Recently, I’ve been stumped by signs from the universe. On a day driven by irresistible impulses, I borrowed a car and secured the parking spot directly outside of my apartment on the narrow New York City one-way street. Due to the unnatural occurrence, I wholeheartedly sensed this was a miraculous turning point. Yet, it was embarrassingly a coincidence.
I’m typically overwhelmingly driven by logic. For the majority of my life, I have identified as culturally Jewish: deeming my homeland as the Delicatessen. As a pragmatic person who is passionate about food and any holiday with a theme, it felt easier to detach myself from the complexities of a higher power.
Yet, ignoring spirituality negates my years spent lost in harmonies in the sanctuary, enthralled by the crisp sensation of quelling a Havdalah candle, dipping the flame into wine. This year on Yom Kippur, I shut off my phone and laptop for twenty four hours. I slept until 10:06 am, according to my microwave. Fasting from technology was personally more powerful than prompting a migraine by surrendering food.
Temple services typically entailed reciting prayers as if a talent scout was going to discover me and searching for the perfect moment to escape for an extended bathroom break with my friends. However, Kol Nidre services started Yom Kippur with a melodramatic night at the theater. Filling the sanctuary with cello, organ, harp, and a full ensemble of string and wind instruments. As a ritual dating back to a period of extreme persecution and forced conversion, the music has had the power to restore Jewish identity.
This year, I bundled in the cold on the first night of Hanukkah to attend the Rabbis for Ceasefire candle lighting. I stood in a crowd of hundreds of Jews, realizing this was the first time in years I’ve joined in prayer and solidarity. This communal warmth provided the same sense of community that temple and other Jewish groups used to provide us with growing up. Yet, it is easy to feel alone when institutions within our religion refuse to denounce genocide. I watched Jews of all ages swap phone numbers on pieces of paper.
I’ve finally acknowledged that spirituality spans beyond religion. Amidst the harsh realities of universe in tandem with the responsibilities of our day to day lives, sometimes music is the only moment of transcendence. I briefly panicked seeing a 28 minute wait for the train, but I started a new album for the first time and suddenly time passed since I was too busy enchanted by it all.
I attended a DIY show in a church, realizing that any concert could be an interfaith spiritual space: uniting communities with a shared passion for music. Of course, the architecture of the church itself added to the experience. Any shrine feels more holy for confession these days than a Zoom therapy screen.
This season, I’ve been drawn towards gut-wrenching lyrics in a world of fantasy. I’m amused by theatrical and bewitching records, fusing emotions through celestial chords. Will you metaphorically meet me at the altar?
Beautiful beautiful