I spent Yom Kippur weekend in a Catholic church for a wedding…

This past Friday evening and all day Saturday, Jews all over the world spent the weekend in synagogues atoning for their sins from the previous year, while fasting to focus upon the forgiveness they sought. As the 24-hour somber marathon concluded, they gathered with their families to have the ceremonial breaking of the fast (read: food fest), starting the year inscribed in the Book of Life. Normally, I’d have been following the same routine. But this year was different.

On Friday afternoon, I arrived ready for my bridesmaid duties in Midland, Michigan for the wedding rehearsal of a dear friend. With an extremely large bridal party (10 bridesmaids, 10 groomsmen, 2 flower girls, 1 ring bearer, and 2 sets of parents), plus all the Catholic rites that needed review for the group, the rehearsal was complicated. As it concluded, the sun was setting. I knew my dad was headed out, after his last meal, to the Kol Nidre service.

This evening kickoff to the Day of Atonement is named for a legal, Aramaic text, meaning “all vows.” A seemingly cut-and-dry announcement, this renders the person’s promises and oaths committed (but not fulfilled) over the course of the past year to be null and void. Yes, you’d think it would be boring. And yet, this is normally the most hauntingly beautiful 30 minutes of my year.

The cantor sings the same incantation four times, each with increasing intensity. The melody is at the same time soothing and terrifying, with a continual build toward the grand finale, as the cantor sings so powerfully that his earlobes — and the rest of the room — shake. Over the course of each repetition, you’re forced to recall where you fell short: with loved ones, with your own spirituality, and with yourself. What could you have done better? Where did you screw something up? Why? More importantly, it’s the time to commit toward making an honest intention toward improvement — but not perfection. I vow to be better.

And so, as Father Kevin wrapped up his instructions about where we were to stand the following day alongside the altar, I took a moment to myself. No, there weren’t any glass-shattering cantorial solos. And no, there wasn’t a tremendous amount of time to deepen that sensation. And yet, for a brief minute, in my own silence, in that Catholic church, under the enormous cross with Jesus hung from it, I apologized. I asked for forgiveness from myself — my own worst critic. I asked for forgiveness from my family and closest friends — my rocks. And, I vowed to be better. To myself. To others.

I went to bed hungry, not unlike countless fellow Jews all over the world. I woke up hungrier, as well. Normally, on Yom Kippur, I have a chance to sleep in, I spend the entire morning and early afternoon in synagogue, and then take an afternoon nap or just lounge around. At that point, the 24 hours without food or drink (yes, no water) has run its course — and it’s time to break the fast. However, Jewish tradition also explains that those who are physically unable to fast due to health reasons aren’t allowed to do so — because above all else is the value of human life. So, pregnant women, diabetics, children, etc are banned.

With this in mind, my nurse of a mother instructed me before the weekend began that I was not allowed to fast, under her watch. I’d be getting up extra early for hair and makeup preparations, taking lots of photos, carrying things to and from the church, participating in a ceremony, going back and forth, and then heading to a reception. As she wisely explained, this was not the leisurely “nap-focused” day to which I’m accustomed, and it wouldn’t be safe. So, I ate. But here’s the thing: it may have been the most meaningful fast of my adult life.

Over the course of the day, I ate approximately 250 calories — and drank zero water or other liquids. Every item I consumed was thoughtful, calculated, and only eaten when I had deemed it a necessity. The purpose of the fast is to deny your body so that you can focus on your soul. Putting your emotional and spiritual self first before your physical needs one day out of the year seems appropriate. Each time I put a bite of food to my lips, I was forced to consciously think about the day’s purpose. I vow to be better. Don’t get me wrong; I was still starving by the time my own breaking-of-the-fast rolled around, even having eaten a little bit.

I had also made a concerted effort to focus upon why I was there — a celebration of two people coming together in love and friendship. If that’s not the most important vow of any day, I’m not sure what is. As Jenna and Bryan vowed to support one another in good times and in bad, in the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit, I had another opportunity for silent reflection. I’m sorry to those I’ve hurt. And, I vow to be better. I vow to be a loving partner — in good times and in bad. I vow to be a valuable colleague. A helpful friend. A caring daughter and sister. Why do you need to be in synagoge to make those self-assertions? As I found out on Saturday afternoon, under the behemoth Jesus statue, you don’t. Self-awareness only needs a quiet solitude in which you have a chance to look inward. That’s what Yom Kippur is all about.

And so, by the time 6 pm rolled around, my family had all gathered together for a huge feast. They laughed, they ate, they hugged, and they laughed some more. I missed them, for a moment. That togetherness is something toward which I always look forward (albeit not the hypoglycemic wooziness before that first blessed glass of OJ). However, as I looked around the bridal party room before we entered the reception, drinking that first blessed glass of OJ, I realized my break-the-fast experience was just the same, and just as joyous. We laughed, we ate, we hugged, and we laughed some more. This group had come together to celebrate love, which made us a collective version of a family. Sharing in that sentiment lends itself to a year starting on the right path, for health, happiness, and deeper meaning. For that, I’m grateful. And as I join Jews the world over in saying, G’mar Hatimah Tovah. May you be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life for a good year. May we all vow to be better.