Stand up. Sit down. I’m standing now for hours at a time – exhausted, and famished. Repeat. Repeat. In Hebrew and in English. Clop your heart for the following sins. I am clopping my heart to sins I did not commit or did not feel sorry for committing. Take time for the silent devotion. I pray on my own terms. But I am still exhausted, and famished, and unmoved.
 
Yom Kippur may just be the most difficult holiday. It’s a holiday of transcendence. It’s for letting go of the past and moving toward the future a slightly better person. It’s about asking for forgiveness from G-d, from others, and most importantly from oneself. But this year I felt nothing, and it made me question my faith. Maybe I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been. Or maybe it’s that I didn’t understand the Hebrew. But I don’t think that was it.
 
In a book I just read entirely not related to Judaism or religion, there was a quote referencing the Buddhist thought that there are six billion doors to heaven and we each have our own. I thought that was profound, and beautiful. And not at all antithetical to Judaism – but so poignant and so accessible that how can one not find G-d through Buddhism? It feels that in most religions, if you want G-d, there is personal guidance to meet Him. In Judaism, I find it to be a constant struggle. We don’t have Zen books of wisdom, or priests who bring us personally to G-d’s presence… we have a book and teachers who tell us to find Him our self. This Yom Kippur, I could not find Him. Where was He?
 
But something interesting did happen. While I was so wrapped up in attempting Jewish prayer and praying for the Jewish people, I found my mind drifting toward the girls trafficked around the world – something I’ve been reading a lot about lately. I felt myself in tears, talking to G-d, asking what I can do. I realized institutional prayers or staying within a religious community was never the