By Betzy Lynch
LA JOLLA, California — In the first days of 2026, I found myself reflecting on how physically and emotionally exhausted so many people seemed as 2025 came to a close. Perhaps it was a moment to finally exhale after a year of trials and tribulations. More often, though, it felt like something heavier, a quiet malaise, where people ignored their discomfort and simply pushed through the motions of daily life.
I understand it. The holiday season, even at its best, can be overwhelming. Add the complexity of the world we are living in right now, and it makes sense that people might want to step back rather than lean in, to their lives, their communities, and to one another.
At the same time, as someone who has spent an entire professional career building community, these moments are “not too good for business.” After the holidays, people often shift from exhaustion into the familiar “new year, new you” mindset, focusing even more inward. And while self-reflection and personal growth are important, I fully support them, Judaism reminds us that growth pursued only individually does not benefit a community in the same way.
This idea connects loosely to the value of kavod hatzibbur (respect for the community). Our personal choices matter not only because they shape who we become, but because they affect the dignity, strength, and wholeness of the collective.
Here’s a short drash that captures this beautifully.
In a small town, there was a synagogue where one chair near the front was always left empty.
No one ever sat there.
Newcomers would ask, “Is it reserved for an honored guest?” The regulars would reply, “No. It’s a reminder.”
Years earlier, a man in the community decided he no longer needed the congregation. He chose to pray at home, on his own schedule, in his own way.
“When I feel inspired,” he said, “G-d knows my heart.”
At first, no one objected. After all, prayer is deeply personal.
But slowly, something changed.
Children noticed the empty seat. Visitors noticed the gap. The rhythm of communal prayer began to feel thinner.
One day, the rabbi said quietly, “When one person removes themselves from the tzibbur, the community loses not just a body, but a voice.”
The chair was left empty, not to shame the man, but to teach.
The rabbi explained, “In private, your choices shape your soul. In public, your choices shape us.”
When the man eventually returned, he did not take the chair. He stood until the prayer ended. Later he said, “I thought my absence affected only me. I didn’t realize it changed the dignity of the room.”
The chair was never filled again, not because it was forbidden, but because the community had learned that presence itself is a form of respect.
If it has been years since you’ve been to the J, or months, or days, know that we have a chair, a treadmill, a lap lane, a basketball, a paintbrush, a library book, a pickleball paddle, and so much more waiting for you.
As you welcome 2026, consider joining us at the J. Your presence matters. While you can certainly live your life without us, we hope you’ll allow the best of who you are to be infused into the best of who our community can become.
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Betzy Lynch is the chief executive officer of the Lawrence Family JCC in La Jolla.