When I decided to study abroad in Italy this fall semester, figuring out how I was going to celebrate the High Holidays in Florence was admittedly the last thing on my mind.
Instead, I felt much more focused on the "important" issues: What I was going to wear, who I was going to meet, and where I was going to travel on weekends. But when I discovered that there was only one synagogue in the city--and no other practicing Jews in my cohort--I started to worry.
As days went by, I felt myself longing for some sort of Jewish connection. People in my program told me I was the first Jewish person they had met outside of school.
Everywhere I went, the city was steeped in Catholicism. Up until then, I had never really felt like a Jewish minority.
My second week in Florence, I hosted a Shabbat dinner for several students on the program. Even though back home, I didn't have Shabbat dinner on a weekly basis, being where I was a foreigner made me yearn for something stable, consistent, and peaceful.
Celebrating Shabbat revived me in a way I had never expected. The dependable routine of baking the challah, lighting the candles, and saying the prayers made me feel like I was finally back in control.
A few weeks went by, and the High Holidays neared.
I had never observed the holidays without my family or friends before. Even at Madison, I always went to Hillel and Chabad to attend services and celebrations. So, as Rosh Hashanah grew closer, I felt a sense of dread. There was a synagogue nearby, but I didn't have anyone to go with, and the services were in Italian.
Then, right before Rosh Hashanah, one of the other Jewish students on the program approached me. He heard I was struggling with observing the holidays in Florence and asked if he could join me.
We hosted a large group of our friends, Jews and non-Jews alike.
We had an assortment of Italian cheeses and bread, along with a seemingly infinite amount of apples and honey. As we ate, I explained to my friends the symbolism and history of the holiday, and we took turns declaring our new year's resolutions.
A few days later, I informed my roommates that I would be fasting on Yom Kippur. Because of the time difference, I wasn't able to Zoom services back home in Chicago. As a child, I had felt that services were always the worst part of Yom Kippur. I would have never imagined being stressed about not going to services.
But there I was, standing up for two hours in my tiny apartment bedroom, watching a service on YouTube. For the first time in my life, I was choosing to attend Yom Kippur services. I was connecting with Judaism--and it was my decision.
That afternoon, when I left my room, I was surprised to find my non-Jewish roommates cooking, making a meal for the three of us to break my fast. They each did their own research on Yom Kippur, and without any prompting, decided to take a load off my plate, in one sense by filling my literal plate with pasta.
Even though I was far away from my family of origin, I felt loved.
Celebrating the High Holidays abroad taught me a lesson I didn't plan for: no matter where I am in the world, my Jewish identity will always find a way to help me feel at home.
Sofia More was a 2025 Lewis Summer Intern, and is currently a senior at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, studying Community & Organizational Development.
