My Coronavirus Shabbat

On a normal Friday afternoon, I come home from school to begin the process of separating the schoolweek from Shabbat before embarking on my weekly spiritual experience, Shabbat services. This past Friday was unlike anything I have experienced. With the Coronavirus plaguing the news and changing life as we knew it,  I had spent my school day learning the ways in which school would be conducted virtually and saying goodbye to my fellow thespians. I then promptly ventured home where I plopped on my couch to learn my synagogue had also been transformed.

My synagogue was officially practicing social distancing. The Executive Director sent out an email outlining the procedures Sinai was following to help ensure the safety and well being of all. As I expected, all programming was cancelled, the elderly were instructed to livestream services, and the pre-school was closed. Seeing my synagogue’s email made it all real.

While everyone at school was discussing the possibility of prom being cancelled and joking about an online graduation, I shrugged at the thoughts. Hearing that my synagogue was cancelling programming and converting to an online format brought me to tears. Now, it all felt real.

My mom knew the sanctuary would not have many people due to the loyal Shabbat attendees praying from their homes. She encouraged me to attend services, saying “It was my duty. If I go every Friday night, why wouldn’t I go this Friday night.” I sat for a bit thinking about what Sinai means to me. It's my home, and I needed to be at home tonight. I wanted to validate my synagogue’s extensive efforts to ensure services would still occur, pray in the comforts of the sanctuary, and greet my Rabbis as I would on any other Shabbat.

I reluctantly left the comforts of my home questioning whether I was appropriately dressed. My mom responded, “it's about you being there. It's not about what you’re wearing.” When I opened the door to my synagogue, a wave of worry washed over me. The regulars I had come to rely on seeing  were nowhere in sight. They were replaced with a Bat Mitzvah family. While I was happy to welcome the Sabbath with these people, I deeply missed my Friday night friends.

I walked to the far left of the sanctuary taking a seat by the window assuming more people would come. While a few came in, I was startled by the absence of people in the sanctuary. The elderly normally chit chat before services discussing the latest drama with their grandchildren. Tonight, it was replaced by everyone keeping to themselves. The three other regulars in attendance sat far apart understanding the importance of distance.

As services began, my Rabbis took their seats in chairs set up on the floor instead of standing on the bima so they were more visible to those live streaming. We began services with a friendly hello to the live streamers and an explanation of how to participate in services through this new format. It all felt so odd as the Rabbis stared into the cameras detailing how this would work instead of continuing to welcome in Shabbat.

After our introduction interlude, those of us in attendance were instructed to look at the screen for the prayers instead of touching the Siddurim. I was saddened  by the thought of not touching the pages of the Mishkan right before me, but I understood the importance of abandoning my tradition for the greater good.

Services proceeded as usual aside from HaMotzi. The Shamashim traditionally pass out the challah to all those in attendance. With one Shamashim in position this week due to the rest live-streaming services, I watched as Rabbi Brad and Rabbi Sam put on gloves before serving the challah to those in attendance.

When services end, I normally leave the sanctuary to see an oneg where members congregate together to discuss what’s on their mind. I walked out to see a meager offering of apple juice and oranges. It didn’t feel right to participate in this, but I didn’t want to leave my sacred home.

I walked into the daffodil garden to ponder my thoughts while looking at the stars. I sat in position to watch congregants exit the building. As each person left, I felt a sinking pit in my stomach. I knew this would be my last time at Sinai for the near future. After the Rabbis retreated to their offices to pack up for the night, I walked to my car with a feeling of doom hanging over me. 

Goodbye for now, Sinai. I love and miss you dearly.