Dear God (go with me on this one – if someone can sue Him, I can sure as hell write Him a letter):

Hey up there! How's it going? Long time no talk!

Sorry about missing Rosh Hashannah last week. The holidays aren't on a consistent date every year—not on the Western calendar, at least—so I didn't know when they were when I made my PLAF schedule. But hey – the Torah indicates that you're a dude who loves some theatrics, so I'm sure you understood when I was off seeing plays instead of praying, right?

Sorry, too, that I'm seeing a concert tonight instead of going to Kol Nidre. It's always been a favorite of mine, and I'd really planned on going – but the stupid show starts at 7PM, and services don't start until 6:30. Just wanted to let you know, though, that I'll still be fasting.

Actually, God... That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Don't get me wrong, now: going twenty-five hours without food isn't that big a deal, provided I don't have to be near food or people eating it. That'd be easy if I was in services all day, where everyone else is fasting, too, but, well... I usually don't go, God, because Yom Kippur services are boring. Like really, really boring. When I was a kid, they were kind of cool, because the children's services featured a play about the story of Jonah and the Whale, and when I got older I even got to be the narrator. But services for grown-ups are just dull and dry, and honestly, I know I'm not a saint (sorry, God, I know – wrong religion), but I really don't think I have eight hours worth of atoning to do on Yom Kippur. Besides, isn't the sound of the collective tummy grumbling rising up from synagogues around the world enough to prove to you that we're sorry? We're really, really sorry. And you should let us leave after an hour. Two, max. We won't break the fast – we'll just go back to bed so the hunger's a little tempered.

I know. Part of the atoning is the physical discomfort at the hunger. And how can we be sorry if we're just sleeping in?

Well, God... if you've ever woken up the morning after skipping dinner... or hell, let's be honest. If you've ever woken up in the morning after throwing up your dinner (I'm not judging, because hey, it happens to everyone, and I'm sure that you can get your hands on some pretty strong shit up there), you know how incredibly unpleasant waking up hungry can be. That's where the real atoning comes in: waking up hungry and knowing that you still have a while before you can eat. (It's like trying to have brunch on Sunday at Sabrina's. The knowledge that you can eat soon – just not right now. And so you have to wait while your morning hunger grows ever more persistent, and everyone around you is eating and you can even smell the food... Oh God, isn't almost every Sunday enough for you?!)

So here's what I'm thinking, God: cut the services business. You don't need to get rid of them entirely, but make them shorter. Or at least more fun. (Would it kill you to figure out a way to work a gospel choir into Judaism? People would flock to services. Flock, I say!) I think people would be more likely to fast if they didn't see the holiday as quite so dull.

You may think I'm being flippant, but I'm not: I'm a Jew who is proud of her religion and her heritage, but who, like many others, finds it hard to follow tradition in the modern world. Yom Kippur is an important holiday—our holiest—but I think you'll probably find that increasingly few "secular" Jews are observing it. I've always found Jewish theology to be incredibly flexible within the world (my Rabbi growing up had no issue whatsoever with the theory of evolution), so perhaps it's time that Jewish ceremony catches up.

Meanwhile, I should probably tell you now, God, that I'll be breaking my fast this year with Egyptian food. Please don't smite me – I'll make up for it next year.

Image via Flickr user rubberpaw.