Come and find your kind.

It's been 59 weeks - about 14 months - since my last Friday night dinner at my parents' place. Since my last family Shabbat dinner. It's been about 14 months of pretty much doing it on my own. Lighting the candles and saying the blessings myself. I haven't been singing the songs, since there's been no one to sing with. I've been taking the moments with the candles, the silence after washing my hands, to think about what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. That this is my culture, my traditions. This is what's done because it's what's done. That's what it is. It's why it's here: to be done.

This week, it's to be done with my parents again. This week, it's safe to sing the songs together.

Last year, it threw me and threw me hard when I thought about doing it alone for so long. I took what comfort I could in knowing you can't have a crisis of faith without faith, or fear the loss of identity without ties to that identity. This year, now, again, I can come back to what was lost. Springtime to springtime - week in, week out. And the world continues on.