My First Shabbat || Faith in Flux

I continued contacting local synagogues while keeping up with my independent studies. It so happened that one of the first public events held by a nearby Conservative synagogue was an author talk with none other than Sarah Hurwitz, author of Here All Along. I eagerly registered. Hearing her speak in person was wonderfully affirming, reinforcing everything I had connected with when reading her book months earlier. Though anxiety kept me from approaching her afterward, I did introduce myself to Rabbi Ben from the synagogue. I shared a brief version of my story and explained my desire to begin my conversion journey. He welcomed me warmly and invited me to attend Shabbat as his guest.

I was finally ready for my first official Shabbat service.

Entering the Sanctuary

I remember that day vividly—for both good and challenging reasons. It was a chilly early spring day, and I wore one of my signature short-sleeve button-down shirts, this one patterned with blue and white waves. As I entered the synagogue’s foyer, nerves prickled through me. Everyone else seemed at ease, chatting comfortably.

An older woman noticed my anxious fidgeting. With a gentle touch on my elbow, she guided me to an information table I hadn’t noticed.

"Shabbat shalom!" she greeted, her warm eyes crinkling above her lace-trimmed mask. "Is this your first Shabbat?"

"How could you tell?" I laughed nervously.

"Well, you’re not wearing a kippa." She retrieved one from a nearby basket and handed it to me. I struggled to secure it on my slick, bald head.

"Am I doing this right?" I asked hesitantly.

"You’re doing wonderfully!" she reassured me. "Now, how can I help you?" Before I could respond, Rabbi Ben appeared behind her.

"Rabbi!" she exclaimed. "This young man is here for his first Shabbat." He recognized me immediately.

"Right! I’m so glad you could make it," he said, shaking my hand. "Let me introduce you to one of our lay leaders. He can guide you through the service."

I followed him into the sanctuary, far more traditionally "church-like" than I had expected. We approached an older man sitting near the aisle.

"Lawrence!" Rabbi Ben clapped him on the shoulder, making the man jolt and then laugh. "This is Andrew. He’s exploring Judaism and attending his first Shabbat service. Can you show him the ropes?"

"Of course!" Lawrence said, extending his hand. "Come sit with me, boy. I’ll show you how it’s done."

The Service Begins

Lawrence reminded me of my late grandfather—kind but a little gruff. We chatted briefly before the service started. I mentioned being a sixth-grade teacher, which excited him—until he asked, "I hope you’re not teaching that Critical Race Theory nonsense."

My mouth fell open beneath my mask. For context, Critical Race Theory (CRT) examines systemic inequalities impacting marginalized communities. I didn’t teach CRT—not because I disagreed with it, but because sixth-grade social studies in North Carolina focuses on ancient civilizations like Egypt and Greece.

"No," I said cautiously. "I teach ancient history—mummies, mythology, that sort of thing."

"Good. We need more teachers like you," he said firmly.

I swallowed my frustration. This wasn’t the time or place to debate a stranger. The service began, offering a welcome distraction.

A Mixed Experience

Lawrence guided me through the Siddur, pointing out transliterations and commentaries. Despite my nerves, I was surprised by how familiar much of the service felt, thanks to the virtual Shabbats I’d attended during the pandemic.

But something felt off. Besides the Rabbi, the Cantor, and those called for aliyot, the congregation remained eerily silent. The sense of community I’d hoped for seemed absent.

Rabbi Ben’s sermon focused on the struggles of the past year—loss, health crises, and systemic oppression. My heart lifted. Finally, I thought, a call to action aligned with the social justice values that drew me to Judaism.

"We invite every member of our synagogue to sign our Community Action Pledge—a commitment to act justly and restore balance in our broken world."

His words were powerful—but I waited for more. Where was the action? The food drive? The call for donations or volunteering? To my disappointment, the pledge was simply a symbolic signature.

I felt deflated. The emphasis on words over deeds echoed too closely the churches of my past—well-meaning but stagnant in action.

Reflection

Looking back, I realize I placed too much weight on that single Shabbat experience. One uncomfortable conversation and unmet expectations shouldn’t have defined the entire community.

In truth, there were positive moments. Several congregants introduced themselves warmly, invited me to stay for Kiddush, and even exchanged phone numbers. I recognized some familiar faces from my old school community. But my disillusionment lingered.

I never returned to that synagogue.

Perhaps my expectations were unfair. Conversion is a journey of discovery—and not every step will feel affirming. What matters is how we respond, adapt, and continue seeking the community and values that resonate most deeply.