Staying home on Rosh Hashana

I’m not going to shul this year.

I have spent every Rosh Hashana in synagogue since I can remember, except for the year my family went to the Grand Canyon instead and read from texts my mother had put together.

When I was little, the thing that helped me sit through temple services was knowing there would be cookies at the oneg afterwards. And on Rosh Hashana, for some reason, there were no cookies. So my earliest memories of Rosh Hashana in a synagogue are of sitting in a pew and thinking, “ugh, what’s the point?” Then, when services were over, I would walk out of the sanctuary with my mother and peek hopefully into the social hall, just in case the temple staff had changed their mind. They never did.

It got better from there, though. I grew into Rosh Hashana. I began to take in the symbols and rituals of the day—apples dipped in honey and Hebrew greetings that twisted my tongue. And the music! The synagogue music began to impress itself on my soul. When I was a teenager, I joined the temple choir. I remember the thrill each year of beginning to practice the songs, and letting the nostalgia and anticipation rush over me.

When I started spending Rosh Hashana in orthodox synagogues, it took a long time to get used to the different melodies and the looooooong davening. But I gradually came to feel at home in this new environment. I married a man with a beautiful and powerful voice. He regularly spends Rosh Hashana hired by synagogues as a guest chazzan.  I have enjoyed the past decade following him around on the holidays and listening to his davening. I prefer it to anything else, even accounting for wifely bias.

Anyway, since my daughters were born four years ago, I’ve found it harder and harder to spend Rosh Hashana in shul. Each year, I try to work out some babysitting solution, and each year I feel split in two wherever I am. Either I’m in shul and worrying about my kids, or with my kids and wishing I was in shul.

Even when I think I’ve got it all figured out, something always backfires. One year, the synagogue that hired my husband assigned personal babysitters to each of my children. They were the BEST babysitters, friendly and attentive non-Jewish teenagers, full of energy and happy to help out. I left my then-two-year-old twins in their care and skipped off to services.

Perfect, right?

Except for the eight-year-old girl who got bored in services and decided to appoint herself assistant babysitter and give all her love to my children. At some point, she decided to bring Y.B. in to “peek” at ima davening. I was alerted to this by the sudden howls of “IMA! IIIIIIMMMMAAAA!!!” interrupting my fervent prayer and drowning out my husband’s rousing song.

You haven’t lived until you’ve gazed across a house of worship on one of the holiest days of the year at the innocent face of an elementary-schooler and wished to snap her neck.

Spiritual.

* * *

I was looking forward to going to shul this year. There is a congregation in my neighborhood with amazing, passionate davening, and the mothers get together to organize a babysitting rotation. My daughters are four and my son is two, so they are finally at an age when it should be a bit easier to leave them in a babysitting room.

But there’s something else that’s different this year. My daughters are also old enough to take in and appreciate the specialness of Rosh Hashana. The hours that comprise the synagogue services are also the ones that my girls are the most alert and active and receptive to sharing ideas. I don’t want them spending this time in babysitting.

So I've decided to not split myself in two this year. I am going to stay home with my kids. I will try to immerse myself and my home in the themes of the day—God’s sovereignty, the sweetness of a fresh start, the responsibility of being called to judgment. I will try to get some praying done using the system that works so well for me on Shabbat. And we will prepare for the holiday meals in a leisurely way.

Do I feel completely settled on this plan? No. I spent a good part of my writing time pacing around and reconsidering. I have so many questions. Will I be able to really feel that it is Rosh Hashana without the enveloping awesomeness of the synagogue? How will I fulfill the mitzvah of hearing the shofar? Can I stay focused on the spiritual discipline of bestowing kindness on my children, and not descend into anger and frustration?

We’ll see. I feel relieved and optimistic about the experiment. I learned from my mother that you can even experience the mood of Rosh Hashana at the Grand Canyon. We enjoyed ourselves that year, and the next year we were back at shul. Maybe that’s what will happen to me, too. But I have to give an honest shot at committing myself fully to being at peace in one place, with one focus.

Blessings for a sweet renewal.