Drilling a Hole Beneath Our Own Seat
December 20, 2007
A recent article in The New York Times (November 28, 2007) noted the recent growth of independent, lay-led services and gatherings, particularly by young Jews in their 20’s and 30’s, which are taking the place of synagogue life for many of the participants. The article, titled, “Challenging Tradition: Young Jews Worship on Their Own Terms”, described the phenomenon that is appearing across the country:
“In places like Atlanta; Brookline, Mass.; Chico, Calif.; and Manhattan [New York], the minyanim have shrugged off what many participants see as the passive, rabbi-led worship of their parents’ generation to join services led by their peers, with music sung by all, and where the full Hebrew liturgy and full inclusion of men and women, gay or straight, seem to be equal priorities. Members of the minyanim are looking for ‘redemptive, transformative experiences that give rhythm to their days and weeks and give meaning to their lives…’”
Perhaps many would be surprised to learn that my response to the article and to the trend it describes has been mixed, and certainly far from enthusiastically positive. Unquestionably, I applaud the fact that so many Jewish men and women today are seeking new, creative avenues for expressing a vibrant, religious practice. And of course, much of what these young people are seeking is very much in line with the direction of our own congregation, particularly when it comes to inclusive, participatory, and accessible worship and music.
But I am troubled by the “privatization” of such religious gatherings. For while they may certainly fill the needs of the individual participants, they do little to build community, and offer nothing to Jews who may be on the “outside” of these assemblies.
Far too often, I hear members, non-members, and former Temple members alike speak of their synagogue dues contribution in many of the same terms as more properly apply to a yacht or country club, or even a JCC – measuring the value of their donation by their hours of “usage.” They forget that supporting the institution of the synagogue may begin with one’s own, religious needs, but that can never be the end, or even the primary motivation.
Do you believe that all Jews, regardless of financial wherewithal, should have the opportunity to participate in Jewish study and worship? Do you value interfaith cooperation between leaders and laity of different communities of faith? Do you want to feel assured that Jewish men, women, and children have a foundation of support in time of crisis, comfort in time of sorrow, and the provisions to celebrate the joyous occasions in their lives? Only through the institution of the synagogue can these ideals be brought into practice. That’s what you “get” from your synagogue membership — nothing less than realization of these core values – even if your own attendance and participation are marginal.
The problem of abandoning one’s communal obligations and focusing simply on one’s own situation and needs is addressed and illustrated in an ancient Midrash. According to the text, a number of people were floating in a small boat out at sea. All of a sudden, one of the men began to drill a hole under his seat. When the people complain, he answers, “What complaint do you have? After all, I’m drilling the hole under my own seat!” One of the companions answers him, “We are all in the same boat. The hole may be under your seat, but the water that comes in will make the boat sink with all of us in it.” (Leviticus Rabbah 4:6)
So, then, let us continue to seek innovative and inspirational forms of worship and study that will engage our generation and the next, but let us build and create for the entire community, not only for ourselves.
Is Hebrew a second language or a foreign language?
December 17, 2007
This was a question posed at this year’s Boston Area Reform Temple Educators (BARTE) conference, which I attended in early November along with most of our Temple Emanu-El Religious School faculty. Sitting in the atrium-like social hall of the congregation that hosted the conference, we discussed the possibilities with teachers and educators from across the region.
A foreign language is learned primarily in the classroom, someone ventured; a second language is practiced on the street. Mastery of a foreign language is a useful skill, another suggested; mastery of a second language is a passport to a whole new way of life. Familiarity with a foreign language might change your external experience of the world - say, when you’re interacting with others who speak the language - but a second language changes you on the inside, altering the contour of your thoughts, your dreams, your identity.
Everyone seemed to agree that Hebrew must not be relegated to “foreign language” status in our schools or among our congregants. Hebrew is the language of the Jewish people, isn’t it? If not our sfat eim(mother tongue), then certainly our sfat am (national language)?
Mira Angrist, Hebrew Specialist for the Union for Reform Judaism and our speaker for the morning, unveiled the next slide in her Power Point presentation: A foreign language is studied in a classroom environment and is not used in the surrounding culture. A second language is studied in a classroom environment and is also used in the surrounding culture. Our relationship with Hebrew, for synagogue educators and for our students, lies somewhere in between, she explained.
Since the BARTE conference, I’ve found myself thinking about my use of Hebrew in a whole new way. We live in an English-speaking world. Relatively few American Jews will ever be fluent enough in Hebrew to comfortably navigate a supermarket or successfully dispute a cab fare in Hebrew. It is a reality of American life that, barring special circumstances at home, school, or work, our exposure to Hebrew comprises a very small part of our daily experience.
At the same time, at Temple Emanu-El and in the lives of our students, Hebrew is not just another foreign language, confined to the classroom. It lives in our worship services, our music, and even our household vocabulary (Shabbat, shofar, Hanukkah, mitzvah and mazal tov, for example). It finds its way into voice mail messages (“Shalom! You have reached the office of Temple Emanu-El…”). To the extent that our synagogue and religious school community can cultivate a comfort with Hebrew sounds, terms, and expressions, we and our children will feel ever more connected to a larger Jewish world, more at home with the diversity of klal Yisrael (the whole assembly of the Jewish people).
So, we’re not all bilingual. But we are a community of two languages. And so, let us not forget to use both. Let us not be afraid to use both. Without shame, without judgment, and always in celebration of our rich, multiple identities.
Lechayyim! (To life!)
