Last Rosh Hashanah, I learned something about getting uncomfortable.

At the time, I was a single mom of five, running a Jewish community center on my own. That in itself was unusual. Almost every Chabad center is run by a husband-and-wife team. But life had taken me on a different path, and I had learned to build with what I had.  Until Rosh Hashanah approached.

My children were going to be with me for the holiday, and when I asked where they wanted to go, their answer was simple:

“We want to be home.”

My immediate thought was, We can’t.  We didn’t have High Holiday services. I’m not a rabbi. I couldn’t lead a traditional service. How could we possibly stay home? And then another thought entered my mind:  Why can’t we?

Maybe I couldn’t be the rabbi. But maybe I could bring the rabbi. That tiny shift—from I can’t to How can I?—changed everything. My young nephew and niece, newly married with two little children, came to Pittsburgh. We brought in a Torah. We created a beautiful community dinner. We had a minyan both days. Somehow, all the pieces came together. And it was magical.  But more than that, it taught me how often we create limitations before G-d has ever told us there are limitations. Sometimes the conditions aren’t perfect. Sometimes the path is uncomfortable. Sometimes we have to stretch beyond what feels natural and say, I don’t know exactly how this is going to work, but I’m willing to try.

And then came this Rosh Hashanah. Our second year of services. Only this time, everything was different. This year, I am married. My husband isn’t a rabbi. He has his own career and his own very full life. But he is the most incredible partner I could have imagined. And, as it happens, he is a beautiful cantor, can read from the Torah, and can blow the shofar.  This year, the man I married stood at the front of our little community and led our Rosh Hashanah services.

As I sat at our holiday table that first night, surrounded by family and members of our community, I was overwhelmed by the contrast.  Last year, G-d seemed to be saying: Will you do it even when it’s uncomfortable? Will you build even when all the pieces aren’t neatly in place? Will you trust Me enough to take the first step?  And this year, it felt as though He was saying: You were willing to do it when it was hard. Now let Me make it a little easier.  What a humbling lesson.  Sometimes we wait for G-d to make the road comfortable before we start walking.  Maybe sometimes He is waiting for us to start walking so He can show us just how much He is walking with us.  Last year, I thought I was doing it alone. I wasn’t.  This year, He gave me the gift of seeing that truth in an entirely new way—with a life partner standing beside me.  That was my greatest lesson this Rosh Hashanah:

We are never alone. Not when the path is easy. Not when the path is uncomfortable. Not even when, from where we are standing, it looks like we are carrying everything ourselves.

Take the step.

G-d may already be preparing the helping hand you cannot yet see.