Jewish Time || Faith in Flux

If you’re chronically online like I am, you may have seen the trend of people describing how they visualize time. Some see it as a straight timeline, others as a bar chart with months stretching or shrinking based on how long they feel. For me, time is cyclical: a never-ending circle divided into 12 segments. These segments aren’t evenly spaced; some months dominate more space, others overlap, and when you add seasons as a layer, it only gets more confusing. This is also how I see the Jewish calendar—a rotating circle of events layered on top of my "normal" concept of time.

As someone new to Jewish time, I found the calendar and its many holidays and festivals both fascinating and overwhelming. The months follow a lunar cycle that predates the Roman calendar, and the number of holidays—both major and minor—was staggering. Growing up, I only knew about Passover and Hanukkah, and even those were mostly learned through cartoon specials (the Rugrats Hanukkah episode still holds a special place in my heart: “A Macca-baby’s gotta do what a Macca-baby’s gotta do”). Discovering the breadth of Jewish holidays was both exciting and daunting.

How would I decide what to celebrate or observe? While the "tent-pole" holidays like Passover, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Hanukkah were a given, I wanted to explore the wide variety of options. I began reading and studying, using resources like The Jewish Holidays by Rabbi Michael Strassfeld and My Jewish Year by Abigail Pogrebin. These books opened my eyes to the depth and importance of Jewish holidays. They shifted my mindset about what Jewish life could look like. At first, I read these books cover to cover, taking in the information like textbooks. Now, I revisit them yearly as holidays come around.

In my first year of exploring Judaism, I used these books, along with online resources like myjewishlearning.com and HebCal, to experiment with holiday observance. HebCal became an invaluable tool, as its digital reminders kept me connected to Jewish time more effectively than a paper calendar ever could. Learning about holidays like Sigd and Tu Bishvat—less commonly observed in the diaspora—was particularly enriching.

To process what I was learning, I began creating simple social media web comics detailing the holidays and how I planned to celebrate them. My favorite project was the "Comic Megillah" I created for my first Purim. These doodles and commentaries helped me internalize the holidays while sharing my journey with loved ones who weren’t Jewish. Over time, this project became a way to connect my traditions with others and challenged me to dive deeper into their meanings.

Hanukkah and Passover

My first Hanukkah celebration was late in 2021. I had just started attending Kehillah synagogue and found my first menorah at Target. It was a brutalist, industrial-looking piece—black metal branches screwed into a wooden base. Not what I’d imagined, but I’ve grown to love its minimalist aesthetic. Lighting the first candle alone, reading the blessing off my phone, I felt like a fraud—a recurring theme in my early observances. Friends reassured me that celebrating alone wasn’t strange, and we planned a gift exchange later in the week. Still, I wanted something more traditional.

On the third night of Hanukkah, I attended Kehillah’s community menorah lighting. The courtyard was packed, and I felt overwhelmed standing among strangers. I stayed on the outskirts, awkwardly observing but soaking in the warmth of the community. Though I barely spoke to anyone, the experience gave me goosebumps. I thought, "Someday, this could truly be my life."

Fast forward to 2023: I invited my family to celebrate Hanukkah with me for the first time. Knowing they were unfamiliar with the traditions, I made the evening as accessible as possible. I read a children’s book about Hanukkah, brought out a dreidel set with instructions, and wrote the blessings in English. Sharing this part of my life with my family, despite our complicated history, was deeply meaningful.

Passover, on the other hand, presented unique challenges. In spring 2022, I hosted an unconventional seder for friends. Having never attended a seder, I relied on research to assemble the meal and create a personal Haggadah. My relationship with food—complicated at best—made the traditional seder plate intimidating. I adapted the foods to fit my comfort level while maintaining the themes of the holiday. Though the evening was meaningful, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Passover’s emphasis on family felt especially poignant as I had recently gone no-contact with mine. After an emotional breakdown during the seder, I realized how much I longed to experience a traditional Passover celebration—something I still hope to do someday.

Shavuot and Yom Kippur

Shavuot quickly became one of my favorite holidays. Inspired by Abigail Pogrebin’s account of all-night study sessions, I dedicated my first Shavuot in 2022 to catching up on Torah portions and commentaries I had missed. Staying up all night reading and writing, I felt deeply connected to the holiday’s themes of redemption and reflection. Kehillah’s tradition of decorating Torah scrolls with flower crowns added a joyful, communal element.

In 2023, I expanded my observance by including literature from Jewish authors. By 2024, I allowed myself to explore Jewish-themed novels. These adaptations enhanced my connection to Shavuot while honoring its core mission. Moving forward, I plan to incorporate even more learning opportunities into my observance.

Yom Kippur, however, has been more challenging. In 2022, I took the day off work and attended Kehillah’s full slate of services, doing my best to fast despite my struggles with food. But as the day wore on, I found myself questioning the purpose of the rituals. While I found immense meaning in the month of Elul’s journaling and reflection, the long hours of Yom Kippur services left me feeling disconnected. This raised a larger question: If a tradition doesn’t resonate with me, is it necessary to observe it? Since then, I’ve stepped back from traditional Yom Kippur observances but continue to practice Tashlich, which I’ve adapted into a mindfulness and meditation ritual.

Adapting Jewish Time

The challenges I’ve faced in observing Jewish holidays have pushed me to evolve my practice beyond tradition. On one hand, this has allowed me to create deeply personal rituals. On the other, I feel I’ve missed out on classic experiences, like a traditional seder or dancing with the Torah on Simchat Torah. But I believe traditions are meant to evolve, shaped by the people who carry them forward. There is no wrong way to engage with Jewish time, as long as it’s done with respect and intention.

I have time to explore these gaps in my practice. I’ve yet to make latkes, and my dreidel-spinning skills leave much to be desired. But I know that as I continue to grow, so will my relationship with Jewish time. Each year offers new opportunities to engage with these traditions in meaningful ways, ensuring that they remain vibrant and relevant in my life.