Just a few weeks ago, I returned to our old temple for the bar mitzvah of a dear friend's son. It had been seven years since I'd left that synagogue.
I had been equally looking forward to attending and worrying about it. Would members we had left behind still recognize me? Would the clergy look at me angrily? Would people think that I shouldn't even be there?
But I also had missed the synagogue in some ways. I was looking forward to singing the familiar tunes, looking up at the beautifully painted dome over the sanctuary, and hoping to feel some peace.