My husband likes to do it twice a week. I only like to do it about three times a year. I find it kind of boring, but my husband really gets into it. And we are both OK with that. Going to synagogue just isn’t my thing.

I grew up in a Conservative home, where synagogue attendance was mandatory on the High Holidays. Going to shul at any other time meant a life-cycle event like a bar or bat mitzvah, a wedding or a funeral. At Hebrew day school, where we prayed every morning, davening felt like work. At summer camp, where we were woken up early every morning to attend tefilot, praying felt like a chore.

I was bat mitzvahed at a large Conservative shul, had one brief meeting with the rabbi after my father died and another one before I was married. That was the extent of my connection with the synagogue.

My husband grew up in that same synagogue (it was so big, we never even knew each other). His experience was much the same, except for two things. First, he did not attend Hebrew day school (instead, he was forced to attend Hebrew school at shul twice a week, and all morning on Sundays – he hated it). Second, his grandfather was observant, attended synagogue every week and would sometimes take my husband to his small, Orthodox shul.

After marrying, we were generously gifted a free membership to our huge Conservative shul, which we used twice, making brief appearances to ensure our mothers saw us. Later, we began to pay for our own membership to a synagogue, even though we felt no connection with it. Luckily, I soon had my first “get out of shul free” card, weighing 5 pounds, 12 ounces. New schedules and bedtimes had to be adhered to, and besides, there was no place at our shul for a crying baby.

We let the membership go and my husband started attending his grandfather’s shul three times a year.

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When it came time to consider our oldest son’s schooling options, we settled on a supplementary school program run out of a small Conservative synagogue. It’s one day a week, and no Sundays (so it won’t interfere with his hockey schedule). After making that decision, we felt obligated to reinforce our son’s Jewish learning, so we starting going to shul on the High Holidays at Chabad, because it is close to us and it is free.

In anticipation of our son’s bar mitzvah, we joined the small Conservative congregation where our children attend Hebrew school. At first, we were still only attending services three times a year plus life-cycle events, but then we started bringing the kids to the shul’s Hanukkah and Purim parties and I began to feel a part of something. I felt comfortable. My kids felt comfortable.

But I still don’t like to pray. My husband feels the same way.

And then his mother died. While not observant, my husband decided to say Kaddish for his mother for a full year. Every. Single. Day. Maybe it was over-exposure or maybe it was enlightenment, but when the year was over, he kept on praying daily. He travels with his tallit bag and puts tefillin on, no matter where he is. At first, I thought it was guilt (not that he has anything to feel guilty about – he was the perfect son). Then, I thought it was determination. My husband is stubborn and when he says he’s doing something, he does it.

Finally, I thought it had become a habit. I know it’s not uncommon. Apparently, this sort of thing happens to a lot of people. The regulars at the morning and evening minyans bond with those saying Kaddish. It sticks for some. It stuck for my husband.

Until it didn’t anymore. My husband has stopped with the daily praying. It just sort of petered off. But he continues to attend our synagogue every Saturday and Sunday morning and has even become the assistant gabbai (a.k.a., the guy who helps out on the bimah with the Torah). He enjoys it. He says it’s peaceful. A few hours with no phone calls, no emails, no kids, no me. Unless there is a life-cycle event we are invited to, I do not accompany him. I still don’t like to pray.

Things may change again. And that’s OK. We may never agree, which is totally fine. I will stick with my handful of services a year. He can go to synagogue twice a week. I may not understand why, but at least I know where he is every Saturday and Sunday morning. He’s at shul, and he is happy. I respect that, just as he respects that I am not at shul, and I am happy.

What can I say, sometimes, I’m just not that into it.