I Sat Alone in Shul Today

I sat alone in shul today. It wasn’t how I had planned it to be – not in the short-term, nor in the long term.

This wasn’t the first time I’ve sat alone at High Holiday services. There were the years when I was a newlywed, and we went to a modern orthodox shul on the Upper West Side. I sat in the women’s section while my husband davened with the men. I sat alone.

There was also a time when we had recently moved to Westchester as a young and growing family. We did not belong to a synagogue yet, but I attended high holiday services at the Reform temple where my children went to preschool. My husband preferred to attend Chabad. I sat alone.

And I sat alone today.

It’s odd to feel alone when you have many friends and family all around you. My mother and sister were only about 25 miles away, but they were unable to come to my shul today.

My teenage children were also at shul, but they were leading programming for the younger children. Even if they would have been in services, they would not have been sitting with me.

I’ve lived in my community for over 15 years now and attended my shul for 8 years, so I knew many friends, neighbors, and fellow congregants from all aspects of my life. I’m even good friends with the Rabbi and his wife as our sons played on the same baseball team together for years.

I was keenly aware that my ex-husband and former in-laws – people whom I had merged my life with — were amongst the parishioners in the congregation. They would not sit with me today.

I knew there was a strong likelihood that I would be sitting alone today. I had even fashioned a plan to avoid this situation – I had asked my best friend to save me a seat (which she so graciously did). The only problem was there were not enough seats in the short row for her entire family and me, so she saved me a solo seat just in front of her row. I was so thankful to have a seat and to have my friend and her beautiful family behind me, but I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb.

Her husband noticed this sensitive dynamic and kindly offered to come sit with me or to rearrange his family’s seating, but that was not needed. My single situation should not interfere with the ability for him to have his entire family together in one row.

The moment I sat down, I felt like all eyes were on me. Like they were thinking, “that poor divorced woman…nobody to sit with her. Guess this wasn’t how she wanted her life to turn out. Shame.” And that stung. A few moist tears welled in my eyes. I left myself feel sad for a moment. Not sad that I was that “poor divorced woman” but sad that things didn’t quite turn out the way that I had envisioned and hoped for.

High Holiday services have always been a time to “see and be seen.” We go to shul to pray, reflect and learn, but it is also a time to look around and see what everyone has been up to in the last year. Who looks good, and who doesn’t. Who has made it, and who hasn’t.

As a 45-year-old Jewish woman, there is nothing that shows your shul-worth more than a row full of your family sitting together, looking beautiful, interacting lovingly with each other (and a new handbag and some elite college acceptances in the works don’t hurt either). All the better if the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins are there too. That multigenerational row says it all.

I learned this growing up in Minnesota. Families there were like dynasties – there were mergers where one successful family married into another, and they would take up entire sections of the shul. My family was not a dynasty – but we had our place. My aunt would always go early to save “our row” and anyone who tried to trespass would receive the wrath of Margie. After my Bat Mitzvah, I was finally able to attend adult services in the main sanctuary and there was already a spot there waiting for me. I was never alone. I always belonged.

I was thinking about those early years of belonging today as I sat in the second row of my shul, comparing and contrasting – the life I had envisioned for myself, versus the life I have. The life I used to have, versus the life I now have. The lives of others around me, versus my own. But that is a dangerous place to be. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t want to be envious of others. I didn’t want others to pity me. I blinked back those tears that were welling in my eyes, I stopped slouching in my chair, and I held my head high. I shifted my perspective and reclaimed the moment.

The irony of the aloneness I experienced today, is that I hardly ever feel alone in my life today. While I have been divorced for about 5 years now, I have rebuilt my life in a way that I am proud of, that feels full and dynamic, and that aligns with the person that I am today and the one that I want to become tomorrow.

As the service ended, a familiar verse at the end of the Amidah drew my attention. “My G-d, keep my tongue from evil, my lips from lies. Help me ignore those who slander me. Let me be humble before all. Open my heart to your Torah, that I may pursue your mitzvot.” Because it doesn’t matter what other people think of me – it’s about what I think about me. If I am living my truth, following my path, and pursuing goodness in the world, I am pursuing the mitzvot of G-d.

I will probably be alone in shul in many future instances. My partner is Jewish but isn’t involved in organized religion. My kids are teenagers and will soon be off to college. My parents and sister all live away. That is just the reality. And I accept that.

But next year, I may decide to volunteer as a greeter instead of taking my solo seat in the front. That way I can blend in, see everyone, wish my many friends a Shana Tova, and give back to the community at the same time.