Today is the first day of Rosh Hashanah, aka, the Jewish New Year. Normally this is a holiday that I enjoy. It always comes right when I am in need of a little praying and it is a time to seperate from all things current and reflect on all things past. Services are like a history class lecture, taking you back into time and reminding you of where you come from. You are given the chance to ask G-d to listen to you and hear you out in this special time. You are given the opportunity to ask for forgiveness, wish wellness to those in need, and remember those who have passed. The latter always puts me in tears. You sing in native tongue and out loud so that all those around you can hear your voice blend with theirs and you know you are not alone.
But this service, was not the same.
It was a known fact that I would feel uncomfortable in tonight's service. First of all, services were held in the Kay Spiritual Center at AU, not at Temple Judea. Second, I walked to services, a first ever, and something I actually enjoyed. Third, the services were held by a former student, not the rabbi I am accustomed to. Fourth, I went to services with a friend and not my family. This was something that really took me off.
As Meg, the former AU student who is in the middle of her cantorial studies program, asked us to open our prayer books to page 17 and let out the first Barchu, I felt chills throughout my body. Chills are not an uncommon thing for me in temple, but these chills were different. It was the chills of knowing that this was not going to be the same.
To my satisfaction the prayers were sung with the melodies I am familiar with, but the voices were different. I didn't hear my mother and her awful attempts at remember the words, my father's persistent ado-noy (not ado-ni), my cantor's desire to out do everyone else's voice in the room, and my aunt's beautiful voice that no matter how far we are from the alter, I can always distinguish from the others. These were voices I found alien.
The rest of the service was short and sweet, to the point. I asked G-d to listen to me, hear my prayers for those who needed it, and remembered those before me. But when the service was over, I felt unsatisfied. It was almost as if I didn't even go. As I looked around at all the faces leaving the center, I realized that I was looking for faces that were 3,000 miles away.
I am second guessing if I want to go back tomorrow, unsure if I can hand another upsetting hour of prayer. But I am more ready now than ever for Yom Kippur and the chance to ask G-d for forgiveness so that those I have wronged can forgive me too.
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