Back to the Village

I walked in a half hour late, not unexpectedly--it takes as long as it takes to get from CT back to NY, no getting around that. But, despite my plan to meet my kids, I couldn't walk in a half hour late, particularly in what my husband would call my "clomp-clomp shoes," and have all eyes look at me. So I tiptoed up to the balcony and sat alone. Did I feel odd knowing that my kids were somewhere downstairs? Sure. But as I craned my neck to see downstairs (even though I knew they must be in the one section I couldn't see), I saw people in practically every row who knew them. People all around who would look out for them. Perhaps I should have been brave enough to find them, even in my "clomp-clomp shoes," to put aside my own embarrassment in order to be right there with them. But as I continued to survey the room, it felt good to know that this place had somehow, sometime along the way, become a real community for us, a part of the proverbial "village" that we need to help raise our children.

Where was I? Temple on a Friday night. And what I took away tonight was that the Judaism in our lives is as much about the community as about the prayers, as much about having a place to belong as having a place to worship. Even when we're late. And wearing noisy shoes.