In the past, my husband and I would rush out after Yom Kippur services to break the fast with friends, either at their house or at ours. The transition always felt jarring, a stark contrast with the immersive, meditative day. So one year, we decided to stay put and attend the Temple-sponsored Break-the-Fast.
I’d always imagined this gathering as a simple honeycake and tea affair, but to our delight, the food was nourishing, yummy, plentiful, and beautifully presented. We were able to relax: no driving until we’d eaten and hydrated; no galloping home to host; no schlepping dishes to the homes of others.
But my gratitude went deeper than that. Through the simple act of breaking the fast with fellow congregants and pew-mates for the day, I felt a more palpable connection with our community. Eating together affirmed my sense of belonging here.
So when the call went out a few years ago for a volunteer to “lead” the Break-the-Fast committee, I found myself offering. I use quotation marks here because my offer was contingent on our finding a willing co-conspirator. A day or two later, that extraordinary woman-of-valor Maggie Lazar stepped forward, making the task infinitely more or two later, that extraordinary woman-of-valor Maggie Lazar stepped forward, making the task infinitely more manageable (if daunting). Thanks to support from the incomparable Terrie Goren and Rizwan Mir and staff, all of whom make everything look easy, Maggie and I have been at it since. This year, two additional Temple dynamos, Lucy Harris and Joanne Rocklin, joined our team, and many other volunteers continue to contribute food and to roll up sleeves “the day of.”
It takes a congregation, as they say.
I have the good fortune to have sung in our Temple choir for many years. Since Cantor Keys’s music is the thing that “invites me in” on a spiritual level, choir is enormously gratifying for me personally. But it’s community-building, too, because we have a shared purpose: bringing ruach to our services and, as Cantor Keys puts it, lifting each other up.
I also engage in a Jewish volunteer project that’s been a passion of mine for over 35 years: being a voice for Jewish parents who decide not to circumcise. In 2021, I co-founded Bruchim, a national nonprofit that champions full inclusion for these families. We honor their decisions, provide resources for meaningful Jewish birth ceremonies, and create pathways for them and their families to participate fully in Jewish life.
This effort has made me feel more grounded in my Jewishness — partly due to the culture at Temple Sinai, in which I’ve been steeped since we first joined in 1992. Our community not only tolerates, but encourages deep inquiry into our tradition. We are tasked with finding fresh meaning in ancient texts and rituals. We’re all one community, living Judaism in real time. We welcome and comfort each other; we cheer each other on.
As Rabbi Bressler put it in her powerful Erev Rosh Hashanah sermon this year: “This diversity is messy, and it makes Jewish life complicated, but it is the root of our survival — and more than that — our holiness.”
