Going to shul is the best present you can give yourself

Like many assimilated Jews, my synagogue attendance fell off a cliff in my twenties and thirties. I became a High Holy Days Jew and, I have to tell you, it felt dreadful.

In my experience, only attending synagogue on the High Holy Days is the worst of all worlds – you don’t really know anyone or feel part of the community in any kind of meaningful way, the services are longer than usual, and there’s no kiddush.

Then three years ago this past Shabbat, after a couple of decades in the wilderness, I took the leap and joined a new community (actually, I didn’t leap so much as was dragged along by my partner) – and it has absolutely changed my life for the better. Although there are many things that are different about my new congregation – we don’t have our own building and the services are in Hebrew (I grew up in a Progressive community but now attend Masorti) – so much of it was instantly familiar; the warmth and openness of the people, the full-bodied joy of singing in services, the spirited encouragement to learn, ask questions and generally get involved.

After just one service I remembered what I was missing: that feeling of being a part of something bigger than myself, that glimpse of something greater, more magical, than the everyday. You’ve all probably heard it before, but now feels like a good time to wheel out the classic joke about Jews and synagogues. A Jewish man is stranded alone on a desert island for years. When he’s finally rescued, his rescuers notice that he’s built two synagogues on the island.

They ask, “Why two synagogues? You’re here all by yourself!” He replies, “Well, this one is the synagogue I go to. And that one? That’s the synagogue I would never set foot in.”

The good news is that nowadays synagogues are like flavours of ice cream: there’s one to suit every taste.

A report released by the Institute for Jewish Policy Research (JPR) in 2016 found that there were 454 synagogues in operation across the United Kingdom – pretty staggering considering that according to the 2021 census, there are only 271,327 Jews here.

The point is, if you don’t like your current shul, or the last shul you went to, or the only shul you’ve ever been to, then it’s just not the right community for you. But that doesn’t mean the game is over. From Progressive communities with female rabbis who hold services in church halls to traditional Sephardi communities with listed buildings, synagogues in this country are a rich and varied tapestry, so no matter your sexuality, politics, proficiency in Hebrew or family background, there is a community where you will feel welcome and at home.

As for the common misconception among non-synagogue goers that you have to be religious to go to shul, that it’s all about God; in my experience that couldn’t be further from the case. In every synagogue there are people who will do literally anything apart from sit through a service – and they’re usually some of the most valued members. Because what it’s really about is community: connecting with other Jews, having each other’s backs; celebrating each other’s wins, commemorating our shared history, and supporting each other through life’s inevitable losses.

Fran Lebowitz put it this way: “I’m not religious but I do find myself in synagogue on the High Holy Days.

"It’s like the gym: you hate going but you feel guilty if you don’t.”

I’d add that, like the gym, you will always feel better after going to shul, and the more you go, the easier it gets.

But importantly, unlike the gym, on those occasions when you’re not really in the mood, and you haven’t found your flow, and the service has dragged on – there’s always kiddush.