I was dreading Rosh Hashanah. I was already exhausted from the first week back teaching synagogue school, and I hadn’t even tried on my High Holiday clothes from the year before, just crossing my fingers that they still fit. I’d survived the two hour choir rehearsal in the midst of the crazy first week of school, but just barely, and I still had to go to the vet for Cricket’s fluids and Ellie’s heart meds, and do the food shopping, and at the last minute, we had to do three loads of laundry because Cricket had peed on everything, and by the time we were done I had just enough time to take a shower and get dressed in order to get to the synagogue on time.
Almost as soon as I sat down in the choir seats, the senior rabbi came over to tell me I would be doing the second reading – a Mary Oliver poem about her dog. I hadn’t seen the rabbi in person in a while, because I’d been going to services online, so I guess this was his first chance to tell me that he wanted me to read this poem – though I do have email, and a phone. I mentioned that it would be difficult for me to get to the Bima from the choir seats, especially in between songs, and he turned to my mom and complained about how much people like to complain.
I didn’t know exactly when my reading would come up, just that it would be relatively soon. Maybe. And that I couldn’t say no.
The choir was busy for the first part of the service, rarely sitting down. I’d forgotten how much standing was involved in singing with the choir because we were allowed to sit during rehearsals, and then I heard the junior rabbi give the intro for the poem I was going to read, so I put down my music and scooted past Mom and found my way down the aisle and up the stairs to the podium, and I read about Percy, the loving dog who looks up at his person as if she is everything.
As soon as I was done reading, I had to hurry back to the choir section for the next song, but I felt, in that moment, the reason why I kept saying yes – to singing, to rehearsing, to reading in public, to teaching and exhausting myself – it feels really good to be part of a community, and to be known. Because not only the rabbis, but many of the other people in the room knew why I’d been chosen to read that particular poem. And they knew that I sang with the choir and they knew that I taught in the synagogue school, and they knew my Mom and her photography and quilt work and asked after her when she wasn’t there. They may not all have known how hard it was for me to do all of it, but they saw me, and cared about me, and congratulated me, and it felt good.
I always dread the high holidays, knowing the work involved and how self-conscious I’ll feel going up on the podium and dressing up and singing into microphones, and all of the extra-long services one after the other after the other. And I always forget how meaningful it is, and how satisfying it is, to be surrounded by so many people sharing the same experience.
There are, of course, times when I feel like I don’t belong, and when I feel like parts of me are invisible. During the Torah service, for example, our community calls up groups of congregants for the honors instead of calling up individuals, and they’re all in life-cycle related categories: everyone who will be driving a car in the next year; everyone who is newly married or celebrating an important anniversary; everyone with a new baby or grandbaby.
There are also categories that could apply to me; I’m dreading the time when I can go up for the first Aliyah on Rosh Hashanah, for those who have lost a loved one in the past year. But mostly I feel this otherness, endlessly, because to be a member of the Jewish community often means to focus on the family as the unit of measurement, and I don’t really fit. There’s no Aliyah for people who had to go to more than ten doctors’ appointments in the past year, or people who are pre-emptively grieving the loss of a senior dog, or people who want to do more with their lives, but can’t.
In a way, I prefer the darkness of Yom Kippur: the focus on what has been difficult and painful over the past year; the focus on what we regret. It’s not that I want to revel in the pain, but there’s relief in knowing that everyone is sitting a second longer than usual with what went wrong, and what was missing, instead of focusing solely on the Instagram-ready celebrations.
But I made it through the marathon of Rosh Hashanah services, even forcing myself out to Tashlich on the afternoon of the first day of the holiday, when our community has its dog-friendly service out by the water, where we sing and throw away our sins (even the babies seem to revel in throwing their sins, in the shape of bird seed, out to the ducks), and meet all of the canine members of the community who’ve been out of view, but still there with us in spirit, over the past year.
I pushed myself to go to the outdoor service because I wanted Cricket to be there one more time. She’s never been the most outgoing or friendly dog, and she wasn’t feeling all that well on that day in particular, but I wanted her to know that she was still part of our community, still known and seen and loved.
And even if it’s hard to live up to the work of being in community, even if sometimes it feels like more than I can do, there are also moments when it all comes together and my sixteen year old dog, and I, know we belong.
If you haven’t had a chance yet, please check out my Young Adult novel, Yeshiva Girl, on Amazon. And if you feel called to write a review of the book, on Amazon, or anywhere else, I’d be honored.
Yeshiva Girl is about a Jewish teenager on Long Island, named Isabel, though her father calls her Jezebel. Her father has been accused of inappropriate sexual behavior with one of his students, which he denies, but Izzy implicitly believes it’s true. As a result of his problems, her father sends her to a co-ed Orthodox yeshiva for tenth grade, out of the blue, and Izzy and her mother can’t figure out how to prevent it. At Yeshiva, though, Izzy finds that religious people are much more complicated than she had expected. Some, like her father, may use religion as a place to hide, but others search for and find comfort, and community, and even enlightenment. The question is, what will Izzy find?
rachelmankowitz 
This is so poignant and emotional. I also liked the rabbi’s complaint about people complaining.
Thank you!
Rachel–this is a beautiful post. Yes, it is a wonderful feeling to be a part of a community. To love and be loved is the best.
I just read Mary Oliver’s LITTLE DOG’S RHAPSODY IN THE NIGHT–only one of her dog poems. Hugs from me to Cricket and Ellie.
Thank you so much!
So lovely Rachel. I adore that Mary Oliver poem, and can totally relate to your feelings of otherness now that I am widowed (not that it’s a new feeling for me as an introvert growing up in a complicated family). My heart is with Cricket, too, a “heart dog” indeed. Best to you all.
Thank you!!!!!
I’m so glad you went up front and read, and that Cricket could go. I understand the close community, especially during the High Holy Days, of the shul from working there for four years. My husband and I both loved participating when we could.
We’re finally having a blessing of the pets for sukkot, fingers crossed Cricket will be up to it.
We used to have them at the synagogue where I worked, too. Even during COVID, we did them on-line, and both Lucy and Xena got their Hebrew names that way. (Ora and G’vurah). You can read about it here. https://lexitheschnauzer.wordpress.com/2020/10/28/our-barkmitzvah-on-almost-wordless-wednesday/
I remember that post!
So nice that your faith community knows how important dogs are to you!
It really is!
What opinion of your kids about your singing?
Do you have anything recorded to post here for us?
If it’s not too intrusive, of course.
It sounds like, in the end, it was a good thing for you to do the reading and feel the benefit of doing it after.
It really was!
Well that was a lot to take in. It sounded quite satisfying. Proud of you Rachel for giving it a go. 🤗🤍. Although thst Rabbi came off as a tad bit rude unless he said it with a smile ?
Always with a smile!
☺️👍
Oh my goodness! So many big emotions here. They are understandable. I did not like, however, how the rabbi complained to your mom! It seems so passive aggressive! Maybe my take is incorrect, but doing things to make people feel guilty rubs me the wrong way!!!! Praying for you and those adorable puppies!
Thank you!!!!
That’s how his behavior struck me, too. It is a fact that there always seem to be a small group of people who are called on to do all the work in any organization, much to their glory, but at the risk of burdening them beyond their capabilities on some days. Good for you, Rachel, hanging in there long enough to see the beauty of your circumstances, even if Cricket was a very, very naughty doggy! (Cricket may be trying to tell you to slow down and pet the doggies, you know! You are part of Cricket’s pack, too.)
Thank you!
it was touching & beautiful & so well told. meaningful to me too🥰🙏🏼❤️about the innate need for belonging, for being part of something meaningful🌹🦋🌹
Thank you so much!
I’m always amazed at how much you take on, Rachel. Wow!
Thank you!
Rachel, this is a lovely post, a touching one, and very relatable. I’m glad you got to read Mary Oliver (I love Oliver). And I’m glad you, your mom and dogs were part of a community. Lastly, love your writing—you’re so talented.
Thank you so much!
Such a touching blog post. Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets, and that poem is especially wonderful. Glad you have such a strong community, and pretty shocked at how amazingly all those folks care about animals! Super!
P.S. In my first grade classroom, I always displayed my “classroom rules” in the form of my fave Mary Oliver poem:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIVING A LIFE:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
-Mary Oliver
Just like you are doing with your blog! 😉
Cheers,
Julie
Thank you so much!
How wonderful that your synagogue includes dogs. Friends recently married in an outdoor ceremony. Guests were invited to bring their dogs too. A great time for all.
That’s so awesome!!!
Such a beautiful post, Rachel. Thank you for sharing your experiences and your emotions so poignantly. ❤️
Thank you so much!
This was lovely, Rachel, and I wish you and your mom and the pups a very sweet New Year. I’m so glad you were able to extract the joy of community from this tiring and difficult event. It’s not surprising to see why you are a well-loved and respected member of your synagogue family.
Thank you so much!
A beautiful, thoughtful post as usual. Sending you, your Mom, & the dogs lots of love!
Thank you!!!
L’Shana Tovah tikatevu!
Happy New Year, Rachel! May your year be rich and sweet, filled with blessings. ❤
Thank you!!!!
You made it through! 👏👏👏👏
True!
I’m glad you made it and I’m proud of you for doing the reading and especially for taking Cricket to the outdoor service. Being part of community is so important to mental health and feeling connected. A friend and I talked about this tonight related to her college age daughter getting involved in an intramural team sport. We all need to be part of something.
Absolutely!
It is a lot to be a Jew. Thank you ⚘️
What a wonderful read, Rachel. Yes, it can be quite exhausting, but rather exhilarating being a part of a community. We are social creatures needing others and the social interactions included. As you wrote; when we come to terms with the pros and cons, the pros win out fantastically.
It’s wonderful when the pros win out!
I’m so glad I took the trouble to look for this. For some reason I didn’t get a notification of publication, and Sunday when I realized you hadn’t posted the day before (or so I thought), I was worried about you. I’m so glad you were able to do all this and be part of a community that I’m sure values you for all you do and are.
Thank you so much!
I recall how often you have longed to feel more integral to your congregation. I love reading how that has come about. Peace.
Thank you!
As usual, sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate, Rachel. Good luck with all that.
Art
Thank you!
Poor you. What a difficult time for you – but thanks for sharing the blessing that was the end result. God bless.
Thank you!