Last night we went to a backyard bonfire shabbat, which is kind of funny since we’re not Jewish.
But we were invited and assured we wouldn’t be the only ignorant, confused-looking folk in the corner.
(Though, as a rule, being ignorant or confused doesn’t seem to stop our little family from stepping out.)

So, off we went to be part of a minyan. 
A minyan, it turns out, is a quorum of adult Jews gathered to perform a religious obligation. 
A community.
A village.

And this particular minyan works like this:
Once a month, they gather ’round a backyard bonfire — with a guitar, a little xeroxed prayerbook and some cocktails.
Each month there are returning friends and new members — strangers in name only.
They sing and read and pray in Hebrew and opine and discuss.
And then they eat and drink and go about their merry ways.

Last night, there was discussion of matriarchy — one of the minyan spoke about Rebekah, another touched on Lilith. She pulled up short because of all the sex and violence. Nobody seemed the least bit miffed. I think she could have carried on. 

And then a teenager talked about her own mom and how frustrated they get with each other and how, in the end, she knows her mother is just pushing her to be the best person she can be. Her mother was tucked right next to her, in a broad Adirondak chair at the edge of the circle. I watched them from my perch on a log, tucked right next to my big girl. 

It was a beautiful thing.

And so was the challah.

May we all find the minyans we need to be complete…