cellio | Entries tagged with worship

The Reform movement is publishing a new machzor (prayerbook for the high holy days) after several decades. The format is similar to Mishkan T'filah, the new rest-of-year prayerbook that was published a few years ago. Just as MT was intended to replace Gates of Prayer (its predecessor), the new machzor is intended to replace Gates of Repentance (GoR). I am one of the people in my congregation who was asked to evaluate it for possible purchase. (Actually, what we're evaluating is draft editions of certain services. My comments are based on the morning services for Rosh Hashsna and Yom Kippur.)

Now that I've shared my comments with my rabbi and the head of the committee, I'll go ahead and share them here. I'd love to hear opinions from people in other congregations who have also taken a look at the drafts.

( a brief note on context )

( my review notes )

( last week's d'var torah )

Someone I respect a great deal once told me he wouldn't be surprised if someday I leave the Reform movement for Orthodoxy. I don't think so; my beliefs (i.e. the dox part) align more with Reform, even though my practice does not. I'm used to being one of the most observant Reform Jews I know, and I'm used to working around some of the hurdles that come with that. (Why no, even though it's great that all the local Reform congregations got together for a joint festival service, no I'm not going ten miles to Monroeville for it, sorry.)

But every time something like the to'evah (abomination -- and yes, I understand the strength of that word) of this past Friday's service happens, a tiny little voice speaks up in the back of my mind saying "you know, this could be a lot easier on you...". It's frustrating. If it weren't for the excellent relationships I've formed in my congregation, including both of our rabbis, I sometimes wonder...

So, this Shabbat the Reform movement celebrated its sisterhood's 100th anniversary (movement-wide, not just us). Cool -- sisterhood has never, ever spoken to me (and in fact I believe its existence violates a core principle of Reform theology, but that's a different post), but I can understand the desire to celebrate that milestone and all their accomplishments, honor their leaders, and so on. The international president of the sisterhood umbrella organization happens to be a member of my congregation, so clearly we were going to do something. So Friday's service was led by sisterhood leaders from a siddur produced by a committee of that umbrella organization.

They wrote a "creative" service. Cue ominous music here.

So what we got was an evening service that ran almost two hours (!) and still managed to omit half the amidah and all the brachot around the sh'ma except one (there was a song for hashkiveinu). Also all of kabbalat shabbat except L'cha Dodi, but we never get a complete kabbalat shabbat unless I'm running it, so that's noteworthy in degree but not in type (we usually do more than this, though not all). Are they kidding me? Who thought this was ok? Rabbis and cantors on the committee, apparently, so part of me is glad I don't know their identities as my opinion of them has just gone way down. (My rabbi tried to salvage some of the omissions during the service; I don't know if he had had a chance to vet this service beforehand or if he had trusted his colleagues.)

What did they fill all that time with? Lots of poetry, lots of "women are great" readings, lots of sisterhood self-congratulations, half a dozen "how sisterhood changed my life" testimonials incorrectly labeled as a d'var torah in the program... all sorts of stuff that would be more appropriate at a celebratory dinner than at a Shabbat service. Shabbat, and God, got short shrift -- at a Shabbat service.

(There was also a short torah service (we do that on Friday nights about half the time), with group aliyot. The last one of the three was for anyone who belongs to sisterhood; I didn't go up because they said "belongs", not "pays dues to"; I've never felt I belonged but as a board member I'm required to be a member on paper.)

When I got there and saw the service booklet I considered turning around and leaving. In retrospect I should have, perhaps visibly. Instead I ignored their service at times and picked up our regular siddur instead so I could have a valid Shabbat service. (My rabbi noticed.) But after the mourner's kaddish I saw that there were still a couple more pages of readings and stuff, plus they were going to teach a new closing song, and at that point I just said dayeinu and left. Ugh.

If they had wanted to have a special additional service that would be one thing. But this displaced the regular community service. In that regard it was even worse than a typical Reform bar mitzvah, and I hadn't realized that was possible. It is possible to honor people while preserving community norms, but that isn't a strong-enough guiding principle in the Reform movement. I alternate between being sad and saying "how dare they?".

When I got home I set aside what I had been planning to talk about in Saturday morning's d'var torah (it was my turn) and mentally assembled something else instead. That'll be forthcoming, but in case you wonder when you see it, yes there's a connection.

More from that parlor game: Comment to this post and I will pick seven things I would like you to talk about. They might make sense or be totally random. Then post that list, with your commentary, to your journal. Other people can get lists from you, and the meme merrily perpetuates itself.

unique_name_123 gave me: computer, spirituality, laurel, rules, games, travel, artichoke.

( Read more... )

(Today's daf is Nidah 3. I'm not ready to deal with that topic, at least in mixed company, but fortunately, we're still in the Omer and studying Pirke Avot!)

Rabbi Shimon said: be careful with the recitation of the sh'ma and the t'filah (the main prayer). When you pray do not make it a set task but an appeal for mercy and an entreaty before the All-Present. R. Eleazar said: be eager to study torah and know before Whom one toils. R. Tarfon said: the day is short and the work is much, and the workers are indolent, but the reward is great and the Master of the house is insistent. (Avot 2:18-20, excerpted)

With the fixed text of the t'filah in the prayerbook being somewhat long, it can be hard to remember that the text was not always so fixed and to follow Rabbi Shimon's advice.

This week was my congregation's annual shabbaton. We take over a cabin in the "suburbs" of Zelienople and have a grand time. This year was the largest I've seen at 42 people, and all of them seemed to be engaged in it. It was great.

When nobody feels pressure (got to get upstairs to the bar mitzvah, got to beat the lunch guests home, whatever), we can relax and just take our time with services. I don't get that very often and I treasure it. We had kabbalat shabbat out on the porch in the fading sun (plus there were porch lights). Saturday morning after the service we had an energetic discussion of part of the parsha (Tazria [1]), interrupted only by our need to walk up to the main building for lunch (but it continued later in smaller pockets).

Speaking of which: ( Read more... )

Friday night we had a study session around the second chapter of Pirke Avot (teachings of the fathers, where a lot of the sayings we "all know" come from). We broke into pairs or trios to study for a while and then each group shared something it learned. We've used this study method before and I find it works well; it's harder to do in-depth study with 42 people all together, but by doing it this way I learned things both from my group and the larger group.

Saturday afternoon we tried something new. My rabbi asked a few of us to prepare chugim, short sessions to run concurrently, so people could learn what they want. I taught (well, lead a study of) a section of talmud -- how various rabbis concluded their individual prayer at the end of the t'filah. (B'rachot 16b-17a, for anyone following along at home.) I approached this from the prayer context, not the talmud context -- we have this fixed text that we say every service and then we're supposed to say our own prayer, but maybe not everybody is comfortable doing that. The idea was to present a range of things that are recorded in our tradition; maybe people would get some new ideas.

I had not realized, and did not think to ask at the beginning, that no one there other than me had actually studied any talmud before -- maybe they'd seen material that came from the talmud, but they'd never looked at a page of talmud before. I, not knowing this, gave only the scantest of introductions to talmud itself (here's what the full page looks like, here's where we are, here's an interlinear translation to follow 'cause nobody here including me is going to read the Aramaic straight from the page). When I learned at the end that this was new to everybody, part of me wondered if I should have given more of an intro -- but I think not, on reflection. I helped a group of people just dive in to something that many consider intimidating; I think that probably left them all feeling better, and more confident, than a "talmud 101 using this text as an example" class would have been. I am becoming a big fan of the "just do it" school of teaching.

( footnote )

One of my ongoing frustrations with many Reform services (and prayer books) is what I think of as dumbing down the service to be accessible to all, in the process alienating some of the dedicated people who were already there. (There's a vicious cycle in there that leads to needing to do so because everyone else has fled.) I wondered a little whether I was being hyper-sensitive or something, because when I've brought it up in conversation I've mostly gotten surprised looks.

I recently came across rethinking egalitarianism and found myself emphatically saying "yes yes yes!" while reading. Excerpt:

Let's rethink what we mean by "egalitarianism." What if it meant "open to all who bother to make the effort"? What if synagogues distributed fliers that said: "Welcome! We are very glad you are here. Our service is somewhat traditional, because that traditional form works for us. You may be a little lost at first. So we warmly invite you to join our weekly Siddur 101 class, where you can learn the ropes." People who choose to accept the invitation obtain the rewards. Those who don't, don't. Not only would such an approach allow longtime participants to get more out of the prayer experience, but it would also suggest to newcomers that there's something worth working toward. Things that come cheap usually feel that way.
As I understand it, this is part of Rabbi Elie Kaunfer's argument in his recent book, "Empowered Judaism" (Jewish Lights Publishing). What the Jewish world needs, Kaunfer writes, is not more dumbing-down but more empowerment of individuals to opt in if they so desire. Before Kaunfer, this argument was Maimonides's: The best Judaism is really only for philosophers, but the opportunity to become a philosopher ought to be open to everybody.
American Jews have long prized education and knowledge. So why do we suddenly throw those values out the window when it comes to synagogue life? Is it really more inclusive to be patronized by a service aimed at the lowest common denominator?

Thoughts?

I attended a variety of services at the kallah (though I did not manage all three each day due to schedule complications). Here are some thoughts on some of them.

Shabbat morning had about six different options. I went to the service led by Rabbi Marcia Prager and Chazan Jack Kessler. I had been planning to go to one described as "standard renewal" to see what that was about, but I was in Jack's class all week, I was impressed by him, and he asked the class to help with something during the torah service, so I went there. It was an interesting service with a lot of good singing and a very unusual torah service. ( Read more... )

Friday night there were two options, one obviously "main" and one more specialized. I went to the main one, which was led by an Israeli music group named Navah Tehila. (Locals, they'll be at Rodef Shalom in a couple weeks.) The music was generally good and powerful, once I got (back) into the right frame of mind. I had been in the right frame of mind when I walked into the room, but something there threw me out of it and it took about an hour to recover. ( Read more... )

I also went to some weekday services. These were very much a mixed bag. ( Read more... )

I won't be leading shacharit tomorrow, so no daf bit, but instead I'll share a few short notes from some recent unusual-to-me services.

I've seen this a few times. The congregation chants a word or phrase from the part of the liturgy you're supposed to be doing, over and over, while the service leader chants the entire passage over it. The load on the congregation is lighter (useful if not everyone is fluent), the problems of skipping text are avoided (the representative of the congregation says them), and you might get a sort of minor meditative thing going that helps with focus. I wouldn't have predicted that I could be happy with my entire contribution to Ashrei being "Halleluyah" in a tight loop, but it worked.

The service leader is the locomotive; the congregation is the train. The leader leads, but everyone has to get there together. (This is an approximation of something said by Hazzan Jack Kessler.) This analogy breaks down if you look at it too hard, but I found it interesting enough to note.

This almost set off my woo-woo alarm but I tried it anyway: say Ashrei with a partner, delivering your part directly to the other person with intention. The reason I feared woo-woo is that I thought this would take praise of God too close to praise directed at the other person, but it didn't actually feel that way. I felt like I was praising God through this other person. It's not something I'd make a habit of, but it was an interesting experience.

I appear to be ok with thoughtful drumming during prayer. I am still not ok with chanted English where liturgy belongs -- doubly so if the English isn't a translation but something creative. Singing English is ok, but I find that I want the nusach, the traditional chant melody, to be reserved for more-or-less traditional Hebrew text.

The amidah is your private audience with God. What do you want to say to him? (Rabbi Richard Simon.)

More later, I presume.

This is nothing new, but in recent months I have become more attuned to the variety of so-called "innovations" in worship -- everything from meditation to yoga to poetry (replacing liturgy) to interpretive dance (!) -- and I finally figured out one of the things that bugs me about it. Understand that, at some level, if it works for you then it's no bother to me except to the extent that you then interfere with me. But it doesn't tend to work for me, and I realized recently a big reason why: I have barely begun to plumb the depths of the traditional forms, and not only am I not ready to stray beyond that, but I feel I would be incapable of understanding a change of this sort if I didn't already understand the foundation upon which it's supposed to be built.

(There are other reasons, including that some of this tickles my "weird" meter, but that's a separate discussion. I mean, there's plenty of weirdness in mainstream Judaism too. Like, rejoicing while waving three branches and a piece of fruit around? Really? But I digress.)

A couple things have brought this to mind:

( Read more... )

I had to miss minyan this morning for a doctor's appointment so I didn't prepare a daf bit for the congregation, but here's something my rabbi and I studied this week:

Tractate B'rachot is largely concerned with the whys and hows of prayer. The central prayer of the service, the t'filah (or amidah or shemona esrei), consists of three opening passages, some number of intermediate ones (depending on the day), and three closing ones. Each passage ends with a phrase blessing God for something specific. (That's all by way of background.)

The g'mara teaches (34a-b): these are the benedictions when one bows: the beginning and end of avot (the first passage), and the beginning and end of hoda'ah (one of the closing passages), nowhere else. Rabbi Shimon ben Pazzi said in the name of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, reporting Bar Kappara: this is for an ordinary person; a high priest bows at the end of each blessing; and a king bows at the beginning and end of each. (There is some further discussion of kings.)

I knew that the talmud frowned on the often-seen practice of bowing at the beginning and end of each (and sometimes continuously). What I didn't know is the reason: it's seen here as presumptuous.

This article on mega-church worship style in synagogues discusses some happenings at the just-ended URJ biennial convention. If this is a new trend in Jewish worship, I can't say I'm impressed.

The mega-church influence was felt as well during Friday night prayers, where 6,000 worshipers gathered in a cavernous room on the convention center's ground floor for a choreographed production of sight and sound.
Multiple cameras projected the service on several enormous screens suspended over the hall. A live band buoyed a service that was conducted almost entirely in song.

Now I'm all for music in worship; anyone who's heard me talk about my congregation surely knows that. But I do not attend services seeking "a choreographed production of sight and sound". I attend services to pray in community. Both parts of that, "pray" and "community", are important. Is 6000 people community? I think that's at least 5500 too many for me to have that kind of connection, personally. Maybe I'm societally deficient.

From what I understand (and have caught occasional glimpses of on TV on Sunday mornings), mega-churches are theatre, first and foremost. They are performances, deemed successful if the audience cheers or claps along enthusiastically (and maybe gets up to dance). Can you reach God by making a joyous sound, singing a new song? Of course! Is that what happens in those services? I wonder. Sometimes, for some people, of course -- but is the format an aid or a roadblock?

I don't know. I can ride that sort of wave of spirit in my 30-person Shabbat minyan and in our 300-person monthly musical service. Is 300 different in principle from 3000 or 30,000? It feels like it is. I know almost all of the 30 people and a good proportion of the 300, which probably makes a difference, but that's not all of it. I've been to services where I didn't know anyone and yet felt connected. I think it's also that among 30 or even 300, I can still feel like I matter. Among 3000? Not so much -- at that point I'm just an anonymous face in the crowd, not part of the community. Any face will do to build a crowd, but community happens person to person, soul to soul. Being just a face in the crowd is no different from being alone -- I might as well stay home and pray with fewer distractions. But that's not what I want.

One specific idea originating in mega-churches has come up in discussions a number of times, and I find it particularly revolting: the notion that instead of handing out prayer books, you project the text, perhaps done up in Powerpoint, on big screens. Shoot me now. Quite aside from the issues of doing this on Shabbat (yeah, most Reform Jews don't care, but some of us do), quite aside from how mood-detracting this is, there is the fact that such a format is quite hostile to those of us with vision problems, precisely at a time when movement leaders are telling congregations we need to be more welcoming, friendly, and accessible. If your quest for techno-gimmicks and new, young, hip members comes at the expense of the committed congregants who are already there, what message does that send?

"If the mega-churches can do it, maybe it'll work for us," said one member of Temple Holy Blossom, a large Reform congregation in Toronto. "I'm open to anything. As long as Jews are praying, I'm happy."

The key phrase, treated here as a given, is "as long as Jews are praying". I hope that's what's happening in these kinds of worship services, but I'm not ready to assume it. I would like to hear from people who like this worship style. In what ways does it work for you? Are those benefits unique to this style of worship, or do you also get them through other styles (and if so, which)? What aspects of this worship style have made you struggle, and how have you overcome those difficulties?

Monica

machzor pre-review

Mishpatim

entitlement or obliviousness?

"7 things" #2

daf bit intermission: Pirkei Avot 2

shabbaton

[Judaism] what do we mean by "egalitarian"?

kallah: (some) services

prayer techniques

changing worship modes

not a daf bit

the influence of mega-churches

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