Before the Thaw

Erica here, writing solo this week.

Usually you hear from both Dimitry and me, but he’s currently out of the country. When he returns, he’s carrying some genuinely soul-stirring stories home with him, and I can’t wait for him to share with us. More on that next week.

Today, though, it’s hard to write without naming the cold. Not just the temperature—though it is bitter out there—but the way winter presses in on a neighborhood. On days like this, when the air hurts your face and everything takes more effort, it’s impossible not to notice the quiet, behind-the-scenes suffering that winter brings with it.

The people we pass. The people we don’t see. The ways it becomes easier, almost unconsciously, to stay inside, to stay insulated, to let the world shrink to the size of our homes and our screens.

This is one of the reasons that Shabbat matters so much — not only as an idea, but as a rhythm.

A weekly insistence that we show up, that we see one another, that we talk about something more real than the audiobook we’ve been listening to or the Netflix we’ve been binging (though also… has anyone seen People We Meet on Vacation and would like to debrief?). Shabbat gives us a touchpoint: a place to land, to reconnect, to remember that we are part of something living and relational.

So this week, we’re not just encouraging you. We’re urging you. Seek out community — here with us at Shabbat, at an upcoming Tu B’Shvat seder, or wherever you know you can be known. We are in that moment just before the thaw, and in moments like this, we have to be especially vigilant about reaching out, about exercising those muscles of connection before they quietly atrophy.

We hope to see you at Shabbat this week. Dimitry will be back, ready to regale us with stories from his trip. Until then, let’s keep each other warm in all the ways that count.