Questionnaire Under a Glass

 Quite a few years back I sent out a questionnaire to my congregation.  I wanted to learn more about them.  The needs of the people are paramount and how best to serve them than ask their needs?  I have wondered many times, before and since, “What do people want?”  Why do so many come week after week?  Why do others remain invisible unless there is a major life event?  And perhaps more grandiose, what is the secret of Jewish survival in America?  Most nagging of all, what do members expect of me, their rabbi?  What do I represent to those who flock to the synagogue and those who remain strangers apart of religious life?

So the questionnaire was designed to ask questions that I would never dare ask people individually because I would not want to shame them.  For example, asking someone if they keep a kosher home may be interpreted as a chastisement.  Or inquiring what they expect of the synagogue may invite painful admissions.  But asking what we are, as a community, a congregation, missing might bring about some revelatory responses.

Candidly I had no right to assume that I would get more than a few responses trickle in…but they flooded back.

The answers that came back were in some way uniform.  Wherever people individual observance or attendance lay, they wanted more.  All wanted something more than what was.  Some desired a larger sanctuary.  Others wanted to enlarge their scope of Jewish knowledge.  Some wanted professional licensed counselors available at the synagogue.  Others voiced a desire for full time educators on staff.

One of the respondents was irritated.  Anonymously, they scribbled on their returned document, “Is any of this reality?”  I took it to mean that they were wondering if the questions were a tease and of no value since no change would happen as a result of the responses.

That which I asked in the questionnaire were akin to a wish list.  The vast majority of the congregation I learned were anything but apathetic.  They all wanted change.  I suppose there was some legitimacy to the irate response I received.  After all, were I to present the aggregate wishes of the congregation to the Board of Directors there is no way they could afford what the people wanted.  There was no money for an executive director or cantor, executive secretory and more.  And yet.

If ten more families joined the synagogue we could expand the library.  With another ten we could consider a basketball court.  With another ten a full-time educator could be hired.  Another group and there might be a mikveh, a pool, a gym, chapel, psychologist….  No dream would beyond the scope of realization.

 

I think of all the bitter young Jews who harbor deep grudges against Jewish institutions, many of whom I have met.  Some feel they should not have to pay for membership.  Some were insulted by a teacher long ago and to date accuse synagogues of collective guilt for some wrongdoing decades ago.

“I want my money to go some real good,” some commented.  If I had a dollar for every time I heard that line…

Many times I have had to put up Jewish folks in motels for a few days until they sorted out their finances or terrible personal situation.  Or other times when a needy member confided their life was falling apparat and they needed a life preserver.  Truth be told, when my private funds were running low some saint from the congregation would step in.  I would call someone up and say, “I have an awful problem…”  They interrupt me midsentence (they all do this) and say, “Rabbi, I don’t need to know the situation.  Just tell me what you need.”  And most of these dependable folks have served on the Board at some time.  They are givers.

Some people just throw up their hands and confess they have no need for the synagogue.  “I have nothing against it.  It just does nothing for me.”  I have little to offer these people.  When the time comes, they or their loved ones will call me as a hired hand to eulogize them.  But they are missing two points.  One is that the shul offers more than religion.  It brings with it a concerned community.  When there is an illness, visitors come with chicken soup, kind words or flowers, and get-well cards. There are special programs, memorials and social events.  

Secondly, there are opportunities one is never aware of until they are placed before you.

Worse still, is the future. Dissociation from the synagogue weakens the whole body and less opportunities for those who affiliate.  It is odd that we are eager to give to charities that help the needy but reluctant to support the one institution that broadly supports your neighbors and relatives.  It also means fewer resources for the needy as the synagogue does not discriminate between hose that choose to affiliate and those who do not and great burden for those who remain in the congregation.  In short, we do with less.

There are no guarantees that being a member will ensure that your children will remain Jews but it does strengthen the odds.  Lack of interest in the affairs of community – you vote with your wallet and feet – the fate of the large part of the Jewish family hangs in the balance.  Our children learn by what we do, not by what we say.

What about those who are beyond the age of child-rearing?  Some seniors believe that once they are beyond their prime, they have paid their dues.  Now is the time to withdraw. 

To those who hold this opinion I urge, remember back to those who most influenced us – people who commitment to ideals and faith that they were towering influence whose hand guides us well beyond the grave.  What legacy do you leave behind?  Make no mistake, deeds are profoundly louder and more dramatic than anything else in the physical world.  Seniors can have a more powerful impact than even the peers or parents!

We will always be here for you.  If it’s counselling the Jewish Family Service will be here.  Years ago, we settled hundreds of Soviet immigrants.  In the past we actively fought threats from missionary groups and today against the tsunami of hatred against Jews.

We use our combined energies to support Israel, especially during times of crises, which are all too many.

We are small in number.  There are no huge endowments that undergird our congregational and communal organizations.  The needs are many, the demands are at times overwhelming.  To serve our people faithfully whenever they need requires us all.

One of the greatest teachers ever, Hillel, concisely stated, “Do not separate yourself from the community,” (Avot 2:4). That is an ethical imperative.  A student of his commented on his Master’s teaching, ‘One who sever his connections to the Jewish community will be twice cursed.  That person will share in all the tragedies that befall the Jewish people (this 2,000 years before Hitler) and will not share in its triumphs.’  The former curse has been proven correct.  However, I am not so sure about the latter comment as we are seriously weakened without every member.

Our synagogues and institutions are open to all without reservation.  While we are filled to capacity on the Days of Awe, no one is turned away when they seek God.  The safety net is ready to catch anyone when they need help.  It is here but could use bolstering that only you can provide.

Consider.  Be here for us.  We are here for you. 

 

 

The Demise of Home

We are efficient. The synagogue holds our Mahzorim for the High Holy Days. They contain the siddurim for worship, the talitot and kippot; all of which makes the shul a user-friendly place. People can come to the synagogue with nothing and have all their needs fulfilled.

We provide a lulav and etrog for their perusal during the festival of Sukkot. Passover Seders move into social halls and out of homes for the Rabbi and Cantor to lead singing and impart Judaism indigestible dribbles. Nothing is privately owned anymore. All the individual observances have become public property.

We surrender our children to Hebrew school for their Jewish quota, much in the same way we do in the public arena.  We have taken Kiddush and ha-motzi from homes and introduced them into the liturgy. (Ever wonder why we bless wine in shul on Friday night when we do not eat there?)

This is a conspiracy which the institution has helped foster. The Synagogue has willingly taking on all aspects of the home observance and responsibilities.

Harold Shulweis wrote, “My zeyde to the synagogue because he was a Jew. His grandchildren, if they come at all, come to Synagogue to become Jews.” The raison d’etre of the synagogue is changed dramatically. We have become the source of vicarious Judaism.

It is ironic that as we develop better programs, more efficient means operating, new and expanded facilities, we wrested power away from the home. Even the name “Temple” connotes a kind of obeisance to a physical entity.  If you want to pray, you must attend the “Temple,” as the name intimate. If you want to be Jewish have to belong to “Temple.”

If Friday night services or sparsely attended may not a bad sign, it may be a sign of success. If instead, people are sitting around the table tables making Kiddush, talking, discussing Jewish ideas and concepts, that is from mark achievement. It is to be celebrated. And if it appears that our attendance at weekday and Shabbat services climbs while other activities wane, that might be an indication of real growth.

If we have a singular goal, it must be hizuk ha-mishpacha, a strengthening of family home life, familial empowerment.  Synagogue will not bless children for their membership, nor will it instill a strong sense of Jewish identity. That begins elsewhere. We can teach all of our kids how to “bensch licht” but until they see it happen at home, that will be uselessness knowledge that will eventually evaporate.  Judaism does not commence when we enter the portals of the synagogue. It begins inside our hearts and homes.

The Synagogue

I am an optimist by nature. I would rather think the best and most situations and people. Having said that, I do not confess to believe in utopia either on the grand or micro level. The fight is part of the plan. Struggle makes living worthwhile. That is why meaningful relationships are born through tumultuous times and productive work often turns out to be disappointing.

The book of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, is read during the Fall days of Sukkot.  It cautions, “Everything is beautiful in its time.” The Sages interpret this phrase to mean that everything happens for a purpose, which may not immediately discernible to us. We learn and grow from every experience. Even the bad. Especially the bad.

And elderly Jewish woman was convinced by her children to come join them at their modern synagogue in suburbia. She came for the holidays from her old shteibel. At the end of services they gathered around to ask their mother what she thought about their synagogue’s striking architecture or, the plush cushy seats, air conditioning and their American rabbi. She agreed it was all very nice but she had one complaint, “alles is shayn, ober men ken nisht vaynen dorten,” (Everything is beautiful but there is no room to cry).

The full range of emotions must govern our lives and be considered part of what it means to be fully human. To exclude the possibility of facing up to difficult situations is to deny ourselves growth. The shul is the paradigm exemplar of the home. We cry and bless, we soothe and challenge, fight and dance in this place.

I pray that you find in your synagogue a place to feel free to exercise the full range of your emotions. The purpose of it is not to be beautiful but a place to inspire.

An offering from the Talmud:

I am a creature of God

And my neighbor is a creature of God.

I work is in the city

And his work is in the field.

I rise in the morning to go to my work

And he rises in the morning to go to his work.

As he cannot excel in my work,

So I cannot excel in his work.

 Perhaps you will say that I do great things

And he does small things.

We have learned that it does not matter whether one does much or little

Only if he directs his heart to heaven.

-Berakhot 17

JEWTALK

JEWTALK \joo-tok\ n. 1: vocabulary employed by those of Mosaic heritage.  2:  Specific words meant to convey affiliation with religious group.

Here is a short list:

Temple is out.  That is reform.  Synagogue is in.  That is conservative.  Shul is in or out.  could be orthodox or conservative.  Shteibel is also out, micro-Hasidic.

Prayer is out.  Having its roots is the French, prier (to beg) we are now in a more worldly understanding of God and our connection ans to the Deity. Davenning is in.  It carries a resonance that touches the soul.  See also tefilah.

Skullcap has bitten the dust along with prayer shawl (the only people that use that are wannabes who do not know any other names).  The words are kippa or yarmulke; tallit or tallis.

Cholent was killed by cardiologists.  Other decedents are gribinets and veronikas.  May their memory endure as a blessing.

Blintzes.  When will the French finally admit that a crepe is a fancy word for blintze?

Tefillin.  Now is making a comeback after decades of vacillating with phylacteries (really?  Most people cannot even pronounce the word.  Sounds like a communicable disease).

Happy New Year, is repeated twice yearly (am I really getting older at twice the rate?).  Shanah Tovah has an authentic ring to it.  The Yom Kippur analogue, g’mar tov, is lagging way behind.

Krishma sounds suspicious if not downright blasphemous  We think of toga toting zealots with pony tails.  Yet, in years past this was how they referred to kriat shma, or just plain old shma.

Pentateuch sounds like a five-sided tuchas.  Definitely out.  You will not even find this one on Jeopardy!

Tzedakah wins.  Charity loses.  Charity is hierarchical; superiors doling out help to inferiors.  Tzedaka, coming from Hebrew tzedek, means justice.  Prediction: charity will continue to be used until Neil Sedaka makes comeback.

Passover is edging toward Tabernacles and Pentecost (both of which sound more Christian than Jewish).  Pesach and Shavuot are in.

Ode to a Synagogue

Rabbi Akiva was asked, “Since your God loves the needy, why doesn’t He care for them Himself?

The sage responded, “God, the father of rich and poor alike wants his children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love.”

Our purpose is not merely to survive.  Survival itself is not noteworthy or even worthy of comment.

So what then is our purpose?

We celebrate life, those who preceded us and upon whose shoulders we stand. We celebrate marriages when we sweated under the chairs of the bride and groom. We celebrate the warm friendships on Shabbat morning.  The evening services where we come together to console the bereft at the house of death. We celebrate the countless baby namings and Brit Milahs. We remember the little ones who spilled wine on the carpet who now have children of their own. We relish the Passover Haggaddas whose pages are stained a dark hue. We remember Friday evening dinners. We revel in recalling High Holy Days and our precious relationships.  The loves, the tiffs and the forgiveness.

The Puritans called marriage “the little church within the church.” Every day without letup our synagogue functions as a sacred place where love and forgiveness are continually recycled. Just like marriage. That is what community is.

George Hallas, owner of the Chicago Bears, work well into his 80s.  He was once asked, “George, at your age what are you doing here working?” Halas responded, “It's only work if there's some place else you'd rather be.”

There is no other place we would rather be than standing shoulder to shoulder with devoted members of our sacred community. Our children have played together.  They have learned in the classrooms.  All of us have grown up together and fought for the sake of goodness throughout the years.  After all this, we still say, there is no place we rather be.

There is a reason we call the place where we pray a "Sanctuary."  It is a place of respite from harm, malcontent and soothing our roughest edges.  When we gather later this month to celebrate our freedom from bondage, remember that it is not our survival that brings us together.  We collect ourselves to remember that we must aid one another.  Our task is to bind the wounds of our sisters and brothers.

Invite someone new to your seder.
Focus on the lesson God wants you to learn from the Haggadda's narrative and then be that change.   Pay for someone you do not know to come to the congregational seder.  

Rabbi Akiva was right, “God, the father of rich and poor alike wants his children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love. This is our charter.

On Staying Awake and Alert at Services

On Staying Awake and Alert at Services

Sociologist Jonathan Woocher wrote some years ago in The Religion of American Jews an analysis of who we are.  Woocher peered at us dispassionately, gleaning a picture of American Jewry today.

We believe, he wrote, in seven basic tenets.  The first is the unity of the Jewish people.  Whether marching for distressed Jews, acting in concert with the world Jewish community we are one.  The second principle is that of mutual responsibility.  Echoing the rabbinic maxim that “all Jews are responsible for one another, we collectively support our JCC’s, Hadassah Hospital, Israel, old age homes, etc..  Jewish survival in a threatening world is the third tenet.  We must be united because of the hatred that has traveled alongside us wherever we have lived.  The holocaust is the twentieth century reminder of our fragile grip in liberty and freedom.  The fourth is the centrality of Israel.  Fifth is the enduring value of Jewish tradition.  Sometimes supporters of civil religion endorse what they see as a new, more authentic universalistic view at the expense of a personal relationship with a synagogue or Jewish practice or belief system.  That is why Jewish names can be seen as backers of programs and ideologies that are outright hostile to Judaism and Jewish ideals.  Sixth is tzedaka.  This is philanthropy and social justice.  This is often the most prominent tenet of all and the most observed by the Jewish community.  Sadly, it is also often mistakenly substituted for the whole of Jewish faith.  Finally the last principle is American-ness as a virtue.  This we express through our desire and accompanying actions to be model Americans.

All these tenets are values and valuable; some are noble.  Yet the mistake of modernity is to call these aspects of Judaism the totality of our religion.  As they appear, all may end up detailing Jewish behaviors that have no relationship to God at all.  In this respect we may end up treating philanthropists better than tzaddikim.

A teacher of mine once pointed out that the difference between Judaism and its civil corollary shows why rabbis and their congregations are so often at odds.  While everyone is happy to hear a sermon on the problems with Vatican or the latest act of anti-Semitism, they are no so keen on hearing a sermon on theology.  The former is a staid part of civil religion while the latter is our faith.  We never struggle for people to attend a Hanukkah or Purim gala (which, by the way, are observances of Jewish survival, see above) but Shavuot (which is all about God’s relationship with us) is unknown and neglected.  As one colleague put it, “If the Watergate burglars had confessed their sins before my congregation on the second day of Yontif, Nixon would have been president for a second full term.”

And yet.  Maybe this is our time and opportunity to waken our soulful self to a new perspective and view.  Maybe the path of God is also the path of enlightenment and realization of the holiness and joy that inheres in the everyday.  Its roots are deeply embedded in Torah and our soul.  Maybe it is time to reconnect.