On the first morning, participating virtually in services, we were in the sun-filled living room, surrounded by family: my wife, daughter, son-in-law, grandson, and I. Child-related materials of all sorts were scattered about the room, people popped in and out of the room and in and out of the services. Focus did not reign; a diffuse energy did. It was magical to have everyone there, together, interacting, and joining in the services in different, cumulative ways.
On the second morning, participating virtually in services, in that same sun-filled living room, now all cleaned up, I was alone—surrounded only by my tallit. I found myself closing my eyes often and, curiously, singing louder than I ever sing in temple and louder than I sang on the first morning, and deeply enjoying the singing. As the sun streamed in and the music ushered from the screen and from me, with my eyes closed, I had a moment or even two—nearly mystical, I think—of joy. It was different from the magic of the first day—but just as viscerally appreciated.
Collective magic and near-mystical joy. More than in prior years, I was glad this year that Rosh Hashanah has two days.
