Throwing In The Towel

Sorry, but I'm just not up for it anymore.

Every year at Hoshanah Rabbah the rabbis tell us that it is a much forgotten holiday, that it has significance, that please please please they'd like us to come to shul.

On days like that what you see in shul is a group of men looking very awkward as they go through this very odd ritual of walking in circles carrying lulav and etrog, then flogging the ground with willow branches. It's supposed to be very very important and must be or else why would they do something that looks so odd.

I try to do what I'm asked to do. I try to listen to my rabbis. I try, especially so soon after the days of awe, to participate as fully as possible.

Our rabbi said once that part of what feels so good about Yom Kippur is that you know exactly what you have to do that day.

The last time I went to Hoshanah Rabbah, though, I was the only woman standing on my side, with no stage directions, no camaraderie. The awkwardness already present in the room was magnified for me by my having no one else to join me. So I didn't know what to do. You tell me one thing when you ask everyone to come to shul. You tell me something else when I'm left all alone.

I "lean in" frequently. I make myself feel simultaneously vulnerable, brave and pushy every time I go to kiss the Torah at shul and no other women do.

Many women have given up. They sometimes might say they just aren't interested, but I have never lacked interest in participating and I suppose many of them haven't either. They feel their presence is not wanted or they can't take the pain of isolation. I refuse to give up in most things. But in this way, forget it. It's just not worth that pain again. So this morning I davened at home and I'm trying not to feel as if I missed something.