As we stood at Har Sinai, the experience flooded senses; we saw the thunder, heard the lightning. The lightning fades, but the sudden burst of clarity takes you forward. Six women share a moment that illuminated their path

I break Cheerios into thirds, the metronome-like clicks sounding at regular intervals. I’m an overprotective first-time mother feeding my nine-month-old son as I chat outside the Shabbos group rooms.

Everything is new to me that first Shabbos as rebbetzin: the giant building, the women’s smiling faces, the sight of my 25-year-old husband giving a derashah at the front of the shul.

But slowly, we settle into our roles as rav and rebbetzin of this kehillah. The faces turn familiar and then beloved, the formerly intimidating building starts to feel like home, and before we know it, eight very formative years of our lives go by. In the haze of our many rabbinic responsibilities, we get several degrees and certifications under our belts, the beginnings of our first white hairs sprout, and three more children join our family (and I’m finally brave enough to feed the baby whole Cheerios!). But with the passage of time, our goals and visions shift too, and we realize it’s time to move on.

We know it’s the right decision, but it still hurts deeply. We’d given so much to our kehillah at a period in our lives when we were strapped for time to give. And to take it up a notch, for the past three years we lived in a neighboring community not within walking distance of the shul. Each Friday we gathered Shabbos food, Pack n’ Plays, suitcases, our young children, and all the accoutrements that come along with them. We’d sleep in shul classrooms over Shabbos, so we could run the many Shabbos minyanim, shiurim, and programming.