For Kol Nidre, I Zoomed in to FPS from the beach at home in Whitstable, watching the sunset. Zoom services can feel detached, but the shul’s warmth poured through the screen, while lapping waves accompanied me in the moments of silent prayer.
Through my headphones, resident musician Dean Staker sang Paul Kelly’s If I Could Start Today Again. Despite no Jewish connections, Kelly could have written the song for Yom Kippur: “I only want one day/to unsay the things I said/undo that thing I did/ 24 little hours/oh God just wash them all away/ and I promise I will change…”. It was unusual, extraordinary, and understated – something FPS excels at. As the service finished with Yigdal and congregants prepared to pack away their tallitot, I realised it was my tent, not my tallit, that needed returning to its bag!
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Zoe Jacobs on Whitstable Beach on Kol Nidre, from where she joined a Zoom service at Finchley Progressive Synagogue (Photo: Zoe Jacobs)[Missing Credit]
I went to Menorah (Cheshire Reform Congregation) for Rosh Hashanah morning. Rabbi Fabian was thoughtfully aware of the lengthy service and encouraged the congregation to look after their bodies as well as their souls, sitting when we needed to rather than when it was prescribed. I was thrilled to see a female shofar blower and female caller on the bima.
Yom Kippur began incongruously on a commuter train to London and Finchley Reform Synagogue. Sat among the suits and briefcases, I listened to FRS’ Elul Spotify playlist, Avinu Malkeinu at St Pancras and Achat Sha’alti on the Tube. My favourite was Ki Hinei Kachomer – a line from Kol Nidre liturgy – sung by Cantor Zoe Jacobs, whose voice is velvet, and Jewish singer-songwriter Daniel Cainer.
After the morning service, I asked an FRS volunteer for directions to Windsor Open Space where I was meeting a friend. He called confidently to a fellow Yom Kippur escapee, “You go past Windsor Open Space, right?”. The family bemusedly agreed to give me a lift. Their delightful eight-year-old asked me curiously: “Do we know you?” “No,” I said, agreeing that the situation was a little odd. We parted ways, acknowledging that Yom Kippur was surely the day to do a mitzvah!
Returning to FRS for the afternoon and evening, I sat behind Rabbi Miriam’s son, who made a heart with his hands outstretched towards his mum. She sent a secret smile back. Rabbi Miriam’s reminder of her personal cheerleaders in the crowd was my reminder that our clergy, educators and shul staff are an extraordinary gift.
Rabbi Miriam explained that during lockdown, lists of names became uncomfortably close to statistics. Since then, for Yizkor, each person is named alongside their photograph projected on the walls around us: holiday snaps, grandparents with adoring grandchildren, a beaming face. A snippet of humanity. At the end of Ne’ilah, “Tekiah gedolah” was a cacophony of joy and relief, sounded by 20 or so shof’rot, played by anyone in the congregation with a shofar, the willingness – and the breath – to join in!
I spent Erev Succot with Kent Liberal Jewish Community, sitting in the succah of members David and Jo. Still new-ish to Kent, I travelled by train through towns I’d never heard of, feeling further and further from home. As if from my thoughts to God’s ears, we sung L’Cha Dodi to Finchley Progressive’s Shabbat Resouled tune! It was a love letter to my exhausted heart: I might have left (that) home, but home hadn’t left me.
Zoe Jacobs with Rabbi Cliff Cohen at Thanet and District Reform Synagogue (Photo: Zoe Jacobs)[Missing Credit]
On Succot morning, at Thanet and District Reform Synagogue, Rabbi Cliff reflected during the Torah service that “we read what Torah says, not what we want Torah to say”, an off-the-cuff remark that would feel at home in Pirkei Avot!
The synagogue is a peculiar mix of old and new. It has a very traditional-feeling sanctuary – the only Progressive synagogue I’ve seen with wooden pillars on each corner of a raised bima. I later found out the structure had been gifted from Derby United Synagogue when it closed.
Your first synagogue – like your first Doctor Who, and your first love – will always be special. I remember Simchat Torah at Maidenhead Synagogue: being twirled around by grown-ups until my feet flew off the ground.
Rabbi Jonathan would invite children onto the bima. Drawing us close, he’d explain that we would learn Hebrew and read from this very Torah for our B’nei Mitzvot. I remember gazing up, awed at the prospect. He’d tell us: “Judaism is joyful. The Torah is sweet… Can you see that?” On tiptoes, we’d peek in at the scroll and see… Starbursts! We would scurry delightedly back to our grown-ups, clutching a sweet in our hand. I’m pleased to say the tradition has stayed strong. A gaggle of thrilled children holding their tiny gifts returned to seats around me.
Back to 2023, and joy was Rabbi Jonathan’s top priority as we dashed through Simchat Torah liturgy, ready for the dancing. We cleared the chairs and brought the Torahs out in a joyful celebration of singing, dancing, and organised chaos. A friend created a seated dance station for herself and Hilary, a beloved member of the community, who was unwell and unable to dance. She held the smallest Torah. Our dancing circle morphed to encompass them both. It was the epitome of community life: different people, different needs, different actions, all done with love and joy. Hilary died a few months later; her memory is a blessing.
Simchat Torah morning was muted by the news of the terror attacks that had been broadcast over night. We were in total shock. Rabbi Jonathan read the yartzeits before kaddish then added “and all those in Israel and Gaza who are being murdered right now”.
Before the tragic news, it had been a joy to (re)connect with each shul, the one I’d grown up in, the one my family prayed in, the one I’d worked in, and the ones I’d chosen just for me. Whatever your reason, shul-shopping over the chagim brings new traditions to each festival. I’m in Edinburgh, Maidenhead and Kent for the High Holy Days this year. Maybe I’ll see you there!
