Here are some pictures if you have no idea what I'm talking about:
With all these opportunities to go to the synagogue, it can be a bit of a challenge to get in the holiday spirit if you aren't enjoying the congregation with which you're spending so much time. I spent all of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at Shul #3 which, although it was the best of the three I tried out, still lacked much of what I was looking for. By the powerful concluding service of the holiest day of the year, culminating with one long blast of the shofar (ram's horn), I knew I needed to start looking for another shul to call home. I've already written at length about my dissatisfaction in my own neighborhood so it shouldn't surprise you that I needed to look a little further.
A quick search on Google Maps for "Modern Orthodox Synagogue Brooklyn" provided a couple other options. I'm sure there are more synagogues than appeared in the search results, but any synagogue that has an Internet presence is probably closer to what I'm looking for anyway. To my dismay, the next closest synagogue was three miles away, which wouldn't be so bad if I weren't planning on walking to shul every Shabbat. But I'll get to that later.
I walked to the synagogue on Thursday morning and entered to find that although I was fifteen minutes late for the service, they hadn't yet begun. I actually took this as a good sign. There's this thing known as "Jewish Standard Time" in which everything starts later than expected, and I'm very used to that way of doing things in a synagogue. The building was a bit smaller than the other three I had been to, but the sanctuary was bright, open, and featured a single curtained mechitza down the center of the room. This barrier was designed as sectioned frames on wheels so they can be moved and manipulated as necessary, and even removed entirely for an event in which they'll allow a mixed crowd. There were no pews; instead, there were rows of chairs set up, again making for a very convertible space. The ceiling featured a domed skylight, and the morning sun poured freely into the space.
The service featured a great deal of singing, much of which was accomplished by the untrained voices of the congregation, a small but delightfully boisterous bunch. Unlike the other synagogues in which most people seemed to sit back and let the leaders do their job, I felt that the members of this congregation were more personally involved with the service and with one another. I especially smiled when one paragraph was read out loud in English by an old man in the back - the same paragraph that my Dad has had the honor of reading in our synagogue for years. We use a different translation, but the message was the same: we want you to pray with us, and we want you to understand it. Let's face it. It can get really easy to forget what's actually being said when you're praying in another language.
By the end of the service, there were maybe 30 people in attendance (a high estimate, perhaps), and most of us went to the sukkah for the kiddush reception. By the way, it was a single kiddush, with a single table. Finally! A kiddush for the men and women together! At the kiddush, I could tell that people were friendly, but nobody really approached me to say hello. I was a little dismayed until I decided to leave and the rabbi stopped me at the door.
"Hello. You're new here. Where are you from?"
"I just moved to Borough Park."
"Oh? And what are you doing all the way over here?"
"Well, I didn't like any of the shuls in my neighborhood, so I came here."
We spoke a bit longer, he invited me to lunch, and I politely declined because I told him I had to get back to have lunch with my fiance. So he invited both of us for the following day. Before leaving, I told him:
"Y'know, of all the shuls I've been to around here, you're the only rabbi who has spoken to me. Thank you. I really appreciate that."
He seemed stunned.
The next day I convinced Tomm to come with me, and after services we were approached and welcomed by the president of the congregation, the Rabbi (who wished us mazel tov on our engagement and confirmed our acceptance for his lunch invitation), and the old man who read the paragraph in English. Additionally, I was invited to lunch by the rabbi's wife who I didn't realize was the rabbi's wife, so I declined only to find that it was her food I was eating an hour later. At kiddush, someone helped us when he realized we hadn't managed to get a bit of the wine after the blessing was made, and when kiddush seemed to be ending and we had lost track of the rabbi, the old man from before said "Oh we'll get you to that lunch! Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
Music to my ears.
The lunch table was graced by many of the congregants and the rabbi's 20 children (okay, maybe there were only 12), and I managed to get into pleasant conversations with a few other people. After a fabulous meal replete with salads, fish, chicken schnitzel (Tomm's favorite), potatoes, vegetables, and a scrumptious dessert, we had to take our leave early because of Tomm's work schedule. The best part for him? Not a single person raised an eyebrow or protested about the fact that he was working on Shabbat. Instead, everyone treated him with the respect owed to a hardworking doctor, recognizing that there is no greater mitzvah (commandment or good deed) than to save a life, even if it means working on Shabbat.
Speaking of working on Shabbat: Many of us - regardless of our faith background - are familiar with the precept to "do no work" on the Sabbath. It is, after all, the reason many Christian establishments are closed on Sundays. Throughout the Jewish community this commandment is observed to varying degrees depending on the individual's level of religiosity (wow, that's actually a word?). However on the Orthodox side of the spectrum there is a very little room for debate; the 39 categories of labor that define "work" are clearly delineated and avoided on Shabbat. They go beyond the commonly understood definition of "performing a service in exchange for money" and extend into such activities as building, baking, and lighting a fire. These categories provide the framework for the myriad of rules that observant Jews follow in order to create and experience a holy, joyous holiday every single week.
While I do my best to observe the Sabbath, I do so in a way that is comfortable for me, a way is constantly in flux. I haven't reached the point where I strictly follow all the laws of Shabbat and I am still trying to figure out what works for me to make the day holy. There are a few things I do my best to avoid, such as spending money, working (I refuse to work at a job for which I am paid on the Sabbath), and driving. I have my own excuses for certain things, like using the phone in order to stay connected to my family on Shabbat and thereby make my experience more enjoyable, and while that may change with time it suits me for now. As for driving, that is something I definitely try to avoid, especially driving to the synagogue. But when the synagogue is three miles and a full hour each way by foot - potentially through pouring rain, snow, extreme temperatures, and other cumbersome natural phenomena - driving or riding on the bus becomes a much more appealing option. For example, today, when I was just plain tired and didn't want to get up early enough to make the trek. Had I resigned myself to taking the bus I could've cut the commute in half and felt much more willing to go. But I was lazy, so I didn't attend services today.
I want to walk, I really do. But I may have to consider what's really important in terms of my Jewish practice and experience. If avoiding transportation means not going to shul and missing out on the positive experiences of participation in a community, then am I really making Shabbat holy? I realize that for the more observant Jews out there, this is a non-issue. This isn't even a discussion. But the spirit of the law means just as much to me, if not more than, the letter of the law, and I may need to seriously consider what is important to me at this point in my life.
As for the shul, this one might not be the end of my search. I still want to see what else Brooklyn has to offer, to make sure I find the place and the people that make me the happiest. In the meantime, I'm just glad I've found a place that makes me smile and is willing to invite me for a meal.
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| A traditional sukkah Source: The Mendel Sukkah, sukkot.com |
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| The Lulav and Etrog Source: Blueenayim, dreamstime.com |
With all these opportunities to go to the synagogue, it can be a bit of a challenge to get in the holiday spirit if you aren't enjoying the congregation with which you're spending so much time. I spent all of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur at Shul #3 which, although it was the best of the three I tried out, still lacked much of what I was looking for. By the powerful concluding service of the holiest day of the year, culminating with one long blast of the shofar (ram's horn), I knew I needed to start looking for another shul to call home. I've already written at length about my dissatisfaction in my own neighborhood so it shouldn't surprise you that I needed to look a little further.
A quick search on Google Maps for "Modern Orthodox Synagogue Brooklyn" provided a couple other options. I'm sure there are more synagogues than appeared in the search results, but any synagogue that has an Internet presence is probably closer to what I'm looking for anyway. To my dismay, the next closest synagogue was three miles away, which wouldn't be so bad if I weren't planning on walking to shul every Shabbat. But I'll get to that later.
I walked to the synagogue on Thursday morning and entered to find that although I was fifteen minutes late for the service, they hadn't yet begun. I actually took this as a good sign. There's this thing known as "Jewish Standard Time" in which everything starts later than expected, and I'm very used to that way of doing things in a synagogue. The building was a bit smaller than the other three I had been to, but the sanctuary was bright, open, and featured a single curtained mechitza down the center of the room. This barrier was designed as sectioned frames on wheels so they can be moved and manipulated as necessary, and even removed entirely for an event in which they'll allow a mixed crowd. There were no pews; instead, there were rows of chairs set up, again making for a very convertible space. The ceiling featured a domed skylight, and the morning sun poured freely into the space.
The service featured a great deal of singing, much of which was accomplished by the untrained voices of the congregation, a small but delightfully boisterous bunch. Unlike the other synagogues in which most people seemed to sit back and let the leaders do their job, I felt that the members of this congregation were more personally involved with the service and with one another. I especially smiled when one paragraph was read out loud in English by an old man in the back - the same paragraph that my Dad has had the honor of reading in our synagogue for years. We use a different translation, but the message was the same: we want you to pray with us, and we want you to understand it. Let's face it. It can get really easy to forget what's actually being said when you're praying in another language.
By the end of the service, there were maybe 30 people in attendance (a high estimate, perhaps), and most of us went to the sukkah for the kiddush reception. By the way, it was a single kiddush, with a single table. Finally! A kiddush for the men and women together! At the kiddush, I could tell that people were friendly, but nobody really approached me to say hello. I was a little dismayed until I decided to leave and the rabbi stopped me at the door.
"Hello. You're new here. Where are you from?"
"I just moved to Borough Park."
"Oh? And what are you doing all the way over here?"
"Well, I didn't like any of the shuls in my neighborhood, so I came here."
We spoke a bit longer, he invited me to lunch, and I politely declined because I told him I had to get back to have lunch with my fiance. So he invited both of us for the following day. Before leaving, I told him:
"Y'know, of all the shuls I've been to around here, you're the only rabbi who has spoken to me. Thank you. I really appreciate that."
He seemed stunned.
The next day I convinced Tomm to come with me, and after services we were approached and welcomed by the president of the congregation, the Rabbi (who wished us mazel tov on our engagement and confirmed our acceptance for his lunch invitation), and the old man who read the paragraph in English. Additionally, I was invited to lunch by the rabbi's wife who I didn't realize was the rabbi's wife, so I declined only to find that it was her food I was eating an hour later. At kiddush, someone helped us when he realized we hadn't managed to get a bit of the wine after the blessing was made, and when kiddush seemed to be ending and we had lost track of the rabbi, the old man from before said "Oh we'll get you to that lunch! Don't worry, I'll take care of you."
Music to my ears.
The lunch table was graced by many of the congregants and the rabbi's 20 children (okay, maybe there were only 12), and I managed to get into pleasant conversations with a few other people. After a fabulous meal replete with salads, fish, chicken schnitzel (Tomm's favorite), potatoes, vegetables, and a scrumptious dessert, we had to take our leave early because of Tomm's work schedule. The best part for him? Not a single person raised an eyebrow or protested about the fact that he was working on Shabbat. Instead, everyone treated him with the respect owed to a hardworking doctor, recognizing that there is no greater mitzvah (commandment or good deed) than to save a life, even if it means working on Shabbat.
Speaking of working on Shabbat: Many of us - regardless of our faith background - are familiar with the precept to "do no work" on the Sabbath. It is, after all, the reason many Christian establishments are closed on Sundays. Throughout the Jewish community this commandment is observed to varying degrees depending on the individual's level of religiosity (wow, that's actually a word?). However on the Orthodox side of the spectrum there is a very little room for debate; the 39 categories of labor that define "work" are clearly delineated and avoided on Shabbat. They go beyond the commonly understood definition of "performing a service in exchange for money" and extend into such activities as building, baking, and lighting a fire. These categories provide the framework for the myriad of rules that observant Jews follow in order to create and experience a holy, joyous holiday every single week.
While I do my best to observe the Sabbath, I do so in a way that is comfortable for me, a way is constantly in flux. I haven't reached the point where I strictly follow all the laws of Shabbat and I am still trying to figure out what works for me to make the day holy. There are a few things I do my best to avoid, such as spending money, working (I refuse to work at a job for which I am paid on the Sabbath), and driving. I have my own excuses for certain things, like using the phone in order to stay connected to my family on Shabbat and thereby make my experience more enjoyable, and while that may change with time it suits me for now. As for driving, that is something I definitely try to avoid, especially driving to the synagogue. But when the synagogue is three miles and a full hour each way by foot - potentially through pouring rain, snow, extreme temperatures, and other cumbersome natural phenomena - driving or riding on the bus becomes a much more appealing option. For example, today, when I was just plain tired and didn't want to get up early enough to make the trek. Had I resigned myself to taking the bus I could've cut the commute in half and felt much more willing to go. But I was lazy, so I didn't attend services today.
I want to walk, I really do. But I may have to consider what's really important in terms of my Jewish practice and experience. If avoiding transportation means not going to shul and missing out on the positive experiences of participation in a community, then am I really making Shabbat holy? I realize that for the more observant Jews out there, this is a non-issue. This isn't even a discussion. But the spirit of the law means just as much to me, if not more than, the letter of the law, and I may need to seriously consider what is important to me at this point in my life.
As for the shul, this one might not be the end of my search. I still want to see what else Brooklyn has to offer, to make sure I find the place and the people that make me the happiest. In the meantime, I'm just glad I've found a place that makes me smile and is willing to invite me for a meal.
You're wrestling with some big ideas, but I think you have your priorities in the right order. Love reading about your journeys. I hope I am as adventurous. Much love.
ReplyDeleteI am a big fan of focusing on the spirit, not the letter of the law, and making reasonable accommodations for the modern world. What brings you closer to G-d? What helps your spiritual growth? I think it is important to keep the Sabbeth as a day apart, and not let it be like every other day, but there may be more than one way to do that. I'm just grateful that some people finally talked to you!
ReplyDelete