I had never before been so enthusiastic about waking up early on a Saturday. Wearing a skirt, this time, in which I could breathe, I began to walk the twenty blocks to the church and marveled at the strange sounds of a quiet, marginally awake city. I passed a deli, and remembered that services were three hours long and I'd forgotten to eat breakfast. I hesitated. I had spent the past twenty or so years ignoring all the requirements of Shabbat, aside from those moments a few weeks ago when I drowned in guilt about what to carry. I knew I'd have to think about this stuff again, particularly the rule about not spending money, if I wanted to be part of a Jewish community. I couldn't imagine how I would reconcile my ambivalence with my desire.
But making it through an entire service without fainting from hunger had to be my first priority. I decided to table the larger internal debate, and went into the deli and slapped a dollar on the counter. Then I looked at my watch and realized I was late, and grabbed my buttered roll and ran back out the door. Suddenly a bus pulled up to the curb. OK, I reasoned, it must be here for a reason. God wouldn't tempt me with illegal transportation if I wasn't supposed to use it. I hopped on.