My New Year's initiative began in good faith but collapsed about a third of the way through the calendar year's first Shabbat shacharit when, for failure to acquire a minyan, various fillers were imposed. The rabbi being away, he gave the President a Dvar Torah from somebody else to read to us. Probably a Never Event in its own right. And one of dubious quality that got plenty of mental comments. Then a rather academic drush from the Cantor to fill space. From a chapter written by a friend. Great source for a seminar in an aspect of prayer, wretched having it read to us for as long as it took. I wanted to leave. I did leave, to stroll to my car and get an update on my son who just tested positive for Covid with annoying but not life-threatening symptoms. Then back for the rest. Little banter. Maybe Judaism is a series of time boxes that need to be filled, whether worthwhile or not.
How I respond to something put my way remains my ultimate autonomy. I could have remained cheerful as intended. I didn't. Sometimes you need to take broken things to the local landfill. My shabbos morning experience has been broken. Too big an impediment to my personal cheerful mission.
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