I'm fond of saying that it will be easier for me celebrate Yom Ha'atzma'ut when Israel becomes an independent country.
There is no era since the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash in which I would rather live than this one. While I definitely miss the true leadership and Gadlus of former times that is absent -- yes, absent -- in this generation, I don't pine for the shtetl, and I don't think I would have been able to adapt to living through pogroms, famines, plagues, and extreme persecution, which characterized most of the last 2000+ years of our history. Nope, I definitely wouldn't trade places.
That said, I have a very difficult time getting emotionally wrapped up in Yom Ha'atzma'ut. I abhor the Israeli government, but I am extremely grateful to live in Israel and equally abhor the fact that supposedly religious Jews can view living here as anything other than an incredible miracle and blessing. I see no dichotomy in celebrating the existence and achievements of this country while yearning for more authentic Jewish leadership. So it isn't anti-Zionism or ingratitude that makes it hard for me to get "into" Yom Ha'atzma'ut.
It's knowing that we are still very much in exile.
We cannot pray in our holiest place, and are prevented from doing so by fellow Jews, lest Arabs riot and the world condemn us for causing the trouble.
We cannot build homes without negotiating with other countries. Those who renovate their porch without the approval of the anti-Semitic president of a foreign country are liable to have it bulldozed by special forces. Jewish ones.
We drag Jews out of their homes and destroy thousands of lives just so we can prove to the anti-Semites that we are willing to do anything to be liked by them. Conversely, we are not willing to flex much at all so that we can get along better with our fellow Jews.
Churches and mosques receive greater protection here than shuls. If those other religions are offended it's bad news for us. If our religion is offended, well, we can take it.
Our soldiers are neutered and sent on needlessly perilous missions to minimize casualties to the enemy. After all, the world doesn't like when our enemies suffer casualties, so better for our people to take the hit and spare ourselves the condemnation.
Soldiers and citizens who defend themselves from attacks are liable to be harshly prosecuted. The knife has to be just half an inch from their throat before they use force, and even then only minimal force. If it's a full inch away they have to exercise "restraint" and call for help. Or run. It's okay to run.
I can go on, but you get the point. Tisha B'av still resonates with me very well. I'm having a hard time getting the hang of celebrating independence. It requires shutting out far too much.
When the second Beis Hamikdash was dedicated there was quite a celebration. But not everyone celebrated. And the reason why they didn't celebrate wasn't because they were ungrateful, anti-Zionist, or otherwise askew. They simply COULDN'T celebrate, because they knew.
The people who didn't celebrate were the old Jews who remembered the first Beis Hamikdash. That exile, after all, was only 70 years, so there were plenty of people who lived to see both Batei Mikdash. As glamorous as the second structure was, it paled in comparison to what remained lost -- only most people didn't feel it even if they knew it. What was to others a cause for great celebration -- after all, it was far better than being slaves in Bavel -- was to the elders a cheap substitute, and cause for tears. This wasn't redemption...not REAL redemption. And as grateful as they surely were to have something resembling redemption, something that was a major upgrade over the recent past, they couldn't shake the knowledge that the exile was still very real.
That is why I cannot really get into Yom Ha'atzma'ut. I never saw anything better than what we have today, and I can't adequately express how grateful I am not to have experienced anything worse. In a generation that is still less than a century removed from the Holocaust I can't blame anyone for celebrating Yom Ha'atzma'ut with nothing but joy. We really do have a lot to be grateful for.
But if one is truly sensitive to what redemption is supposed to look like, what independence is supposed to look like, and what true Jewish life is supposed to look like, it feels almost as guilty to celebrate this day too much as it would to not care for it at all.
I look forward to the true Yom Ha'atzma'ut: when we can thank Hashem wherever we want, when we can build wherever we want, when we can travel without fear anywhere in our land, and when our enemies know that if they raise a hand to throw a rock at us they will never get a chance to throw it.
Now THAT calls for a barbecue.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Making Shul a Mikdash Me'at
There was something very striking about the otherwise pedestrian Sunday-morning shacharis minyan I attended today: at no point was the service disturbed by the ringing (or singing) of a communication device.
What's most striking about this is that it was striking.
Women who do not normally attend shul during the week may be startled to learn that it has become entirely the norm for cell phones to ring multiple times during davening. In fact, it has become fairly normal for the SAME cell phone to ring multiple times during davening (after the first time it can't be due to forgetfulness), and even for the owner to take the call.
[I have yet to decide if it's a greater slap in the face to God to leave shul to talk on the telephone or to stay put. From a standpoint of etiquette for the others trying to daven, obviously one should minimize his sin by leaving the room. But it sure doesn't look nice when someone makes a public display of walking out on God, rejecting a conversation with the Almighty so he can have one with someone else.]
Anyhow, this got me thinking about something that I think about often, since the topic is thrown in my face three times a day: our communal prayer services are often a disgrace, and generally unbearable besides. Mind you, I'm NOT criticizing the institution of communal prayer services nor the standardized format that has been instituted, but the manner in which we bring this institution to life.
If you weren't Jewish and you attended pretty much any shul, would you be impressed? Would you be inspired? Would you want to go back and experience it again? Would you want to teach your children to connect to God just like that?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, I'd love to know why, and where you daven.
The average daily minyan has one or more of the following significant blemishes every single time:
1) Starting time arrives, but davening doesn't start. Instead everyone looks at everyone else waiting for someone to step up and lead the davening. Maybe a Gabbai, or an ad hoc Gabbai, runs around asking, cajoling, and negotiating with various people to daven. He receives all manner of negative responses, some of which openly denigrate the important and venerable task of representing the tzibur in communal prayer. We've already sabotaged our offering to God and we haven't even started yet.
2) Starting time arrives and someone, perhaps grudgingly and with some fanfare as if he's taking one for the team and deserves a parade in his honor, agrees to lead at least part of the davening. But davening still doesn't begin. They're waiting for the rav to arrive.
The Gemara states that at the appointed time for communal prayer God visits the shul, and if they don't start He gets disgusted and leaves them. Never mind that. Never mind also that they are leaving aside the kavod of Shamayim in favor of kavod for basar v'dam. Never mind also that the tzibur is being unfairly burdened due to the lateness of an individual -- albeit a dignified one -- and Chazal were very sensitive about that. Never mind any of that.
They wait, all due to misplaced kavod for a rav -- kavod that oftentimes is not manifest in situations where it SHOULD be.
3) For 10-15 minutes the tzibur suffers listening to a ba'al tefilla who doesn't know how to read Hebrew, is either far too fast or far too slow, has an unpleasant voice, may be difficult to follow, and may make serious mistakes in the basic seder ha'tefilla. At the end of pesuka d'zimra he has enough and departs, and another waiting game ensues until a replacement steps forward to save the day. The replacement is not necessarily an upgrade.
4) The davening may be moving along at a reasonable pace, but grinds to a halt upon reaching Sh'ma. The rav, who until now had no difficulty keeping pace, suddenly needs 3 times the amount of time of everyone else to recite the Sh'ma. Why? Because that's part of the social expectations of a rav -- to at least pretend to have more kavana than everyone else.
But since it would be a tircha for him to have more kavana for the whole davening, we allow him to just have move kavana by Sh'ma and Sh'moneh Esrei. This is an entirely unspoken understanding, but it's just about universal.
Now, obviously, it is impossible to know how much kavanah a person has when he davens. It's an entirely internal and personal thing. But in our society, which places such a premium on appearing frum, we have to demonstrate having kavanah by taking more time, being loud at times, and making intense physical gestures. That's how we separate the men from the boys when it comes to davening.
So the rav makes a point of being the slowest when it comes to Sh'ma and letting everyone know when he's done, thereby a) usurping the ba'al tefilla, whose job it is to set the pace of the davening, b) disturbing his own kavana by worrying about being slow enough, and c) disturbing everyone else's kavana by being a tircha. Again, this is just about universal. Happens twice a day, every day, at the two most critical junctures of the davening. Wrap your Da'as Torah around that.
5) The moment the silent Sh'moneh Esrei begins, as if on cue, someone will start sneezing or coughing uncontrollably and/or a cell phone will blast an abominable ringtone or a circus tune. I'm willing to bet it isn't God on the other end answering our tefillos. He left long ago.
6) Shnorrers will invade the premises and start hustling people for money. This will happen during Sh'ma, chazaras hashatz, or whenever. They will even hustle the ba'al tefilla during chazaras hashatz; anything goes. In some shuls the davening will be hijacked at a certain point (such as before the second Ashrei or before Aleinu) so someone, birshus harav, can give his sales pitch for his yeshiva in distress or that family with 10 orphans, 3 of whom are getting married next week and can't put food on the table (sorry, I've gotten cynical about these sales pitches).
There's a time and a place for all mitzvos, collecting tzedaka for legitimate and worthy causes most definitely included. But not in the middle of davening.
7) If the Torah is being read it will probably be read most improperly. If the ba'al koreh gets most of the words right, doesn't butcher the trop too badly, knows where most of the pesukim end, reads audibly and somewhat clearly, and doesn't have too unpleasant a voice, the tzibur should consider itself very fortunate.
8) The aliyos might be auctioned off, in which case the davening is further stretched by unnecessary interruptions and further de-sanctified.
9) Weekday shacharis will typically take 30-40 minutes. Various mi she'beirachs will extend the total time by about 5 minutes -- nearly 20 percent! If the tzibur isn't restless by now and can muster even a smidgen of spiritual connection it is a group of saints.
10) Shabbos davening will typically include a drasha that is long, repetitious, and uninspiring. I have yet to meet the tzibur that is disappointed when the rav is out of town and there is no drasha. Why do most shuls continue to have drashos that extend the davening by 10 percent or more? Because it's another one of those unwritten rules.
If they are lucky, once in a while the drasha will be truly educational and inspiring. Generally, though, it will be insipid, and if it leads to discussion the discussion is likely to consist primarily of lashon hara denigrating the drasha and the rav. I guess this is how they make up for waiting for him and his Sh'ma.
11) Shabbos davening will have long, boring announcements where the president of the shul tries to be witty. Your cost? Another 5 percent to the davening time. Admit it: you just want to get out of there. Not exactly the feeling we are supposed to have after a prayer service.
12) Little kids will cry in shul, make noise in shul, and run around shul disturbing people. This is not chinuch, this isn't hak'hel, and shul is not a day care center. Children who cannot respect the environment do not belong in shul, and parents who have no other way to attend shul should daven at home. Their presence is a net loss to the tzibur, and they have no right to take away from the ability of others to daven properly just so they can be there. Same goes for people with hacking coughs and those who feel that they must have their cell phone on at all times.
I cannot imagine any child sitting through all this and coming to the realization that -- yes! -- Judaism is engaging, interesting, inspiring, and something he wants to participate in as much as possible. More likely, it is an insufferable bore that he learns to tolerate like everyone else and will pay some degree of outward homage to so he can better fit in with his society. This is what we are teaching our children.
We are fond of noting that we don't have a Bais Hamikdash today because Jews mistreat and scorn one another for no good reason. That's true. But, honestly, if you were God and you saw how most people treated the Mikdash Me'at, would you be quick to give them a bigger, better Mikdash? What would be the sense in that?
Davening is difficult for most people most of the time. We are reciting words written by other people, sticking to a standardized format, and trying to connect to them and to God. Nothing against the words or the format (the former are infused with kedusha and the latter is probably the best we can do), but it isn't always easy for that to translate to a meaningful experience.
It's also much easier to ruin a spiritual atmosphere than to create one. It really doesn't take much at all. So considering how difficult it is for an individual to connect to the davening and how easy it is to foil the attempt, the way our shuls function essentially dooms us from having a positive spiritual experience.
Note as well that I speak nothing about how much singing there is or other artificial things that a particular shul might do to make davening more "meaningful" or "participatory". The effectiveness of these things is highly variable and will only work for some personalities in any case. What I'm talking about is the unnecessary NEGATIVE, entirely thoughtless things that go on almost all the time that detract from the davening.
Davening should be streamlined. Leading the davening should be recognized as an honor and a tremendous responsibility, and those who are offered and accept the task should know how to do it properly. Same goes with reading the Torah -- this is not a democracy where everyone gets a chance just because they feel like it. This is a vital communal event and a public offering to God. Those who lead it should be people who represent the tzibur properly and favorably. If not many people are so qualified, we should institute community-wide remedial educational programs to rectify this. This should be recognized as a big problem that demands a solution.
Priority should be placed on creating an environment that is comfortable and allows for people to have a spiritual experience. This is not something that can come externally from the shul (though positive elements in how the davening is performed can certainly facilitate a spiritual experience) but something that must come from within the individual. Nevertheless, shul should not be a place that makes it difficult for one to have a spiritual experience or, God forbid, create a negative one.
The main thing for people to keep in mind is that shul is God's domain, a mikdash me'at. It is not your home, it is not your office, and it is not your spiritual laboratory. It's not about you. It's about serving Hashem and petitioning him both individually and as part of a community. This must be done on God's terms and in a fashion that is in harmony with the needs of others present. Hence, there is no place for cell phones, talking, unruly children, unnecessary delays, or illiterate ba'alei tefilla and ba'alei keriya. Again, it's not about you or me, but about all of us and how we serve Hashem together.
Maybe one day as a society we will create environments in shul that are highly conducive to positive spiritual experiences. For now, let's at least not create environments that make such experiences all but impossible. Maybe, just maybe, our efforts will help make us worthy of building the real Mikdash.
What's most striking about this is that it was striking.
Women who do not normally attend shul during the week may be startled to learn that it has become entirely the norm for cell phones to ring multiple times during davening. In fact, it has become fairly normal for the SAME cell phone to ring multiple times during davening (after the first time it can't be due to forgetfulness), and even for the owner to take the call.
[I have yet to decide if it's a greater slap in the face to God to leave shul to talk on the telephone or to stay put. From a standpoint of etiquette for the others trying to daven, obviously one should minimize his sin by leaving the room. But it sure doesn't look nice when someone makes a public display of walking out on God, rejecting a conversation with the Almighty so he can have one with someone else.]
Anyhow, this got me thinking about something that I think about often, since the topic is thrown in my face three times a day: our communal prayer services are often a disgrace, and generally unbearable besides. Mind you, I'm NOT criticizing the institution of communal prayer services nor the standardized format that has been instituted, but the manner in which we bring this institution to life.
If you weren't Jewish and you attended pretty much any shul, would you be impressed? Would you be inspired? Would you want to go back and experience it again? Would you want to teach your children to connect to God just like that?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, I'd love to know why, and where you daven.
The average daily minyan has one or more of the following significant blemishes every single time:
1) Starting time arrives, but davening doesn't start. Instead everyone looks at everyone else waiting for someone to step up and lead the davening. Maybe a Gabbai, or an ad hoc Gabbai, runs around asking, cajoling, and negotiating with various people to daven. He receives all manner of negative responses, some of which openly denigrate the important and venerable task of representing the tzibur in communal prayer. We've already sabotaged our offering to God and we haven't even started yet.
2) Starting time arrives and someone, perhaps grudgingly and with some fanfare as if he's taking one for the team and deserves a parade in his honor, agrees to lead at least part of the davening. But davening still doesn't begin. They're waiting for the rav to arrive.
The Gemara states that at the appointed time for communal prayer God visits the shul, and if they don't start He gets disgusted and leaves them. Never mind that. Never mind also that they are leaving aside the kavod of Shamayim in favor of kavod for basar v'dam. Never mind also that the tzibur is being unfairly burdened due to the lateness of an individual -- albeit a dignified one -- and Chazal were very sensitive about that. Never mind any of that.
They wait, all due to misplaced kavod for a rav -- kavod that oftentimes is not manifest in situations where it SHOULD be.
3) For 10-15 minutes the tzibur suffers listening to a ba'al tefilla who doesn't know how to read Hebrew, is either far too fast or far too slow, has an unpleasant voice, may be difficult to follow, and may make serious mistakes in the basic seder ha'tefilla. At the end of pesuka d'zimra he has enough and departs, and another waiting game ensues until a replacement steps forward to save the day. The replacement is not necessarily an upgrade.
4) The davening may be moving along at a reasonable pace, but grinds to a halt upon reaching Sh'ma. The rav, who until now had no difficulty keeping pace, suddenly needs 3 times the amount of time of everyone else to recite the Sh'ma. Why? Because that's part of the social expectations of a rav -- to at least pretend to have more kavana than everyone else.
But since it would be a tircha for him to have more kavana for the whole davening, we allow him to just have move kavana by Sh'ma and Sh'moneh Esrei. This is an entirely unspoken understanding, but it's just about universal.
Now, obviously, it is impossible to know how much kavanah a person has when he davens. It's an entirely internal and personal thing. But in our society, which places such a premium on appearing frum, we have to demonstrate having kavanah by taking more time, being loud at times, and making intense physical gestures. That's how we separate the men from the boys when it comes to davening.
So the rav makes a point of being the slowest when it comes to Sh'ma and letting everyone know when he's done, thereby a) usurping the ba'al tefilla, whose job it is to set the pace of the davening, b) disturbing his own kavana by worrying about being slow enough, and c) disturbing everyone else's kavana by being a tircha. Again, this is just about universal. Happens twice a day, every day, at the two most critical junctures of the davening. Wrap your Da'as Torah around that.
5) The moment the silent Sh'moneh Esrei begins, as if on cue, someone will start sneezing or coughing uncontrollably and/or a cell phone will blast an abominable ringtone or a circus tune. I'm willing to bet it isn't God on the other end answering our tefillos. He left long ago.
6) Shnorrers will invade the premises and start hustling people for money. This will happen during Sh'ma, chazaras hashatz, or whenever. They will even hustle the ba'al tefilla during chazaras hashatz; anything goes. In some shuls the davening will be hijacked at a certain point (such as before the second Ashrei or before Aleinu) so someone, birshus harav, can give his sales pitch for his yeshiva in distress or that family with 10 orphans, 3 of whom are getting married next week and can't put food on the table (sorry, I've gotten cynical about these sales pitches).
There's a time and a place for all mitzvos, collecting tzedaka for legitimate and worthy causes most definitely included. But not in the middle of davening.
7) If the Torah is being read it will probably be read most improperly. If the ba'al koreh gets most of the words right, doesn't butcher the trop too badly, knows where most of the pesukim end, reads audibly and somewhat clearly, and doesn't have too unpleasant a voice, the tzibur should consider itself very fortunate.
8) The aliyos might be auctioned off, in which case the davening is further stretched by unnecessary interruptions and further de-sanctified.
9) Weekday shacharis will typically take 30-40 minutes. Various mi she'beirachs will extend the total time by about 5 minutes -- nearly 20 percent! If the tzibur isn't restless by now and can muster even a smidgen of spiritual connection it is a group of saints.
10) Shabbos davening will typically include a drasha that is long, repetitious, and uninspiring. I have yet to meet the tzibur that is disappointed when the rav is out of town and there is no drasha. Why do most shuls continue to have drashos that extend the davening by 10 percent or more? Because it's another one of those unwritten rules.
If they are lucky, once in a while the drasha will be truly educational and inspiring. Generally, though, it will be insipid, and if it leads to discussion the discussion is likely to consist primarily of lashon hara denigrating the drasha and the rav. I guess this is how they make up for waiting for him and his Sh'ma.
11) Shabbos davening will have long, boring announcements where the president of the shul tries to be witty. Your cost? Another 5 percent to the davening time. Admit it: you just want to get out of there. Not exactly the feeling we are supposed to have after a prayer service.
12) Little kids will cry in shul, make noise in shul, and run around shul disturbing people. This is not chinuch, this isn't hak'hel, and shul is not a day care center. Children who cannot respect the environment do not belong in shul, and parents who have no other way to attend shul should daven at home. Their presence is a net loss to the tzibur, and they have no right to take away from the ability of others to daven properly just so they can be there. Same goes for people with hacking coughs and those who feel that they must have their cell phone on at all times.
I cannot imagine any child sitting through all this and coming to the realization that -- yes! -- Judaism is engaging, interesting, inspiring, and something he wants to participate in as much as possible. More likely, it is an insufferable bore that he learns to tolerate like everyone else and will pay some degree of outward homage to so he can better fit in with his society. This is what we are teaching our children.
We are fond of noting that we don't have a Bais Hamikdash today because Jews mistreat and scorn one another for no good reason. That's true. But, honestly, if you were God and you saw how most people treated the Mikdash Me'at, would you be quick to give them a bigger, better Mikdash? What would be the sense in that?
Davening is difficult for most people most of the time. We are reciting words written by other people, sticking to a standardized format, and trying to connect to them and to God. Nothing against the words or the format (the former are infused with kedusha and the latter is probably the best we can do), but it isn't always easy for that to translate to a meaningful experience.
It's also much easier to ruin a spiritual atmosphere than to create one. It really doesn't take much at all. So considering how difficult it is for an individual to connect to the davening and how easy it is to foil the attempt, the way our shuls function essentially dooms us from having a positive spiritual experience.
Note as well that I speak nothing about how much singing there is or other artificial things that a particular shul might do to make davening more "meaningful" or "participatory". The effectiveness of these things is highly variable and will only work for some personalities in any case. What I'm talking about is the unnecessary NEGATIVE, entirely thoughtless things that go on almost all the time that detract from the davening.
Davening should be streamlined. Leading the davening should be recognized as an honor and a tremendous responsibility, and those who are offered and accept the task should know how to do it properly. Same goes with reading the Torah -- this is not a democracy where everyone gets a chance just because they feel like it. This is a vital communal event and a public offering to God. Those who lead it should be people who represent the tzibur properly and favorably. If not many people are so qualified, we should institute community-wide remedial educational programs to rectify this. This should be recognized as a big problem that demands a solution.
Priority should be placed on creating an environment that is comfortable and allows for people to have a spiritual experience. This is not something that can come externally from the shul (though positive elements in how the davening is performed can certainly facilitate a spiritual experience) but something that must come from within the individual. Nevertheless, shul should not be a place that makes it difficult for one to have a spiritual experience or, God forbid, create a negative one.
The main thing for people to keep in mind is that shul is God's domain, a mikdash me'at. It is not your home, it is not your office, and it is not your spiritual laboratory. It's not about you. It's about serving Hashem and petitioning him both individually and as part of a community. This must be done on God's terms and in a fashion that is in harmony with the needs of others present. Hence, there is no place for cell phones, talking, unruly children, unnecessary delays, or illiterate ba'alei tefilla and ba'alei keriya. Again, it's not about you or me, but about all of us and how we serve Hashem together.
Maybe one day as a society we will create environments in shul that are highly conducive to positive spiritual experiences. For now, let's at least not create environments that make such experiences all but impossible. Maybe, just maybe, our efforts will help make us worthy of building the real Mikdash.
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