The High Holidays aren’t over. Sukkot comes next, then Shmini Atzeret, then Simchat Torah. But for me, as a working rabbi, the holidays are over. I’ll be a Jew-in-the-pew for the remaining holidays this fall.

If you’ve read my recent posts, you know that I accepted a last-minute High Holiday pulpit at a small Reform synagogue in rural west Tennessee. On Erev Rosh Hashanah there were 35 people at the service. Every other service, including Kol Nidre, the one that usually attracts the largest High Holiday crowd, had 10–12 people in attendance.

But they were happy to be there. They enjoyed the services. They enjoyed each other. They enjoyed me. And I enjoyed them.

I realized there were two reasons for the “crowd” on Erev Rosh Hashanah, the evening service before the holiday itself. It was a Friday night, their typical time to gather. And there was a dinner after services.

Food is always a draw. In fact, people arrived for the break-fast at the end of Yom Kippur who hadn’t been to services. They’d promised to bring food, so they did. And they stayed to enjoy a meal with their friends.

Ten or a hundred or a thousand, they all deserve the very best from their service leaders.

I sang my little heart out. There was no cantor, so I sang the prayers, gave sermons, chanted Torah and Haftarah, read poetry, and led discussions. By the end, my voice was raw and my legs were tired from standing for hours on end.

But the truth is, I felt great. And today, after driving 2½ hours to the airport and taking a two-hour flight home, I am happy.

I did my best. They deserved no less.

A congregation is not measured by the number of people in its seats. It is measured by the care people bring to one another, by the willingness to show up, share a meal, sing together, and make room for whoever walks through the door. In Jackson, I was reminded that belonging does not require a crowd. It requires presence.

I gave them my voice, my energy, and my best effort. They gave me their welcome, their trust, and a place among them for a few holy days. That is the work of community: not making a small gathering seem large, but recognizing that no gathering is small when people come together with open hearts.

Happy New Year to my new friends in Jackson, Tennessee. May every community, no matter its size, know that it matters—and that everyone deserves a spiritual home.