The Sum of the Whole

For 24 years, I hardly ever crossed the threshold of our local shtibel. Baby after baby, exhaustion and juggling, left me little energy to contemplate undertaking such a herculean effort. Instead I’d snatch a little extra sleep.

I’m spoiled, blessed with a husband who can blow shofar, lein megillah, and isn’t makpid on women hearing parshas Zachor. Besides for brief forays on Simchas Torah, I rarely entered the simple brick building that’s my husband’s second home. Although my husband is a pillar of our shul, I’ve barely been a nail in the wall.

But last year, things changed. I went to shul on Succos, and actually liked it. The chassidishe davening used a similar nusach to the one used in the shtibel of my youth. The niggunim were as comforting as a lullaby you’ve forgotten but still recognize when you hear it. I swayed to the tune of the gentle humming, embraced by the sounds of my childhood.

And so, surprising myself more than anyone else, I’ve been going back.