On the Friday night of Shabbat Shuvah 43 years ago, I began my return to Judaism. I was living in Marina del Rey at the time, and I said to my roommate, “It’s Shabbat Shuvah and I am shuv-ing!” I’d been wrestling with whether to become more observant for over a year, and on that night, I committed to taking the first step.
I strolled up the Venice Boardwalk to the Pacific Jewish Center, now known as Shul on the Beach, in Venice, California. I came to the door, where Michael Medved, co-founder of PJC, greeted me with a smile. When the services were over, I prepared to leave; I’d promised a friend I would meet her for coffee after shul. Michael approached me and asked if I would be available to go to someone’s home for Friday night dinner. I was amazed. The last person who had invited me to their home for dinner was my mother. I stammered that I had to cancel my plans with a friend, and Michael said it was no problem; my hosts would wait. I walked up the Boardwalk to a payphone and put in a dime (this was 1980, remember). I told my friend we’d have to reschedule and hung up. The dime came back. My first thought was, “God doesn’t want me to spend money on Shabbat!”
I enjoyed a lively Shabbat dinner and was soon a regular attendee at the Pacific Jewish Center. If you had told me in 1980 that in 2023, I would be a senior member of that shul, that I would have been married for 38 years, and have Torah-observant children and grandchildren, I would have been incredulous. Yet over the years of regularly attending Shabbat services, being hosted graciously in many homes, and absorbing the beauty of Torah life, I became an observant Jew.
On Rosh Hashanah, I hosted a group of people who were at the beginning of their Jewish rediscovery. Seeing them struggle with the blessings after the meal, I remembered that at my first Shabbat meal, the blessings seemed both interminable and incomprehensible. Today, I know them by heart. When I began trying to daven the silent prayer, the Amidah, I was overwhelmed at the prospect of deciphering all that Hebrew. Rabbi Daniel Lapin suggested that I take it one paragraph at a time, moving at my own pace until I felt comfortable enough to move on. Today, the prayers flow smoothly.
Personal transformation rarely happens in a moment. It’s about taking baby steps. Lighting Shabbat candles, even if you turn on the TV after you light. Forgoing the side order of bacon at brunch, not because you don’t like bacon but because it’s not kosher. Letting that Saturday phone call go to voicemail because it’s Shabbat and you are going to refrain from answering that one call. Every small thing we do because we believe that is what Jewish tradition demands from us is a step toward a more spiritual life.
Looking back, I find it hard to wrap my head around the notion that I have been on this path for most of my life. At Shul on the Beach, I have seen many rabbis and key congregants come and go. But what remains the same? Shabbat. Yom Tovim. Community. Torah.
Simchat Torah is a reminder that an observant life is not meant to be one of grudging, drudging compliance with a set of musty laws. It is a path of pleasantness, meant to bring meaning and joy into every aspect of life.
Preparing to celebrate Simchat Torah, I focus on the holiday’s name: Joy of the Torah. Many years ago, I was struggling with a detail of Shabbat observance, and a trusted rebbetzin reminded me of what we sing every week as the Torah is returned to the ark: “It is a tree of life to those who hold fast to it … its paths are paths of pleasantness.” In other words, if I was not experiencing joy in my Jewish practice, I wasn’t doing it right. Bringing joy into the ritual transformed it. Simchat Torah is a reminder that an observant life is not meant to be one of grudging, drudging compliance with a set of musty laws. It is a path of pleasantness, meant to bring meaning and joy into every aspect of life.
Elizabeth Danziger is the author of four books, including Get to the Point, 2nd edition, which was originally published by Random House. She lives in Venice, California.
