My sister sent me a podcast recently. At first, I did not want to listen. I wasn’t in the mood to listen to someone else talking about connection when I could barely feel it myself. Eventually, I pressed play.
The speaker was a woman who I’ve been following for years on Instagram. A Chabad woman in LA. On the outside, she looked like she had it all: beautiful family, inspiring posts, the kind of life you imagine is complete. And then she admitted something shocking: she felt completely disconnected. From Hashem, from her family, even from herself. She said she had to hire a life coach just to feel present again.
And I thought, of course. That’s all of us.
We live in a world obsessed with the word “connection.” Every shiur this time of year is about it. Every conversation in shul eventually circles back to it. Elul, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur: they are all about connecting. Connecting to G-d. Connecting to our souls. Connecting to each other. And yet, how many of us actually feel this connection? How many of us are saying the words, doing the motions, showing up, but feeling nothing inside.
I know I do.
I have never really connected to davening. I wanted to, I tried. I even once promised myself that I would daven every single day. For months, I did it. I stood there with my siddur, saying the words, hoping that at some point my soul would light up. But it never came. Instead of spiritual, prayer became mechanical. Another box checked. Another item in my morning routine. Eventually, I stopped. Because it felt like I was lying to myself.
And yet, every year, this season of connecting comes back around. And every year I walk into shul and walk out the same way, unmoved.
I do not think I’m alone. Look around any shul. The man swaying harder than anyone else, is he really feeling it or is he playing the part? The woman flipping through the siddur, her eyes glazed over. The teenager outside on his phone. And me, whispering words that mean nothing in the moment, wishing I felt something, and ashamed that I do not.
The truth is, we live in a world designed to keep us disconnected. Psychologists call it “autopilot living.” A Harvard study found that people spend nearly half their waking hours thinking about something other than what they are doing. Almost 50 percent of the time, our minds are elsewhere. Add to that our phones, our distractions, our constant rushing, and no wonder we can barely sit in shul without checking out.
Yet, all we talk about is connection. The irony is almost painful. We are in the most distracted, disconnected generation in history, but at the same time, we’re the generation most obsessed with “being present.” It’s on every podcast, every self-help book, every Rosh Hashanah derashah. Connect. Connect. Connect.
But no one tells us how.
What does it mean to connect? Is it supposed to feel like fireworks in your chest? Like crying during Neilah? Like singing until your throat is raw? Or is it something quieter? A moment of honesty? A breath of presence?
Last Shabbos, I sat outside during davening and felt like I was crawling out of my own skin. I thought: I can’t believe it’s not even Yom Kippur yet. This feels endless. I just want this to be over. And then I hated myself for thinking that. Isn’t this supposed to be the holiest time of year? Shouldn’t I want more?
But maybe that is the whole point. Maybe the fact that so many of us feel disconnected is the real story here. That we are all here, but not really here. We are going through the motions, in prayer and in life, hoping the feelings will show up later.
The Baal Shem Tov said that prayer without heart is like a body without a soul. Rav Kook wrote that sometimes the very act of struggling, admitting your emptiness, confessing your disconnection, is itself a form of connection. Modern psychology says something similar. Mindfulness begins not with fixing, but with noticing. Simply understanding that you are not here right now.
So, maybe connection does not start with inspiration. Maybe it starts with honesty. With saying, I do not feel anything. I am empty. I am tired of going through the motions. Maybe that truth is the first real prayer.
For me, connection sometimes shows up in music. A niggun, a melody, a song that cracks me open in a way words cannot. For you, maybe it’s learning, walking outside, or sitting in silence. For someone else, maybe it is crying in frustration and saying, “G-d, I do not feel You right now.”
This month, all we hear about is connection. But maybe the question is not how we connect. Maybe it’s how to stop pretending that we are connecting. Because the moment we tell the truth, about our disconnection, about our longing, maybe that’s the moment we actually become present. nTamara Gestetner is a certified mediator, psychotherapist, and life and career coach based in Cedarhurst. She helps individuals and couples navigate relationships, career transitions, and life’s uncertainties with clarity and confidence. Through mediation and coaching, she guides clients in resolving conflicts, making tough decisions, and creating meaningful change. Tamara is now taking questions and would love to hear what’s on your mind — whether it’s about life, career, relationships, or anything in between. She can be reached at 646-239-5686 or via email at [email protected]. Please visit TamaraGestetner.com to learn more
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