While writing a check tonight for dues to the synagogue I kvetch about, I came to a realization. The best reason to belong to the synagogue is that I don’t feel guilty when we show up five minutes before kiddush. Hey, we’re paying good money not to show up for services. (Or for programs. The last time I tried to pitch a family education event to Ella, she shook her head. “I don’t mind shul,” she said. “But I do not like programs.”)
It’s not the free and/or easy food that brings me in the door at approximately 12 pm. I can shmear a bagel with cream cheese quite well in my own kitchen, thank you very much. And frankly, I buy much better bagels. Can you believe our synagogue actually serves Thomas’ Bagels
(aka, rolls with holes?)
With a special dinner, our best dishes, songs and blessings, and a little company now and then, Friday night always feels like Shabbat in my home. But, as I explained to my kids last Saturday as we walked in the door just in time for Adon Olam, more than anything else we do on Saturdays, Kiddush makes shabbat feel like shabbat.
In my book, there’s no better educational program than that.