, producers Dan Gediman and Jay Allison resurrected the idea for National Public Radio. For the last 18 months, politicians, Nobel laureates, and humanitarians, along with regular Joes and Janes, have been invited to write and speak their core beliefs. A book with essays from the historic and current series was published in October. I got a sneak peek over the summer and was inspired to write my own essay.

Here goes:

I believe in the rejuvenating power of Shabbat.

Sitting around a table with friends or family. Blessing children. Praying with my community. Letting my soul lead my voice in singing. Finding a new insight in an old text. Allowing myself challah AND brownies. All of these things feed my spirit.

When I arrive at Micah each Friday night, the worries of the outside world fall away with the anticipation of the impending calm. When I hear the first words of Kiddush, I can feel a physical shift--my breathing slows, my muscles relax, the peace of the moment washes over me in soothing waves.

Rejuvenation comes with rest, and at the center of my Shabbat experience is a nap. I believe in Shabbat naps.

I don't believe in naps outside of Shabbat. It's not that I don't believe in them exactly, it's more like they don't work for me. Unless I'm running a fever, or running around Israel from dawn 'til dusk, it's almost impossible for me to catch those precious afternoon z's any other day of the week.

But a good nap defines my Shabbat experience.

Like any ritual, there are a lot of components that go into making a satisfying Shabbat nap. It's best when I eat just enough at Kiddush to be sated, but not uncomfortably so. It's great if I'm in the middle of a good book, which I can read until my eyes close or my hand droops from its weight. It needs to be cold enough for a blanket. NPR should be playing in the background so that I dream of far-away places inhabited by people with sophisticated language skills.

Alice Walker writes: "Anybody can observe the Sabbath, but making it holy surely takes the rest of the week."

A number of years ago while she was in law school, a friend of mine began to celebrate Shabbat. Her classmates, often exhausted, were incredulous that she was able to face the endless questioning of her professors with grace and ease. She attributed this to her day of rest.

Abraham Joshua Heschel called Shabbat a "place in time." I believe that--like my friend during her law school years, my weekly visits to this place allow me be who I am the rest of the week.

The month of Cheshvan, the month on the Jewish calendar which follows the holiday rich month of Tishrei, is often called Mar-Cheshvan--bitter Cheshvan-- because it contains no holidays. There is nothing to celebrate; nothing to commemorate. Though I love the noise and energy and spirit of the early fall holidays, I will also welcome this month of relative quiet. And of course, the noise, energy and spirit for which it prepares me.

I invite you to search for the quiet in your life and, as always, to join us in celebration.