Monica

Our second-day service is more intimate than the first-day service, but is still a complete service. Members of the congregation share in leading the service and do the torah-reading. There isn't a big sermon like on the first day, but there's a shorter message. Over the years some people have told us that this is their favorite service, preferring it over the grand service on the first day.

As expected, turnout is rather lower for the second day. We started in a year where the second day fell on a Sunday and got about 50 people that year; on weekdays attendance is lower. Last year at this service we re-dedicated the chapel after renovations and got an attendance boost. This year, the second day was on a Tuesday.

We had about 80 people. Some were visitors from out of town who came with members, some I didn't know at all, and some sought us out because we're apparently the only local Reform congregation that does this. We got lots of thanks and compliments after the service.

One lesson I take from this: we have got to start advertising this. We offer a service that fills a void no one else is filling, and we do it well. We don't require tickets on the second day; anybody who hears about it is welcome to come. Next year I want to work a little on helping people to hear about it, like we did with our amazingly-successful children's service on the first day. (Last year we outgrew our space, so this year we rented space down the street at the JCC. As long as we were renting a hall anyway, we invited the community -- and got twice as many people as last year.)

Our second-day service is really pretty special. I'm glad we started it.

Until now I had only ever gone to Reform services for this, and this year I was feeling the need to experience something more traditional. My Orthodox shul of choice for such things is Young People's Synagogue, which I've visited a few times on Friday nights. They didn't publish a time for S'lichot on their web site, so I sent email to the president of the congregation to introduce myself and ask. I got a nice, prompt reply welcoming me and giving me the information I needed. He mentioned that Dan Leger would be speaking; Dan is a member of Dor Chadash who I know from the Tree of Life morning minyan (yeah, Pittsburgh is like that), so that was an extra bonus.

( would go again; in fact, will on Sukkot )

On that last: I was expecting 30-40 people, basically the minyan regulars minus some who'd said they wanted to be in the sanctuary, plus some curious others. We had 80 and had to send out for more prayerbooks twice. The room seats about 100; we may be in trouble next year. Lots of people complimented me on it and my rabbi said many kind things about me for organizing it. We had my rabbi for the first hour and had lots of spirited singing, just like in the minyan. We had only expected to have him for half an hour, so plans about timing went out the window, but it was obvious that he really wanted to be there and of course everybody wanted him to be there, so I think we need to see if we can make that easier next year -- maybe start half an hour earlier? Because of the extra time we spent in the opening section we had to rush to try to catch up with the sanctuary service -- which was complicated by the fact that they were making up for a late start by adjusting and ended up running early. So while we had intended to enter the sanctuary at the beginning of the torah service, we actually missed the first few aliyot. Oops. We'll do better next year.

Even with the responsibility of running things -- it can be challenging to really pray when you're also responsible for watching the clock and tracking the people who might need extra page cues and signaling to your assistant leaders about changes to make and so on -- I was able to really engage with this service, and it was a great way to start a day spent in the synagogue. This ended up being even better than just switching the two morning sanctuary services (my original request) would have been; the new service had a much higher lowest common denominator, in terms of fluency, and that's huge. I carried the high from this service through most of the rest of the day. (My mind always wanders during Yizkor, which is more about the dreary English readings in our machzor than it is about Yizkor itself, but the rest was good.)

I read torah at the afternoon service. I didn't manage to learn the special high-holy-day trope this year either, either for Rosh Hashana or for Yom Kippur (I read on both). Someday... (Nobody else uses it, but I want to try -- and maybe start a trend.)

( fast notes )

OT: LiveJournal could go back to the fixed-width, larger font in the main part of the "post" page any time now, ahem. Yes, I filed a bug report. (I compose in emacs and paste in, but it's still a pain to do edits like the addition of this paragraph.)

The first year we did this, the earlier service got the less-formal music. The next year I suggested switching (thinking we could take turns, because everybody prefers the time of the later service), but it didn't happen, and hasn't in the years since (people keep asking).

The problem on Yom Kippur is that we've set things up so that you can stay at the synagogue all day -- morning service, afternoon service, study sessions, dramatic presentation of the book of Jonah, end-of-day service... staying all day really helps to focus on the day and away from the fast and the world outside. But, the people who actually stay all day, rather than leaving after the morning service and coming back at the end, are, overwhelmingly, the people who want the less-formal music. I can't speak for anybody else, but for me this is not mere preference; the "classical Reform" style actively interferes with my kavanah, my spiritual intention. I've tried really hard, but I just can't do it. So people like that have a choice come early, find something to do for two and a half hours, and then continue with the rest of the day, or suck it up and go to the late service.

But we have an opportunity this year. After some renovations completed about a month ago, we have a suitable space in which we can have a service in the style of our Shabbat morning minyan, to run concurrently with the late service. We'll do that until it's time for the torah service and sermon, and at that point we'll all go to the sanctuary. So we're having 2.5 services this year. I wonder what this will do to the early (sanctuary) service, but I've heard enough people say that they want to be in the sanctuary (even if it's early) and not in the chapel with the minyan that I don't think it will be a problem. Y'see, both the new service and the early service offer more-accessible music, but there are other differences: the new service, arising out of the minyan, will likely attract a crowd that is more fluent in the service and more interested in achieving that kavanah I spoke of. You can do that in the sanctuary services, but it may be a little harder with the addition of more English responsive readings and the like.

I'd be excited about the new service anyway, but I'm especially excited because I will be helping to lead it. My rabbi can't be absent from the sanctuary service for the whole time, so he'll come to the start of ours, then join the other one already in progress later, at which point lay leaders will take over. I got the t'filah. The t'filah for Yom Kippur has extra stuff that's not in there the rest of the year, but I've practiced and I think I'm ready. While the responsibility is palpable (more on that general theme in tomorrow's daf bit), it's also exciting. I often reach my best kavanah when I'm leading like-minded people, and I'm looking forward to seeing what this will be like on the holiest day of the year.

Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha... for the sin we have sinned before you with inappropriate speech -- and I think of the times I fell too easily into making negative comments about an acquaintance without having all the facts. For the sin we have sinned before you in public actions -- and I think of whether I could have achieved my goals at that meeting more gently, without making others uncomfortable. For the sin we have sinned before you by acquiescing to immorality -- and I think about standing silently when a friend made a derogatory joke at the expense of a group not my own. For the sin we have sinned before you privately -- and I think of the times I have "cut corners" with God when I could have done more to deepen our relationship, and I think of how nothing is ever private from HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

To me "al cheit" is not just a confession, a litany of sins. It is a list of reminders, a prompt to really look inward and examine my behavior over the last year. The list includes transgressions committed unknowingly, but how can I correct them if I don't know about them? "Al cheit" urges me to know them anyway, even though it is uncomfortable, in the hope that if I can confront them, maybe I can prevent some of them in the coming year. Just confessing and moving on would be easier; this text calls me to do more to set myself on the right course, one transgression at a time. Al cheit shechatanu l'fanecha... what have I hidden from myself, that this text helps me uncover?

Baruch atah Adonai, 'ozreinu lizkor.
Blessed are you, O God, who helps us to remember.

According to the Rambam we know that someone has done teshuvah when he makes amends, asks for forgiveness, and doesn't do the same thing again when put in a similar situation later. This year I found myself saying to someone that I don't know if I'll do the same thing because habits are hard to break, but I will certainly try not to. I suspect this is a common case (though not necessarily articulated as such). I find myself wondering whether the Rambam means "yeah, it could take years to know", or if he means the narrower case of your intention at the time that you apologize and ask forgiveness.

The problem can be bad habits or obliviousness (the latter being, I suppose, a case of the former). So in that vein, if I have done harm to anyone reading this in the last year, there is a good chance I don't know, which makes it challenging to make amends. I would appreciate it if you would help me out by contacting me privately to let me know that we need to speak. (Fortunately, given the timing, the gates of repentance do not close at the end of Yom Kippur.)

But as a consequence of all of this, I don't connect as much as I should with Rosh Hashana as the (big, singular) day of judgement. It's more like the day of the preliminary hearing. It's important, but it's not the final word. I'm more afraid of Yom Kippur than of Rosh Hashana. I'm not trying to make light of it; I'm just trying to see it in context. I know that others, while beginning their preparations earlier, can appreciate the gravity of the day better than I can now, so maybe I'll get there.

We celebrate Rosh Hashana as the birthday of the world and acknowledge it as the day of judgement. Two themes, seemingly very different but maybe not so different after all. We're all used to the annual performance review and the annual reconciling of financial accounts (and payment of taxes). These are tied to points in time. So, too, the birthday of the world seems a good day for the divine evaluation of the world's residents. (And as my associate rabbi pointed out last night, while this is a Jewish holiday, there's nothing specifically Jewish about its themes -- it's not like, say, Pesach, that commemorates an event specifically in Jewish history. We all have a share in the world and all who believe in God have to settle our accounts.)

I was thinking, last night at ma'ariv, that the day and the year have something in common. We begin the day not at the artifical hour of midnight or at the seemingly-natural time of sunrise, but rather at sunset, as twilight comes to be followed by night. At the beginning of the day things start to darken, with the most challenging or dangerous times to come in a few hours, but by the mid-point (mid-day, so to speak) things are brightening up and the day reaches a climax in light and warmth. So too with the year -- we begin it now, as autumn comes to be followed by the cold, dark winter, but we know that spring and summer are coming. (What's the mid-point of the year? Roughly Pesach.) There's even a rabbinic tradition that the first Rosh Hashana was not on the first day of creation but on the sixth, the day man was created, after which things went downhill rather quickly but will ultimately end in redemption.

Maybe that's the connection -- things seem darker now, as we are being judged and found wanting, but the coming year will grow warm again and we will too, God willing, if we take action. Either that, or I'm reading way too much into this.