The Weight of Tradition
Yom Kippur has always been complicated for me. Growing up, I was immersed in Judaism through school, family, and community, but in truth, we only celebrated the “big three” with real depth: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Passover. The other holidays existed more on the surface, with traditions that marked the day, family dinners and some ingrained carryovers from my parents’ upbringing, but they didn’t carry the same gravity.
As I got older, I drifted from organized religion. The rituals that once felt familiar now feel distant, like a language I used to speak fluently but no longer practice. And yet, the day still carries weight. I’m proud of my Jewish heritage. I respect the thousands of years of resilience, memory, and tradition it represents. The challenge is that my relationship to Yom Kippur, and to Judaism more broadly, is unresolved.
This becomes even more present when I think about my daughter. She doesn’t have the same immersion I had growing up. She gets some exposure through me, more through her mom, and a bit at school, but it’s different. I had the full landscape laid out before me, then made the choice as an adult to step away. She doesn’t yet have that same option.
So I wrestle with questions: How much do I envelop her in traditions that I don’t feel called to observe myself? How do I give her a sense of belonging to something that shaped me, even as I stand at a distance from it now?
Maybe the answer isn’t about perfect continuity, but about honesty. Sharing the richness of the history and rituals, while also showing her that it’s okay to question, adapt, and choose. That honoring where we come from doesn’t mean we can’t also carve out our own path.
(For what it’s worth, I scheduled this post in advance so I could avoid using electronics in my fashion of observing the holiday)