Monica

The high holy days went very well for me this year. It's hard to explain in words, but they did what they are supposed to do. I feel like I'm in a good place for 5777.

I co-led the Ruach service on both Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur mornings again (with the associate rabbi). That went well, and I was particularly tickled by the person who privately asked me if next year I could do it all by myself. (She likes the way I lead.) I pointed out that it would be rather awkward for me to bring that up with the folks in charge.

We started this service several years ago because the sanctuary service, still being done out of Gates of Repentance which has many deficiencies, was hard for some of us to engage with. It's not about formal music; I'm all about some of the formal music of the season. But it sometimes felt like we were being performed at instead of being invited in. So we started this service to do things differently. This year we bought the new machzor, Mishkan HaNefesh, for the whole congregation (previously we had enough copies for the Ruach service, and previous to that we used draft photocopies). And we've just concluded our first year with a real cantor, who is working hard to make the sanctuary service more engaging. So, it is possible that in the not-too-distant future we could get to a point where we no longer need this service. Some (like my fan from the previous paragraph) might think that's a bad thing for me, but I'd actually be delighted to bring more of the congregation to the level that our smaller cohort strives for. We shall see. None of this has been discussed yet; it's just ideas kicking around.

On Sukkot morning I went to Chabad. I met the Chabad rabbi a few years ago when I took what would be the first of (so far) three classes that I've taken from him. He's friendly and welcoming and he encourages women to learn. So I showed up (unannounced) and I felt welcome. There was one other woman there at the beginning, and we got two more by the end, with maybe 15 or 20 men. (Kind of hard to see with the mechitza and some left immediately after.) Most of us went to the sukkah after for a little food and drink, and the conversation was friendly. I chatted with a woman who's a cancer researcher (i.e. she works, in a professional position) and we talked about technology and medicine and conducting clinical trials and stuff.

I only had one problem. Well, two I guess -- I can never keep up with Orthodox prayer; I'm just not that fast. So that wasn't unexpected. But the other was the language barrier. Not Hebrew; while I'm by no means fluent I do ok there. No, I mean that even though they were praying in Hebrew I found it really hard to follow because of pronunciation. There were times when I knew exactly what words I should be hearing, had the siddur in front of me -- and couldn't match up what I was hearing with what I was reading. I wouldn't have expected that to be the steepest learning curve...

(This isn't just about Ashkenazi versus Sephardi pronunciation; I've got a reasonable handle on that. Chabad seems to change vowels compared to other Ashkenazim, so that's two steps removed for me and my Sephardi pronunciation.)

This Chabad, unfortunately, doesn't have their own Friday-night services; part of the reason I'd gone was to scout for alternatives to what are often unsatisfying Friday services at my own synagogue. Bummer. But there will be other occasions to visit; I went on Sukkot because my congregation and another join forces for the festivals, alternating locations, and I wasn't interested in walking two miles each way to the other synagogue.

I wrote previously about the Mi Yodeya celebration. I also joined Isaac and others for services while there, which was interesting and educational.

( places visited )

A couple observations:

First, none of the services felt rushed, but I do not know how people pray that quickly. I couldn't keep up without vocalizing everything, while the service leader was spitting out the Hebrew cleanly and clearly. I guess it comes in time? But on the other hand, if I haven't gotten it by now...

They sure do a lot of kaddishes. If I recall correctly, at the end of the Sunday-morning service there was a bit of torah learning followed by kaddish d'rabbanan, and I came away with the impression that the former was there mainly to justify the latter. (Kaddish is said at certain points in the service, mainly to act as a division, but it also may be said after any learning.) Unlike in Reform services, kaddish is said either by one person or the mourners as a group. I found myself wondering how that's coordinated -- who gets which ones, how do they know, and if you particularly want one that day, how do you signal that?

Both of these synagogues -- and, now that I think about it, several other Orthodox synagogues I've been to -- had a bunch of different siddurim (prayer books). The content is basically the same in all of them, but sometimes there are minor variations, they may or may not include English translations (which may or may not vary subtly), they may or may not contain commentary, and so on. This has a few consequences:

• You actually get, and have to make, a choice. Friday night I just took a book; it was all Hebrew, no English translation. That's fine for the prayers (I'm going to do those in Hebrew anyway), but I had to work a little more at navigation.
• Some people bring their own, an option that simply had not occurred to me.
• Because not everybody is using the same book, and also I assume because there's an assumption that if you're there you're fluent (which breaks down in some individual cases, of course), they don't call out instructions or page numbers -- you're just expected to be able to follow. I can do that for a Shabbat or weekday service, but might be challenged to do so on, say, the high holy days.

On Saturday morning I used the Koren siddur, which I've heard good things about. I actually found the Hebrew font just a tad hard to read, compared to Sim Shalom, Artscroll, and even Mishkan T'filah. It looked like a nice siddur otherwise, so maybe one to have available even if I don't use it regularly. Or maybe, were I to use it regularly, I'd find the font a little easier.

I'm glad I got the opportunity to experience all that.

Recently some local congregations have been banding together for yom tov services. Friday's service for the last day of Pesach was pretty unsatisfactory in a lot of ways, but in this post I'm going to write about just one practice, something I have seen in other congregations too and that needs to end.

Most blessings begin with a six-word formula, followed by the text that varies. The morning service contains a bunch of these, thanking God for making us free, lifting up the fallen, giving strength to the weary, and more. (There are 15 of these in a row.) The congregation says these together. In Friday's service, the leader decreed that the congregation would chant these in "Hebrish" -- first six words in Hebrew, then chanting the varying part in English.

I previously wrote about the horror that is chanted English prayer. This isn't that. This "Hebrish" practice, I've been told when I've asked, is motivated by a desire for inclusion: people don't know the Hebrew, the reasoning goes, so this makes prayer more accessible. Sounds admirable, right? But it's misguided and, dare I say, harmful. First off, the transliteration is right there in the siddur next to the Hebrew, precisely to make the Hebrew more accessible. But, more fundamentally, this practice serves to keep people down. How are they ever to learn the Hebrew if we never do it? Are we supposed to settle for the current state and never move past it? How would I have become proficient in the Hebrew prayers if, when I was trying to grow, my congregation had kept me on the English?

The Rambam (Maimonides) famously taught that the highest level of tzedakah (charity, loosely) is to help a poor person to get a job, rather than to give him money. Giving him money sustains him for a time; getting him a job helps him break out of the clutches of poverty (we hope). The Reform movement holds this up as a key value, even placing it in the section of the siddur where we study torah in the morning. Why, then, do we refuse to apply that same principle to those who are poor in knowledge? Why is it better to give them the handout of English prayer instead of helping them to pray in Hebrew?

In the past I have remained silent to avoid the appearance of challenging our leaders. I have tried and failed to persuade leaders who do this to reconsider. Friday, when they announced this and started into those prayers, I said to myself quietly "no more" and proceeded to chant the prayers in Hebrew. The long-time member of my congregation sitting next to me said "good for you!" and joined me. We were not disruptive, but I have high hopes that maybe, next time, he'll be sitting next to someone else and he too will say "no more" and forge ahead, and maybe someone sitting next to him will follow. And maybe, eventually, we'll be able to help people break out of the bonds of illiteracy, instead of continuing to keep them down by catering to their current weaknesses. We've just celebrated z'man cheruteinu, the season of our freedom, and it is time to apply that to our people now and not just looking back at Mitzrayim.

If reading the Hebrew text directly is too challenging for some, the transliteration is readily available. Or they could quietly read the English the way I quietly read the Hebrew. (I do that when I'm at services that are above my level, like last week at Village Shul.) But let's stop telling our congregants that they're too uneducated to handle the Hebrew; that only serves to reinforce the idea until they no longer want to try.

Last Friday I went to New Light, a small Conservative synagogue a block from my house. I've been there a few times and thought the people were friendly but the services didn't really speak to me. They hired a new rabbi a few months ago and I've heard good things about him, so I decided to satisfy my curiosity a little.

The service was more traditional than in the past, yet accessible. (A full-on Hebrew service like at YPS doesn't bother me, but if you don't know that most of your congregation is fluent, it might deter some.) They did all of the psalms in kabbalat shabbat, about half in English and half in Hebrew. The latter were all sung and I generally recognized the melodies and could join in. As in the past, the rabbi invited congregants (by name) to read parts in English. The rabbi spoke between kabbalat shabbat and ma'ariv about one of the psalms in kabbalat shabbat; I gather that he's spoken about most of the others (one at a time) on other nights. The talk was very interesting and I should really have made some notes sooner. Ma'ariv was pretty much what I'd expect anywhere on the traditional spectrum -- Hebrew, familiar melodies, individual amidah. I think they concluded with Adon Olam rather than Yigdal. They invited anybody who wanted to up onto the bima for kiddush (with individual cups of wine or juice).

I'd guess there were about 20-25 people there. They do a sit-down oneg after the service; somebody greeted me on the way into the room and invited me to sit with others, and the rabbi came and joined us. He was friendly and easy to talk with. We talked about his talk and ended up pulling out a tanach (bible) to look some things up. :-)

It was a positive experience. I would visit again.

A couple months ago I visited Young People's Synagogue and had a good experience, so I'd been thinking about going back this week. Then I was contacted by their webmaster, who followed a link to this journal from his referrer logs. He invited me to come back any time, I said I was thinking about this week, he invited me to dinner, and off we went.

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Friday night I went to Dor Chadash, a Reconstructionist congregation. I'd been there once before for a Purim service that a friend was involved in and once on a Shabbat morning (I think), both several years ago. They do not have Friday services every week; currently they're doing two a month, and I don't know if that's a summer thing or their normal routine.

There were about 20 people there, which someone said was a little small. Dor Chadash is a lay-led congregation, though the person who led this service is in rabbinic school (currently off and back home for the summer). There was also a cantorial soloist (someone said "cantor" but I don't think so). There was a lot of singing; many were melodies that I'd heard but don't know, but they were easy to pick up. I wish I had retained any of them. At least one felt like Carlebach to me, and I think I heard one or two of them at the kallah a couple weeks ago. Oh well; I'll encounter them again someday. Even if I would use a recorder on Shabbat, it's not like I would be inclined to carry one with me to services. :-)

They sang or read passages from several of the psalms in kabbalat shabbat (not all). At a rough guess the liturgical time was split fairly evenly between kabbalat shabbat and ma'ariv, which probably only stood out because of the kallah two weeks ago where kabblat shabbat was very much the lion's share with a quickie ma'ariv tacked on. Dor Chadash started the t'filah together but immediately went to individual recitation, and I was surprised by how fast they were (that is, how quickly people sat down). I was reciting it pretty efficiently (and skipping some bits once I picked up the vibe), but I was still the last to sit down. As a visitor I felt awkward, as if I'd come in from outside and slowed them down. But whoa was that fast -- maybe four minutes? (The cantorial soloist then chanted Magen Avot, which I suppose "covers" you if you didn't do your own, but I didn't know in advance that she would.)

There was a rabbi there (introduced as a guest), who gave a d'var torah. (He mentioned that he'd be reading torah the next morning; I don't know if he had any other leadership roles.) He talked about the beginning of Matot, which lists all the places Israel camped in the wilderness, and about the importance of remembering history and the effects of displacement. (It was more coherent coming out of his mouth then than my memory now.) Toward the beginning he asked the congregation how many places Israel camped and there was resounding silence, so I quietly answered. (I was in the second row, right in front of him.) I don't think I knew that I knew that until he asked, but I guess I did.

Everyone was very friendly after the service. I was the only newcomer, so it was easier for them to learn my name than for me to learn all of theirs. I talked for a while with a professor of music history at Pitt; we talked about 16th-century counterpoint, which I suspect surprised him as much as it surprised me for Shabbat conversation. And it turned out that the person who looked really familiar but I couldn't say why is a neighbor on my block, so we went home together. (And the friend who motivated that first visit was there too.)

Of the (local) places I've visited this summer, Dor Chadash is the clear winner so far. Next time I want to be somewhere other than my own congregation on a night when they are having services, I expect to go back.

We were in Toronto for a few days, so Shabbat morning I went to services at the Village Shul, which is run by Aish HaTorah. We don't have Aish in Pittsburgh, so I was curious. I understand them to be in methodology kind of similar to Chabad -- friendly outreach to people at various levels of observance -- without the chassidism and the strange moshiach stuff. So I figured I'd go there and see what it was like, and if it was horrible I had a backup a few blocks away.

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My congregation recently started selling gift cards for the local grocery chain. You know the deal: you pay face value for the card and they get a cut -- everyone wins. (Well, except the taxpayers who cover the amount the store gets to deduct as a charitable contribution.) I figured the congregation must get 1%, maybe 2% out of this deal. I learned today that they get 5%. I didn't think grocery stores even had 5% margins... Sure, their prices are probably inflated to cover this, the discounts for the affinity card, and the "fuel perks" (10 cents a gallon off one fill-up for each $50 spent; I assume they share that cost with the gas chain), but their prices still don't seem that high compared to other local options. I guess they're gambling on people not getting the affinity cards, not using up the gift cards, and not cashing in the fuel perks.

Locals who rent: where are the good landlords, properties, or listings for Squirrel Hill and Shadyside? I know what shows up in Google, but if you've got recommendations or anti-recommendations, please send 'em along. I'm trying to help out a friend of a friend who'll be moving here soon (for one year), but I've been out of the renting scene for quite a while now.

As long as I'm doing the "dear lazyweb" thing... this one's for me: can you tell me anything interesting about synagogues in Newton Center, MA, within walking distance of Hebrew College? Names, addresses, and affiliations I've got, and some of them have web sites, but reports from people who've actually visited any of them are more interesting.

Cheese update, for those who asked: I took the remaining paneer, sliced it, and fried it in butter. This was quite yummy, and the cheese held up just fine (did not get gooey and melty). The thinnest slice I tried was about a quarter inch; somewhere between that and half an inch seemed to give the best performance.

We went to Toronto this weekend to visit family. It was a fun trip. ( Read more... )

Is my health-insurance provider the Wall-Mart of the medical world, or are conventional rates really that wacky? I got a statement from them today (from a recent doctor visit) that said things like "[some test], provider's fee $92.50, our allowance $17.47, you owe $0". While that line-item was the most extreme, for most items the "fee" was about three times the "allowance". Does this mean that the insurance company is gouging doctors so much that they end up stiffing the uninsured, because it's fiscally fatal to not accept insurance, or what?

Even though I park in a garage at home and under a bridge at work, the trees have been having mad tree-sex and dumping the output all over my car. (Thanks amergina for that imagry.) How do they do that? I don't find myself covered in pollen just from walking down the street, so I don't think there's enough "just in the air" to do this.

The person I was supposed to go to services with tomorrow (at Chabad) called to say she has a cold and is going to stay home. Lunch is still on, but services will have to wait for another time. Oh well.

Earlier in the day we talked about logistics. Their services start at 10; ours end at about 11, so I proposed walking down the street and joining them in progress. (We have a new torah reader tomorrow and I want to be there for him.) This is perfectly normal in the Orthodox world, by the way -- not like Reform, and not like churches. Orthodox morning services, in my limited experience, are over 3 hours, so this seemed logical to me -- I figured I'd get there about the time they hit barchu, or at worst the beginning of the amidah. She said if I got there by about 11:15, I'd catch the start of the torah reading. !! She said they're usually done around 12:15 or 12:30.

The congregational meeting was last night. My name was mentioned several more times than I expected it to, and people commented on it. These mentions included one from my rabbi, who ackowledged about a dozen people individually starting with me. Wow! (Oddly, I heard three different pronunciations of my name; obviously not everyone speaking actually knows me well. :-) )

Friday night I ended up going to the Lubavich Center for services. ( an inner dialogue in one act, because I'm feeling punchy )

Oh well. It would have presumably gone much better if I'd had a (female) "native guide", but I don't know any. Saturday morning is probably a much better bet than Friday night, and I'll try that someday, but I had the Friday night available so I figured it was worth a try. I've got a Saturday-morning minyan that I'm very attached to.

Maybe I had unrealistic expectations; I don't know. You hear a lot about the joy in chassidism, and I guess I expected something similar to the "singing minyan" in Passaic NJ, which was sort of Carlebach-esque in feel (though I didn't know about Shlomo Carlebach's music until later). At that service there was singing and even a little dancing IIRC, and the community really felt inclusive. I somehow thought that Chassidism was that plus more. (And, of course, I don't know if Friday's service was representative of the larger community.)

This morning's service went very well. It also had much more ruach (spirit) and community than I expected (and about as much singing as I expected -- which is to say, a fair bit).

I got there early so I could get a look at the sefer torah (scroll) I'd be reading from. Good thing I did; the calligraphy was very hard to read, with more of the "widened" letters than I've seen elsewhere. (The text is justified, and rather than mucking with white space the way printers do, certain lettrs are permitted to be written wider than usual to fill in the space. Sometimes they're very wide. It can be distracting.)

I was the first of five torah readers. I was nervous, but it went well. I made one "invisible" trope error and am pleased that I didn't stumble when I realized it had happened; I just fudged things and went on, and I don't think anyone but the checker noticed. And she didn't stop me for it, which is good. I made no pronunciation errors, and I think the checker would have corrected me if I had (based on what I saw with another reader). I think my pronunciation was spot-on, actually, and my trope was pretty good. (Certainly musically sound; whether I had any glitches within that scope, I can't say.)

I learned three lessons, two of which I've learned before and had forgotten. So I will write them down this time:

• Practice chanting while leaning over a table, not while standing up straight. Breathing and vocal support are very different in that posture. (I was out of breath in places where I shouldn't have been, and hadn't been in practice.)
• Don't get too attached to the calligraphy in the tikkun (practice book); the scroll might be different (already discussed).
• Both of your hands will be occupied, so don't plan on using hidden gestures to aid in memorization. (I had two sections that were the same text and different trope, and I practiced with gestures under the table to help me memorize which was which. But I had to use one hand to hold a roller on the scroll and the other was holding the yad (pointer), leaving no hands free. And that's the trope I got wrong.)

I got a lot of compliments, and I think I did a good job. I need to chant it into a tape recorder (archive, in case I ever get this portion again), and then I'll be ready to focus on Behar (which will mean overwriting some of what I learned for this one). I didn't archive Behar last year or Shlach Lecha (my "adult bat mitzvah [sic]" portion) a few years ago, and time has taken its toll. Behar is still there but rusty; Shlach Lecha is gone. Oops.