After my mom passed away, I realized we shared many rituals around food. We planned menus, shopped for, and prepared food together and for one another. I learned about more than food, though; it was a shared experience that informed us about who we were and what we meant to each other. It was much bigger than food prep. One Christmas, she told me to change the ritual—I was stuck washing dishes when someone began handing out gifts to my kids. She said to me, “Stop cooking all that food, set out some lunch meat and paper plates, and enjoy your kids before they grow up.”

The summer she passed, my 9-year-old daughter wanted to bake me a birthday cake because Grandma wasn’t there to do it. But she had not learned to bake yet. So, we baked together. So much love and laughter went into that cake, and we began to share the rituals. Eventually, her brother wanted to cook, and the rituals transferred to him as well. Later, he became vegan, and I thought, “Well, there goes cooking together.” But he said, “Mom, it's because of you I am vegan; you taught me compassion towards animals.” And again, I saw our rituals change to reflect our values more closely.

In comparison, there is a story of another family with a young woman who couldn’t understand why the family recipe required her to cut off the end of the roast before cooking. Her mother didn’t know why they did it, but her grandmother said, “I couldn’t afford a larger pan, so I cut it off to make it fit.”

Rituals can feel irrelevant when they no longer help us make sense of or give meaning to our lives. Our ritual should help us understand ourselves better and see commonalities. Learning about another’s rituals fosters tolerance, understanding, respect, and Ecumenism, which break down barriers and bring us together. When our rituals inform us rather than conform us, we work together, foster inclusivity and interfaith dialogue, and foster unity in our diversity.