It always does my heart good to step out onto the bimah on Rosh Hashanah Eve and look out into the sanctuary and see such a packed house! Would that it could be so on every Shabbat. But that’s a rabbi’s fantasy and we all know that the reality is much different.
When I was younger – like all young rabbis – I was convinced that I just needed to find the magic formula to make it so; that if I just tweaked the Shabbat service here and tweaked it there, made this change and that change, that eventually I would come upon the right formula that would bring the Jews flocking back to Shabbat, week in and week out filling the sanctuary as if it were the High Holy Days. But, of course, I never succeeded. Very few, if any rabbis, really do.
With the passage of time, I came to realize – all rabbis come to realize – that it is not necessarily that we failed but that there are forces at work here that are only minimally impacted by whatever efforts we take, no matter how heroic, to bring Jews to Shabbat. That does not mean that we can’t do better. God knows, we can, and many of us sincerely try! Sometimes we even succeed in growing the Shabbat crowd. Yet our success is measured not in miles but in inches; not in hundreds but in 5’s and 10’s. That is indeed a victory, for more often than not, the reasons that draw you to tonight’s service in such large numbers, and keeps so many of you from our Shabbat services are not so much to be found in what happens on the bimah or in the sanctuary as they are to be found elsewhere.
So why do Jews pack the house on the High Holy Days? Of course there is no one answer, for there are many reasons. Different people come for different reasons.
There are some who come because they are seeking spiritual fulfillment. Reciting the ancient prayers, chanting the sacred melodies, listening to the words of the Torah and Haftarah and the sounds of the shofar tomorrow, have the effect of opening up their souls and strengthening their sense of connection to God.
Others may have be drawn here by the power of memory. Childhood memories of going to synagogue with their family on the High Holy Days wash over them. So much so that returning to the synagogue for these services helps them to feel closer to those now gone.
Then there are others – many others – who have come here tonight because there are certain times during the course of the year when their sense of Jewish identity is stirred. At other times it is there, but pretty much below the surface of their consciousness. Yet at these times – times like the High Holy Days – it pushes its way up to the surface and ensnares them with a need to assert their Jewish self by coming to the synagogue and gathering – reuniting – with their fellow Jews and engaging in an act that is profoundly Jewish. It is their Jewish fix, and their need for it is almost instinctual.
There are many reasons which draw us here tonight. None of them are wrong. They all are right in their own way. Each of us has different needs which we seek to fill, and each of our reasons for coming here speak to those particular needs.
Yet we know, or have been told, that there was a time when Jewish life was much simpler. Jews knew who they were as Jews, and they knew what they had to do as Jews, and they went ahead and did it. In those days, the synagogue could be as full on Shabbat as it was on the High Holy Days, for Jews were Jews 24/7. Their Jewish identity never slipped below the surface of their consciousness. It was always right there on the top. Some of us had parents like that, or grandparents, or even great grandparents. But we are not them, just as our times are not their times.
We are truly the product of our own society; the one in which we grew up and the one in which we live in the present. In so many ways, it has been a society of blessing for us. As Jews, we do not live in fear as so many who came before us did. While we may read or hear about the brutal hatred which marred the lives of so many of our ancestors rearing its ugly head in other lands, rarely, if ever, do we witness it in our own. Here we feel fully accepted. Clubs and schools and neighborhoods and jobs once closed to our fore-bearers, now welcome us with open arms, and have been doing so for some time. As we find ourselves fitting so comfortably into the various aspects of the general society, while our sense of being Jewish does not leave us, it continues to fade deeper into our background. We have come to feel that while being Jewish is part of our understanding of who we are, it is not nearly the totality of who we are, nor does it have to be. We do not see this as a bad thing. Indeed, we see it as a good thing, for it is wonderful to be accepted by others.
Yet our sense of Jewish identity can fade so deeply into our background and sink so far below the surface of our consciousness that it can almost disappear. Not completely, but almost. It can almost disappear to the point that we know that we are Jews but we are no longer sure of what that even means. And there, for most of our days, it lies dormant until at special times, under special circumstances, it awakens and it struggles to assert itself, and for but a moment, our Jewish identity becomes important enough for us to do something about it, like going to synagogue, as we do on the High Holy Days.
Back in 1985, Herman Wouk wrote a book about this phenomenon. He called it Inside, Outside. It is the story of a American Jew in the mid-twentieth century – Israel David Goodkind – and his multi-generational family, born of Russian Jewish immigrants. Raised in a household steeped in Orthodox Judaism, with every passing year David moves further and further from his Jewish roots. He chooses Columbia over Yeshiva. He becomes an attorney and chooses to be identified as I. David Goodkind, instead of Israel. Later he even drops the “I”. He winds up in Washington as a special advisor to the Nixon White House. All the time he is struggling to figure out who he is as he is torn between two worlds – the inside and the outside; the inside world being the Jewish world in which he grew up and in which his family resides and the outside world being the secular world in which he conducts his professional life. Which world will take primacy in his life? How can he strike a healthy balance?
In so many ways, we are David Goodkind. We have our “inside” – our Jewish side – and we have our “outside” – our secular side, and we, too, can struggle with how to juggle and balance them. The very fact that we are Reform Jews, rather than Orthodox Jews, in and of itself makes a statement about some of the decisions we have made. For us, living in the secular world is important. We want to be in harmony with our non-Jewish neighbors. We want to share in their lives and we want them to share in ours, and we see absolutely nothing wrong with that. Yet at the same time, we are not willing or interested in letting go of our Judaism. We acknowledge, and may even embrace, that side of our identity, and while we can sublimate it, we are not interested in eliminating it. Yet the allure of the outside world can be so great that either consciously or subconsciously, we can let the inside world – the Jewish world – shrink within us to practically nothing.
So where do we go from here? In fact here is a good place to start; here, on Rosh Hashanah, when our Jewish sense of self has broken through enough to bring us to the synagogue and has awakened within us the desire to be among Jews. Here, when we have been reminded of the fact that a not so insignificant part of who we are is that we are Jews.
This is a good time for us to reclaim a better understanding of what it means for us – each of us individually – to be a Jew. We know that we are Jewish, but do we know why or understand why it is still important to us? It is one thing to have an identity but it is quite another to understand what that identity means to us. That’s the quest that we need to start at this time of the year.
Coincidentally, this question of Jewish identity has been a topic of discussion for some months now within my own congregation. We started talking about it in our Ritual Committee when one of our members proposed the idea of holding a Hebrew Naming Service. That led us to questions like “What do you mean by a Hebrew Naming Service?” and “Why should we do one?”
As the person who proposed the idea pointed out, sad to say, many Reform Jews don’t have a Hebrew name. In fact, many don’t even know that there is such a thing as a Hebrew name. Yet a Hebrew name is very important for our own sense of Jewish identity. It really is an “Inside, Outside” thing. In a traditional setting, Jews are known by their Hebrew name, while outside of the Jewish community, they are more commonly known by their secular name. So, for example, to the world at large I am Henry Jay Karp, yet within the Jewish world I should be known as Chayim Ya’akov ben Shmuel V’Chavah. In many synagogues, if I am called to bless the Torah, my Hebrew name would be the name they would use. Indeed, on the day of my funeral, when the “Eil Malei Rahamim” prayer will be recited, it will include my Hebrew name as it offers my soul before the presence of God. For it is our Hebrew name which encapsulates our Jewish identity, over and above our secular one. To use our Hebrew name is to affirm who we are as Jews.
So why have a Hebrew Naming Service? To affirm that we are Jewish and embrace our Jewish identity. We have a handle on who we are as members of the secular society, for our secular name captures our secular uniqueness. Is it not about time that we get a handle on who we are as members of our Jewish community; a uniqueness which we would be able to capture by taking on or affirming our Hebrew name?
Nor did our congregational conversations about Jewish identity conclude with our Ritual Committee’s discussions. Rather this question has been carried forward to our Temple Board. However, their discussion did not center on the question of the Jewish identity of the individual. Rather it focused on the question of the Jewish identity of the group; in our case, the “group” meaning our congregation.
A significant question was posed. What is Temple Emanuel’s Jewish identity? Yes, we are a Reform congregation and have been so for almost as long as Reform Judaism has existed in America. Yet, what does that mean? Especially in this day and age, what does that mean? We in Reform Judaism are proud to proclaim that we are a big tent; that because we believe in freedom of choice and personal autonomy, we welcome into our fold all sorts of Jews with widely varying approaches to Judaism, whether it be in the realm of theology, philosophy, or practice. So, for example, praying exclusively in English is most certainly acceptable within the framework of Reform Judaism, but so is praying exclusively in Hebrew.
Today’s Reform Judaism is not monolithic but represents a wide spectrum of beliefs and practices. While individuals within our congregation can stand anywhere they choose along that spectrum, there needs to come a point when the congregation itself figures out where we, as a congregation, stand along that spectrum. Though we wish it could be otherwise, we cannot be all things to all people. Rather, we must establish a concrete Reform Jewish identity for ourselves as a group, and that identity must, as accurately as possible, reflect the perspectives of as many of our congregants as possible.
Our Board has decided, and rightfully so, that we need to determine for ourselves what is the Jewish identity of Temple Emanuel. We call the process “Defining Our Congregation’s Approach to Reform Judaism,” and we have a task force assigned to lead us through this process. For this, we most certainly will need the cooperation and participation of our congregants. Throughout the course of the year, we will be attempting to engage them in this process through surveys and discussions forums, and in whatever way we can so that they can share with us your perspectives on what makes our congregation a Reform congregation, and on how they would like to see our congregation exemplify our approach to Reform Judaism.
We gather on the High Holy Days because, for one reason or another, we have each of us felt the need to affirm that we are Jews and that our Jewish identity is in one way or another important to us. Even though this heightened sense of being Jewish may only last us for the moment and may fade back into the background of our lives with the setting sun on Yom Kippur, let us grasp this opportunity to take advantage of our present heightened Jewish awareness so that it feeds our desire to grow our Jewish identity into something that we can more fully understand and appreciate. Perhaps, just perhaps, it may even come to play a little bit of a larger role in our lives. May our inside world grow even while our outside world thrives, and may they come to nurture each other.
This entry was posted on September 15, 2013 at 8:21 am and is filed under Acceptance of Jews in Society, America, American Jews, Antisemitism, Assimilation, Childhood Memories, Connecting to God, Contemporary Jewish Identity Challenges, Freedom to Live as a Jew, Hebrew Names, Hebrew Naming Service, High Holy Days, Jewish, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Identity, Jewish Religious Apathy, Jewish religious identity, Jews in American Society, Memory, Personal Autonomy, Praying in Hebrew, Praying in the Vernacular, Raising Jewish Religious Awareness, Reform Jews, Reform Judaism, Rosh Hashanah, Secular Identity, Shabbat, Spiritual Fulfillment, Spirituality, Striking a balance between the Jewish and the Secular, Synagogue Life, Temple Emanuel of Davenport, Uncategorized, Worship Service Attendance, Yom Kippur. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments.
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