I didn’t think it would be this hard.

It’s Rosh Hashanah. I had places to go. I had invitations. People called me and invited me. I had people who wanted me to be there.

And I had every intention of going.

I made the matbucha Vita loves. Babaganoush and plus for the Vardis. I went a little crazy with the food, honestly. I was preparing things to bring to people, to contribute to meals.

I was planning to go to Hindel’s house. I was planning to go to the Arielis. I had every intention of going.

I don’t really know how else to explain it.

And at the end of the day, I didn’t go anywhere.

I haven’t really left my house in three days.

I took Bibi for his walks. All his walks. That was pretty much it.

And then Sunday morning, while I was taking him for his walk in the park, some random Chabad guy asked me if I wanted to hear shofar.

I probably wasn’t going to go hear shofar that morning.

And there’s something about that random Chabad guy that I keep thinking about.

Chabad has always felt like home to me.

Not because of where I am or what my journey looks like, but because of the familiarity of it. The sounds. The songs. The feeling of being somewhere I know. The things that are part of me.

The feeling that, somehow, no matter what, Chabad is still there.

And that means something to me.

It’s not........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)