She begins talking about the role of Shabbas in Judaism, and says that the opening prayer describes welcoming Shabbas like a bride. Traditionally, the Jewish nation is female and God is male; God is the giver and the Jews are the receiver. “But on Shabbas, Jews are like the groom and Shabbas is the bride,” she explains. She mentions an old idea in Judaism: that not only have Jews kept Shabbas, but Shabbas has kept the Jews. “This is certainly true for me,” she says, smiling ruefully. “I look forward all week to Shabbas. Basically, without Shabbas I couldn’t exist.”

Aviva and Asi are in their early 30s, and the lives they lead would tire older or lazier people. They both teach Jewish-education classes and organize Jewish events and activities, such as Passover Seders, public lectures and summer camps. They share the responsibility of raising and educating their children: Yehuda, 4, Nava, 3, and Levy, 11 months. Aviva spends most of Thursday and Friday doing the shopping, cooking and cleaning necessary for Shabbas. Asi spends most of his week doing outreach work: staffing an informational table on the UO campus twice a week, meeting with people interested in learning more about Chabad, cultivating donors who might help Chabad financially.

“It’s not easy, but that’s how it is,” shrugs Asi. Aviva admits to hiring babysitters and a housecleaner. “I can’t do it all,” she sighs. “But Chabad women have to multitask. They often run schools, and have 10 children, and are cooking Shabbas dinners for, like, 50 people. I’ve learned to delegate.”

The Spiegels are shlichim, or emissaries, of Chabad Lubavitch, and their commitment to Eugene is permanent. More than 20 years ago, the first Oregon Chabad house opened up in Portland; a year after the Spiegels arrived in Eugene, another young family started a house in Ashland. As Chabad houses become more established, their offerings grow; they build schools, temples and mikvahs, or ritual baths. But in a state where less than one percent of the population identifies as Jewish, Chabad has its work cut out for it. Being on shlichus means being, in every sense, a professional Jew. The Spiegels are role models 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Right now Aviva is gently reminding her two older children — who are wandering back and forth between the men’s room and the women’s room, bored — that they are role models, too, and have to behave during Shabbas. Yehuda sighs and heads back to the library, the fringes on his tallith, or ritual shirt shawl, bouncing below his natty vest and button-down shirt. Nava climbs onto a lap in the front room and starts turning the pages of a picture book, swinging her patent-leather Mary Janes back and forth. Aviva returns to the Shabbas discussion, and asks the women to imagine Jewish women all around the world lighting candles together, creating overlapping ripples of light. It’s not just a ceremony for creating light in the evening, she says; it’s a reminder that the Jews themselves are to be a light in the darkness. The women nod, absorbed.

From the library, the muffled sound of the men can be heard, praying aloud and singing. In the front room, the women raise their voices as well, tapping their feet, welcoming Shabbas and announcing the all-powerful nature of God. The chanting grows as the men come out into the hall, holding their prayer books, reading, bowing slowly in a swaying motion. The women reach the last prayer and stand up as well, bowing in all four directions, calling to the Shabbas bride to enter. Their voices fade away. Shabbas is here.