I went to shule on Sunday night, the first night of Rosh Hashana, and checked the seating chart to see where I was supposed to sit. Imagine my horror when I couldn't find our names. I checked over and over. I mean, it was in Hebrew of course, but I should be able to find my name. Nothing. Stunned, I davened Maariv in a random available seat. For Maariv the women’s section isn’t completely full. But I knew the morning would be a different story. Afterwards, I told Yitzchak my dilemma. He offered to re-check the chart after the seudah. So, once we finished, he walked over to the shule with me. No, I hadn't lost my mind. We really weren't on the chart. He went to the shule Gabbai to ask him what to do but he was already asleep. Can't exactly blame him, it was 11:30 at night. I went to sleep that night uncertain about what kind of Rosh Hashana I was in for. Little niggling thoughts ran through my head. Is this what I made Aliyah for? How can this ever be home for me? What does Hashem want from me, I just want a seat in shule so I can daven. How can I daven if I don’t have a place?

The next day I went to my strange shule where I know no one. And I don't even have a seat. I did not show up any too early. I was putting off as long as possible putting myself in an uncomfortable situation. After all, even if I find an open seat, who know when the owner of that seat will show up and justifiably want me to move. But, Hashem takes care of me. I arrived there during the break right before tekias shofar. And a nice English speaking lady introduced herself. Once I explained my dilemma she assured me that after shofar blowing seats would open up. And so it was - 3 seats together on the last row. So, the first day Rosh Hashana I was able to sit next to my granddaughters. (Context - there are only 3 long rows).

The second day I arrived a bit earlier, so I was before the break began. The Gabbai announced the break and when tekias shofer would begin. I located one empty seat and settled in to wait out the break. A lady turns to me and invites me to her home for Kiddush. In Hebrew.  I declined.  I mean, I don't know these people. It’s awkward. I don't need Kiddush.  My Hebrew is basic. But she insisted and ask “why not?” Then I had no choice. My Hebrew isn’t good enough to come up with a plausible reason. But after all, I told myself,  she is trying to be friendly. I need to be open to these things. In any language. So I went.  lovely Israeli family who went out their way to make me comfortable. Had I eaten everything they offered, I don’t think I would have needed a seudah after davening! After we returned to shule, I found a lone vacant seat (didn’t need the other two as my granddaughters had to stay home the second day to babysit).

So, what is the point of my story? This Rosh Hashana I was massively out of my comfort zone. In a strange place surrounded by strangers with whom I cannot properly communicate. And I didn’t even have a seat – let alone a makom kavuah – a familiar regular space. And I can honestly say that I have never davened as well as I did this Rosh Hashana. Exactly because I felt so vulnerable and alone. Completely out of any sort of comfort zone. And therefore very very dependant only on Hashem, to whom I could cry out my fears and insecurities. Hashem sent me messages to assure me that I am not alone. The lady the first day that helped me find seats. The family the second day that insisted I join them for Kiddush. And the very fact that I had exactly the seats that I needed each day.  No more and no less. The davening itself was beautiful and actually similar enough to what I am used to make me feel at ease. Even some of the same niggunim which helped a lot.

Next year is a very long way off. By next Rosh Hashana I hope to feel much more settled and know many more people in my neighborhood. But, I can only wish that I will still hold onto that uncomfortable feeling enough to remember that Hashem is our only source of comfort.