Days of awe and sniffles

We don't usually go to services during the Days of Awe. Well, we don't usually go to services, ever -- we don't belong to a synagogue. There are lots of reasons. Laziness, that's a big one. A profound discomfort with the generally unexamined linkage between nationalism and faith, that's another.* Weariness at the very thought of having to negotiate the social circles of a congregation, that's three.** Also, it's really hard to find a place to worship for the High Holidays if you're not already synagogue members. You need tickets. They're harder to get than Red Sox tickets, and sometimes more expensive. We could do it, though -- we could get family members to get us tickets somewhere, or take up a friend's offer to worship at his Hillel, or something. But Mr. Blue and I both suffer from an equally profound discomfort with the liturgy and theology of the Days of Awe.*** If we were going to sneak into somebody else's synagogue, it's much more likely that we'd go for Sukkot or Simchat Torah. Harvest festivals and celebrations of sacred texts -- those I can get behind.****

Anyway. So our Rosh Hashanah celebrations can generally be defined thusly:

• Round challah instead of a braided one
• Travelling hither and yon to have one or more meals with extended family.

As it happens, this Rosh Hashanah finds us all vaguely under the weather. Mr. Blue has a cold that's turned into bronchitis. I have the sort of sinus headache that means that I'm leaving off my glasses for the day, and wincing whenever Michigan scores a touchdown.***** LG and Baby Blue just have residual sniffles, as far as we know, but Baby Blue went down for a nap before she'd even been changed out of last night's pajamas, which makes one wonder.

So we're staying home today instead of travelling. It's just us, with two round challahs (one was supposed to go with us to Mr. Blue's aunt's gathering), an enormous TtFTE track spread all over the front room, and college football on the TV. Right now I'm the only member of the family who's dressed. I'm not taking bets on whether anyone else will be dressed by the time we break open the apples and honey for lunch. LG has already announced that we should serve make-your-own pineapple pizzas for dinner, since they are round and sweet, and therefore the perfect Rosh Hashanah food. Hey, it's better than fish heads.

L'shana tovah to everyone out there who is celebrating the New Year in whatever fashion.******

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*A big sign in front of a synagogue exhorting me to support the state of Israel suggests to me that the congregation considers its main business to be about something other than developing a relationship with G-d through Torah and Talmud. Whether I agree with the policies of the state of Israel or not -- you can probably guess -- that's not what I'm looking for in the way of spiritual practice. I'm just saying.)

** One of the lasting effects of having grown up in a non-Jewish, non-prosperous community is that I cannot overcome a sense of not belonging in the wealthy, self-assured circles of greater Boston's Jewish community. Or I should say that I don't want to overcome it. The inadequacy shtick is not such a great thing, but neither am I enamored of the opposite of the inadequacy shtick, especially as expressed in socioeconomic situations. Perhaps I too much value the point of view that has come with my outsider status, and am loath to give it up.

*** There is a family story about how, at the Rosh Hashanah right after the death of Mr. Blue's mother, one of his little cousins turned to an adult during the service (you know, that part about being good and repenting in order to be inscribed in the book of life), and said, with anguish in his little voice, "But Aunt R. was good!"

**** Also, I appreciate holidays that have lower self-flagellation quotients. I worry that I'm becoming self-satisfied, but, on the other hand, I'm not sure that the annual rituals of self-flagellation have ever resulted in long-term change in the way I lead my life or relate to the people around me.

***** Look, I'm happy if they win, too, but do the males in this house have to shout quite so loud? Do they?? Huh???

****** All these asterisks instead of my usual long parenthetical asides? Clearly I've been reading Baraita again...