The Night of Yom Kippur

My black bamboo place mats contrast strikingly against the white, plastic coated kitchen table where I currently sit. One of my blue and purple patterned bowls contains an autumnal orange squash soup that I've sweetened with honey and spiced with cayenne pepper. Next to it, the matching plate has heaps of penne with pesto sauce, and hunks of fresh baguette with camembert. My glass is half full of deep purple Bordeaux. A clear salad bowl in front of me has beautiful bright oranges, and a single, mid-ripened pomegranate that leans on a diagonal tilt. I have prepared a beautiful spread. I take a bite of baguette, and the gooey cheese gets stuck in the spaces between my teeth. Using my fork, I jab at a piece of penne, and move it around my plate to create an oily green trail of basil. My meal is delicious. And yet, each bite of pasta, each slurp of soup, and each sip of wine I take become more and more bland. I know I must eat, for I am faced with many long hours of having an empty stomach. 

I now realize what the meal in front of me has lost all flavor. Perhaps a meal isn't necessarily good based on what spices and ingredients are used. I have never eaten this particular meal, this meal before heading off to Yom Kippur services, by myself. Right now I seem to be going through the motions as opposed to feeling. I take a bite. I swallow. In a minute, I'll get up, clear my plate, throw away some trash, and make my way to temple. I'm not sitting with the people I love, eating a meal that might now even taste that good, and head off to pray with my community. I am on my own. My meal has lost flavor because I'm not with the people I love- the same people who I may fight with and shout at during the year- the people who I make little effort to stay in touch with- the people who love me unconditionally, no matter how much I fuck up. My only company is myself, and I've never felt so unsatisfied. Perhaps this is what it means to live abroad, away from friends and family. Perhaps this is why all of my classmates are going home during Christmas vacation.

To my friends, family, and mere acquaintances: I love you. I miss you. I'm sorry I have taken for granted the times we share or could have shared. This Yom Kippur, I will not be reflecting on how I've misbehaved, or purposely chose to do the wrong thing. I will reflect on the significance of being close to loved ones, and appreciating just being physically near them

It's time for me to catch my bus to go to services. I still have half a piece of baguette, most of my pasta, and nearly all of my soup left.

Perhaps I don't even need to fast this Yom Kippur- for I feel that even by eating I will still have an aching stomach, head, and heart.

I love you all. I'm sorry for all the times I have consciously and subconsciously wronged you. May you all have an safe and easy fast. May you all have a year of love, health, and happiness. If you're near someone you love, give them a hug, because not all of us are that fortunate at the moment. Gmar chatima tova.

Love,

Dena