No one was there, aside from me, and it was just voices on the other side of the curtain, cocooning me in a vision only I could see and feel
When I was in shidduchim my mother made me go to shul with her every Shabbos Mevarechim to be “seen.” By whom? I don’t know. I don’t think I fooled anyone with my piety. I’d show up in time for leining, and just follow everyone else standing and sitting.
I’d make an appearance Yamim Noraim, yes, but I was a page counter. I’d also doze off sometimes. Mrs. Berger, who was always seated next to me, was an avid davener; I could always count on her for the right place when I’d finally space back in.
Marriage and my first child were a wonderful respite for me from the pressure of shul. There was no reason to go, not for Yamim Noraim, not for Shabbos Mevarechim. My husband told me I didn’t even have to come for Zachor. I could read it to myself at home. That left only Megillah leining on Purim (if it was in a shul and not someone’s home) and dropping off my kids on Yamim Tovim for Bircas Kohanim.
I was fine with this arrangement. Shul didn’t pull me. I was never a good davener. I didn’t connect with the words, and my kriah was slow. It felt like a chore. When it wasn’t required of me, I let it go. Easily.
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