Break Fast

Yom Kippur is over for another year. A day (starting last night) of examining our lives, trying to think about the past year and toward the coming one. A day to say we're sorry and figure out how to do better. And through all of it, to refrain from eating for twenty-four hours.
 
When it came to writing last night, I had this realization that posting just wouldn't feel right on this day of separating from daily things. Problem is, now it feels as though there's this imperative to convey something profound from my day of fasting and introspection, but I have no more answers than I did a day ago.
 
One of the trickiest things, I find, about religious observance is the translating of observance into meaningful everyday practice. I sit in services with my kids, trying to impress upon them the importance of the holiday. I fast for as many hours as I am able. But once the service is over, and the fast has been broken, are we any different than we were before it all started?
 
Perhaps, the effects can be found not just in radical changes, but in the little differences. In the time we get to spend with friends, just because it's a holiday. In the hours we spend in the same place as our children, just because it's a holiday. In the moments we get to think a little about life instead of worrying about whether we put enough scoops of grinds in the coffee maker or enough milk in our cereal. So, while the observance--the services, the fasting, the refraining from everyday work--might not seem to translate into the personal changes the holiday is going for, perhaps these things open the door, just a little, and a little differently than we are used to, to making the changes that make sense for us.
 
We have broken the fast. This particular observance is over for another year. And, with any luck, we'll be walking through that door to a good, and just a little different, new year.