Every year of my life, as long as I can remember, I’ve had dinner on Erev Yom Kippur and broken the fast with family or friends or both. This year, my brother was under the weather, my mom doesn’t like to drive at night, my husband works, my sister, cousins, nieces and nephew, far flung, some physically, some by choice. So, for the first time, I think ever, I had dinner on Erev Yom Kippur alone. Not lonely, just alone. I broke the fast alone. Not lonely, just alone. I spent the entire day in between at the synagogue, sitting in on services I had never been in the building for before. I ended up in a healing service I didn’t know I needed. I spent a joyous hour in the children’s service, I got to know, through her parents’ courage, Adi, a young woman who died defending her children on October 7th. Let me just note I had offers for dinner, for the break between services, for breaking the fast. My heart appreciated every offer, knowing I didn’t ever need to be lonely. I declined them all. There was something healing about spending the day with myself. But not lonely, never lonely. Fellow congregants, choir colleagues, cherished clergy, little ones from my ECC class, calling “Ms. Caryn!”, texts from my brother and sister-in-law popping up on my iPad, making me giggle just a little. All around me a community I have come to love. There was a moment in the afternoon, where Rabbi Z gave out group Aliyot according to age and the first group was 65 and older. And as I stood, I got that same small gut punch I get when I check the 64+ box on surveys or questionnaires. How is that possible when just yesterday, my mommy was coming to get us at shul after the morning service before Yizkor? We were kids. We had no need for Yizkor. Just yesterday, my sister and I were sitting up in the balcony during the last few endless moments before sundown, sniffing the gum we had snuck into the synagogue. I had many opportunities to reflect and remember and grieve and sing and to say I’m sorry. There were moments I laughed out loud. Moments I cried. Even a moment I got my feelings hurt, which made me a little mad. And I felt like lashing out. In temple! And then I remembered the offending party is five. And telling them I’m rubber and they’re glue wasn’t the best way to handle things. Healing. It comes from so many directions, so many people, so many places. Ultimately, it comes from within. From a day spent alone. But not lonely.
Getting vintage 