I've always had a deeply Jewish soul. As a five-year-old, I was the one begging my parents to send me to Sunday school—something they found both baffling and mildly concerning. (What sane five-year-old requests religious education, and especially on the weekend?)

Growing up, my family didn't keep Shabbat. In fact, Friday night was my parents' one night of the week not to cook—their well-deserved break from the kitchen. So instead of candles and challah, we had takeout or restaurant meals. Yet despite this casual approach to tradition, I found myself increasingly drawn to Jewish rituals, seeking them out in my own way.

My path took me through a mechanical engineering degree and into a twelve-year career in software for the built environment. But all the while, my Jewish soul was quietly calling me toward something else.

Throughout my life, I attended Shabbat dinners here and there, but as I got older, something shifted. I didn't just want to experience these traditions occasionally—I wanted them to be pillars of my life. A turning point came when I read Abraham Joshua Heschel's The Sabbath. His description of Shabbat as a "sanctuary in time" put words to what I had always felt: that this ancient practice offered something vital and desperately needed in our modern world—a sacred pause from the chaos of everyday life.

Naturally, I started hosting my own Shabbat dinners. I'd gather friends of all backgrounds and faiths around the table, light candles, and—because I can't help myself—introduce a question over dinner based on the weekly Torah portion. What happened around those tables was magical: people lighting up, engaging in deep conversations, wrestling with ideas (as Jews do best), and connecting in a way that felt both ancient and completely relevant to our modern lives.

Then one evening, after yet another spirited dinner, my friends (half of whom were Christian or secular) looked at me and said, "Erika, this is what you should be doing." I laughed it off initially, but their words stayed with me. The joy, connection, and meaning I continued to witness each week at the table were things people craved. I kept thinking: How can I make this experience accessible to as many people as possible? How can I help others bring this beauty into their homes?

Eventually, I made the leap—leaving my technical career behind to pursue this calling; and that's how YAFFÁ was born.

I believe Shabbat is one of Judaism's most beautiful gifts. There's profound wisdom in this thousands-year-old practice: the rhythm of work and rest, the joy of gathering around a table, the balance of ancient tradition and modern personal meaning. I love that while there are universal Shabbat rituals, every family, every culture, every person can make it their own.

In a world that moves too fast, where we're glued to screens and pulled in a million directions, Shabbat offers us something precious—a moment to pause, reflect, and savor what truly matters. YAFFÁ exists to make it easy, beautiful, and deeply meaningful to bring that gift into your own home.

As the saying goes, "More than Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jewish people." I hope YAFFÁ helps Shabbat keep you, too.