For the first time in nearly 20 years, I sat with the rest of the congregation for Rosh Hashanah services instead of my usual perch up front where the action is, with the Cantor and choir. With a switch this year to the engaging new machzor from the Conservative movement, Machzor Lev Shalem, our hazzan, Cantor Eugene Rosner, also introduced new music. I had a heavy travel schedule, missed the rehearsals, and felt unprepared to fully participate. So I sat this year out, and spent my time in the back of the sanctuary, (waaaayyyyy back), where my husband and sons always plant themselves.
How we experience prayer is as much what is happening in the service as where it happens. There is an old joke about a new person taking a seat in the nearly empty synagogue and, expecting a warm welcome, is surprised when a man comes up to him and says, "You're in my seat." It makes us laugh at how unwelcoming we can be precisely because our physical places are so important to our prayer experience. Maimonides (Law of Prayer 5:6) said that one should have a fixed place for prayer, and when we look around a sanctuary and can predict where people will be because that's where they have always been, we see that wisdom in action.
My shul, Temple Beth Hillel/Beth El, has always had an egalitarian High Holiday policy: the seats up front are taken by the people who get there first. (That's one reason why my family, often the last to straggle in, happily sat on the air conditioning units on the back wall for a number of years.) The families that are not sending their kids to the children's services sit back there.
My prayer experience in the back of the room was certainly different this year. Ruined, maybe. There was too much to watch: People coming in, going out, re-connecting with old friends. One family brought bags of Cheerios and books to keep three children occupied, and the victorious look on the oldest son's face as he triumphantly settled on Dad's lap after his two sisters were banished, (presumably to the children's services) was unforgettable.
I found myself asking my 24-year old son, sitting next to me, "Did you guys do that to Dad?" He smiled and nodded. "Is it usually this hard to hear Rabbi Cooper?" "Does the choir really sound like that every year?" He shrugged and whispered, "Sometimes. Maybe. I don't know. We never paid that much attention."
On our walk back home after services, my husband and son talked about Rosh Hashanah in the back of the room. Their memories were not about prayer or sermons, singing or spirituality. They were about being with each other. I realized that their fixed seats were purposefully out of the sphere of what they perceived as the "real" service up front. Getting there late was as important to them as getting there at all. Their experience with each other laid down memories and feelings that were more powerful than what the rabbi and cantor could accomplish.
My son said, "I can't tell you what it is about Beth Hillel. I know that I hated going to services as a kid. We had to be dragged there. I don't remember much about what happened; I just have this general warm feeling that I can't explain. Every time I go back now, even though it's only at High Holidays, I feel like I'm home."
I didn't go too far down the road with my son about how much more went in to building his Jewish memories - the regular Shabbat dinners, seders, sukkah-building, Hanuka celebrations. These were part of my memories, and the conscious effort I made to create a Jewish home for my children. In that moment, his memories were of sitting on an air conditioning unit in the back of the sanctuary next to his dad, stealing his brother's Cheerios.
I have to thank my husband for all those years he sat with our kids while I sang with the choir. I will apologize for the times I made fun of him for getting there "late." Jewish identity can be forged in the back of the room as well as in the front.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The Six Days of Creation on Twitter
Eleven small teams wandered the grounds of Capital Camps in Maryland last week looking for ways to show the six days of creation in photos. At least one person on each team was designated as the photographer who would load each composition with a caption up to Twitter, coded with a hashtag for their team: #Bereshit1, #Bereshit2, #Bereshit3, etc.
The people who didn't understand Twitter were uncomfortable at first. The people who regularly tweet, post on Facebook, upload photos, shoot videos and publish to YouTube were thrilled to show them what they've been missing. Working together, they creatively interpreted biblical text.
It was a team-building activity, with a bit of Torah, that was brand new for a United Synagogue staff retreat. Reflecting the variety of sensibilities of our staff, our submissions ranged from literal to puns, to some that might take a minute to understand. In total, they are a reflection of our diversity as a staff, our skills, and the different ways we view what goes on around us. Our collective Twitter profile for that day highlights us as a community.
Although it was a fun exercise, and probably something that has been or will be repeated in camp and school settings, it's also not just for kids. More and more, community activities are recorded in the cyber world. We upload photos and videos, comment and share articles, ideas, jokes, and, yes, sometimes some pretty mundane details about baking challah, as my Facebook friends saw on Friday afternoon.
But if you know how to navigate the online world, you can tune in to conversations that span minutes, hours or years. Today, on Twitter, I'm able to view the proceedings of a sold-out conference for non-profits from Board Source by searching for #blf2012. Jewish educators talk regularly together with the hashtag #jedchat.
You can even watch communal preparations in real time. Here is the Twitter feed for #ShanaTova. In the two seconds it took for me to make a screen shot, eight new tweets came in. In the minute it took for me to upload this screen shot to this blog, 69 new wishes of Shana Tova came in to Twitter.
The people who didn't understand Twitter were uncomfortable at first. The people who regularly tweet, post on Facebook, upload photos, shoot videos and publish to YouTube were thrilled to show them what they've been missing. Working together, they creatively interpreted biblical text.
Although it was a fun exercise, and probably something that has been or will be repeated in camp and school settings, it's also not just for kids. More and more, community activities are recorded in the cyber world. We upload photos and videos, comment and share articles, ideas, jokes, and, yes, sometimes some pretty mundane details about baking challah, as my Facebook friends saw on Friday afternoon.
But if you know how to navigate the online world, you can tune in to conversations that span minutes, hours or years. Today, on Twitter, I'm able to view the proceedings of a sold-out conference for non-profits from Board Source by searching for #blf2012. Jewish educators talk regularly together with the hashtag #jedchat.
You can even watch communal preparations in real time. Here is the Twitter feed for #ShanaTova. In the two seconds it took for me to make a screen shot, eight new tweets came in. In the minute it took for me to upload this screen shot to this blog, 69 new wishes of Shana Tova came in to Twitter.
It's not that the people getting ready for the High Holidays have nothing else to do but post on Twitter. It's that Twitter has become an avenue for expression and connection. I find it glorious that I can see the excitement, reverence, irreverence and passion for Judaism this morning as thousands of people wish one another Shana Tova. (284 new tweets came up in the time it took me to write that sentence.)
To the people who worry about what our online activities will do to our ability to make real friendships, or that the cyber world also has its bullying and attacks, I'll ask that we save that discussion for another day. Jews have a long history of recording our conversations - the Talmud is full of them. A Twitter feed does not rise to the level of Talmud, but I would argue that it can reflect our talmud Torah, study of Torah.
And in this world at this point in history, finding kehilla - sacred community - online can be a gift if we know how to look for it.
May this year be one of peace and growth.
#ShanaTova
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Who will turn out the lights?
Imagine being a member of a kehilla (sacred community) where:
More than two dozen small synagogues of all denominations are in the geographic area surrounding Pittsburgh, scattered throughout Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and New York. They share common features: each has fewer than 75 households, their members' average age is over 65 years old, they have steadily declining affiliation, and no significant growth in Jewish communal numbers can be seen for the future.
The dedication of the leaders of the 12 congregations in the room was inspirational, coming across over and over in their personal stories of service to their communities. In one congregation, three people have rotated as president - two years on and one year off - to give each other a break from the heavy time commitment. Marsha Storch, from Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY, had a story of wearing multiple hats for as long as she can remember: "I've been president for I don't know how many years," she said. "I'm membership chair, too, and I know where all the toilet paper is."
But the real topic for the gathering was how to address the challenges of keeping such small kehillot alive in areas where the demographics are not in their favor.
As Richard Litman, president of Beth Israel in Washington, PA, said during the animated conversations at the tables, "The challenges come down to money, membership and minyan."
In very small congregations, money is an issue in a different way than in larger congregations. Most of the synagogues represented at the conference either have tiny religious schools or have closed them down. Five out of the 12 have full-time rabbis, but no other professionals. With steady reductions in revenue from membership, maintenance of the building and clergy salaries are major expenses. Fundraisers only go so far when there are limited numbers of volunteers to organize them. In at least one of the congregations, the deficit spending is almost exactly the amount they are paying for the services of a full time rabbi.
The importance of maintaining religious life was the focus of much of the conversation. Irene Rothschild, the president of a Reform congregation in Greensburg, WV, talked about how their rabbi helps them stay the only "full service congregation in Westmoreland County," and "offer a lot religiously, socially and culturally." But "distance is an issue in coming to things. Getting a minyan is hard."
The president of Tree of Life Synagogue described the growth and then decline of their community in Uniontown, PA, since the synagogue's founding in 1902. "We had 300 families, and now are down to 19. Only seven are husband and wife. But we get a minyan every Saturday." They hired a knowledgable teacher who came from New York to lead their weekly services because they can no longer sustain a salary for a rabbi. "Once we can't have a minyan, that's the death knell."
The death knell was discussed head on by the presidents of Temple Hadar Israel in Newcastle, PA, and Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY. Their boards are working closely with the staff of the Jewish Community Legacy Project, David Sarnat and Noah Levine. (I wrote about JCLP in a previous post.)
David told the story of his first interview with the last few board members of a small community in the south who were spending down their synagogue's budget because they couldn't agree on whether or not to sell the building. "Who will be the last person to turn out the lights?" he asked. They said they were willing to let it be the last one who survived. "And how do you feel about it being the person you disagree with?" he replied.
David commented that often in small communities, it gets down to choosing between the building or the religious service. "Jewish Community Legacy Project is about finding those supports that can help you maximize your revenue to operate so you can maintain the quality of life in your community. It takes having the conversations now, not putting them off until it's too late."
With coaching from JCLP, a long range planning committee of nine people meet every five weeks in Newcastle, PA, to think strategically about how they will continue to serve the members they have. Their president, Sam, said, "I see our congregation as being early in the fourth quarter of a ballgame. We think there's a way to get into double and triple overtime and extend the game."
TBI in Olean is taking one step at a time, first making a legacy plan for caring for their cemetery. "As I told David," Marsha Storch said with a wink, "we move slowly and procrastinate a lot."
There were good ideas and good news to come out of this conference. There is interest in collaboration among the synagogues, especially in the area of religious services. One idea was to identify groups of people capable of leading services and rotate among buildings. Another is to share rabbinic support - the idea of a "circuit rabbi" who would be under contract to more than one community.
United Synagogue is dedicated to the partnership with JCLP, URJ and JFNA. Our new director of kehilla finance and operations, Barry Mael, will be working closely in the coming year with JCLP to serve these congregations. We have received a supportive message from the Rabbinical Assembly, as well, to work together to find innovative ways for Conservative rabbis to serve these communities.
Jeff Finkelstein, CEO of the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, made the final remarks of the day. He admitted that he planned to welcome people in the morning but head out to another meeting right after that. Instead, he stayed all day because of the compelling stories and ground-breaking conversations among the participants. He said, "I walk away totally inspired by what you, as volunteers, do for your Jewish communities."
- Half of the congregation comes every week to services.
- The synagogue budget is simple enough to be balanced by renting out space to a church.
- Religious services get continual injections of enthusiasm and optimism from a steady flow of student rabbis.
- Congregants are skilled service leaders, a couple even serving as cantorial soloists at the High Holidays.
- The rabbi is a talented carpenter who can construct a special space in the cemetery to hold yahrzeit plaques.
- Members have lifelong memories of supporting each other.
More than two dozen small synagogues of all denominations are in the geographic area surrounding Pittsburgh, scattered throughout Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and New York. They share common features: each has fewer than 75 households, their members' average age is over 65 years old, they have steadily declining affiliation, and no significant growth in Jewish communal numbers can be seen for the future.
The dedication of the leaders of the 12 congregations in the room was inspirational, coming across over and over in their personal stories of service to their communities. In one congregation, three people have rotated as president - two years on and one year off - to give each other a break from the heavy time commitment. Marsha Storch, from Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY, had a story of wearing multiple hats for as long as she can remember: "I've been president for I don't know how many years," she said. "I'm membership chair, too, and I know where all the toilet paper is."
But the real topic for the gathering was how to address the challenges of keeping such small kehillot alive in areas where the demographics are not in their favor.
As Richard Litman, president of Beth Israel in Washington, PA, said during the animated conversations at the tables, "The challenges come down to money, membership and minyan."
In very small congregations, money is an issue in a different way than in larger congregations. Most of the synagogues represented at the conference either have tiny religious schools or have closed them down. Five out of the 12 have full-time rabbis, but no other professionals. With steady reductions in revenue from membership, maintenance of the building and clergy salaries are major expenses. Fundraisers only go so far when there are limited numbers of volunteers to organize them. In at least one of the congregations, the deficit spending is almost exactly the amount they are paying for the services of a full time rabbi.
The importance of maintaining religious life was the focus of much of the conversation. Irene Rothschild, the president of a Reform congregation in Greensburg, WV, talked about how their rabbi helps them stay the only "full service congregation in Westmoreland County," and "offer a lot religiously, socially and culturally." But "distance is an issue in coming to things. Getting a minyan is hard."
The president of Tree of Life Synagogue described the growth and then decline of their community in Uniontown, PA, since the synagogue's founding in 1902. "We had 300 families, and now are down to 19. Only seven are husband and wife. But we get a minyan every Saturday." They hired a knowledgable teacher who came from New York to lead their weekly services because they can no longer sustain a salary for a rabbi. "Once we can't have a minyan, that's the death knell."
The death knell was discussed head on by the presidents of Temple Hadar Israel in Newcastle, PA, and Temple B'nai Israel in Olean, NY. Their boards are working closely with the staff of the Jewish Community Legacy Project, David Sarnat and Noah Levine. (I wrote about JCLP in a previous post.)
David told the story of his first interview with the last few board members of a small community in the south who were spending down their synagogue's budget because they couldn't agree on whether or not to sell the building. "Who will be the last person to turn out the lights?" he asked. They said they were willing to let it be the last one who survived. "And how do you feel about it being the person you disagree with?" he replied.
David commented that often in small communities, it gets down to choosing between the building or the religious service. "Jewish Community Legacy Project is about finding those supports that can help you maximize your revenue to operate so you can maintain the quality of life in your community. It takes having the conversations now, not putting them off until it's too late."
With coaching from JCLP, a long range planning committee of nine people meet every five weeks in Newcastle, PA, to think strategically about how they will continue to serve the members they have. Their president, Sam, said, "I see our congregation as being early in the fourth quarter of a ballgame. We think there's a way to get into double and triple overtime and extend the game."
TBI in Olean is taking one step at a time, first making a legacy plan for caring for their cemetery. "As I told David," Marsha Storch said with a wink, "we move slowly and procrastinate a lot."
There were good ideas and good news to come out of this conference. There is interest in collaboration among the synagogues, especially in the area of religious services. One idea was to identify groups of people capable of leading services and rotate among buildings. Another is to share rabbinic support - the idea of a "circuit rabbi" who would be under contract to more than one community.
United Synagogue is dedicated to the partnership with JCLP, URJ and JFNA. Our new director of kehilla finance and operations, Barry Mael, will be working closely in the coming year with JCLP to serve these congregations. We have received a supportive message from the Rabbinical Assembly, as well, to work together to find innovative ways for Conservative rabbis to serve these communities.
Jeff Finkelstein, CEO of the Jewish Federation of Greater Pittsburgh, made the final remarks of the day. He admitted that he planned to welcome people in the morning but head out to another meeting right after that. Instead, he stayed all day because of the compelling stories and ground-breaking conversations among the participants. He said, "I walk away totally inspired by what you, as volunteers, do for your Jewish communities."
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