Synagogues: Past, Present and Future

September 25, 2006

Many people have asked me what I am doing now that Wendy and I live in Israel. Well, in short, I am studying. Right now I am specializing in early rabbinic history of the period of the Mishnah and the Talmud.

It is said that a specialist is someone who knows more and more about less and less until knowing absolutely everything about nothing at all. True, specializing in one particular field of study or focusing on only one thing in life can rob us of much of the world around us. But, I am willing to take that chance as I pursue this interest in Jewish history…looking at where we have been to better understand where we are in order to get a fix on where we are going.

My studies take me to the first through third centuries C.E., and the development of our rabbinic tradition. I am working on a book about the Haggadah and the rabbis who created it (and why), so I need to know as much as I can about the world in which they lived. I’ve been studying how the Jews interacted with those around them (especially the Romans) and how they fit in and, often, fell out with the Graeco-Roman world in which they lived. I have read the words of non-Jews (like the Roman historian Tacitus) who saw Jews and Judaism as a threat to the Roman Empire because they could not—or would not—buy into the religio-political system that undergirded and insured its hegemony. Reading their words and anti-Semitic rhetoric, I was impressed how they sound so contemporary and find their evil expression even today in words spoken against Jews and Israel. The more things change, the more they remain the same…

Presently, I am reading an article on the development of synagogues during the period of the Mishnah and Talmud (now how is that for being a page-turner of a subject). The article (a real test of my Hebrew) surveys archaeological discoveries of ancient synagogues found in Israel and its environs and explores how they were designed and functioned.

Then, as today, the synagogue was more than a place to pray. Fulfilling its traditional trinomial appellation, the synagogue served as a place of prayer (Beit T’fillah), a place of study (Beit Midrash), and place of gathering for social and communal activities (Beit Knesset). The synagogue was characteristically the focal point of the Jewish town (as opposed to the Hellenistic cities and towns amongst which the Jewish towns were situated) and the most elaborate structure, built in the most prominent location. Interestingly, the art and architecture of first through fourth century synagogues reflected styles and motifs common to non-Jewish public buildings of the period—as if to demonstrate how a structure dedicated to the Jewish community was also open to the influences of and interaction with the outside world. Perhaps in keeping with this philosophy, our rabbis of the Talmud teach us that a synagogue must be constructed with windows to allow the outside world to enter and so that the influence of Judaism might also make its way beyond the walls of the synagogue.

It was the multi-faceted character and function of the synagogue that, more than anything else, made it such an important and prominent institution in Jewish communal life. The synagogue did not “specialize,” it served the broadest constituency in the most diverse ways. Yes, people came there to pray, but it was also the place where they learned, gathered socially, discussed and adjudicated public affairs, provided social and communal services and extended hospitality to visitors. The ancient synagogue was a kind of Jewish Community Center long before Mordechai Kaplan, the founder of the Reconstructionist Movement, wrote that synagogues should function as real communal centers with people attending to sit around a swimming pool as well as in the pews. The rabbis understood 2,000 years ago, and Kaplan dilated upon the theme in the 1920’s, that the synagogue is the singular institution in Jewish life that not only serves Jews, but makes Jews.

Funny how the ancient world and our modern world play games with me and sometimes blend together…in the midst of reading about the role of the ancient synagogues, I just came across an article in today’s Jerusalem Post with amazing associations to what I am studying. It was a short piece on page 5 (often the most interesting articles are found buried inside the paper, not on the front page), and ran the headline: “State pledges funds for reform [sic] synagogues.” It began, “On the eve of Rosh Hashanah the Construction and Housing Ministry assured non-Orthodox congregations that they would received prefabricated synagogues like Orthodox communities…”

Now, that’s something! Here in Israel that is news! Those familiar with the state of religious freedom in the Jewish state know that the non-Orthodox streams are at best neglected, at worst discriminated against by the government that is supposed to serve the interests of all Jews, or, at least, all Israeli Jews. This homeland for the totality of the Jewish people makes it very difficult to be a practicing liberal Jew. While Orthodox institutions receive generous government funding (often obscenely generous as part of the political games that are played with the state budget), those of the non-Orthodox streams are left scrounging for whatever funds can be had. Most of the support for our non-Orthodox institutions (schools, synagogues, public service organizations, etc.) comes from outside Israel—do you detect an appeal here?

The synagogues of the Reform Movement (at present there are some 20-25 around the country), like those of the ancient world, serve a variety of functions beyond providing worship services and life-cycle ceremonies. Our congregations provide day-care, youth programming, early-childhood education, host cultural and community events, and operate soup-kitchens, tutorial programs, and other social services to a community embracing many Israelis who do not consider themselves “liberal Jews” or even religious. Obviously the better the facilities the more effectively these functions can be carried out, so the state’s offer to provide buildings (albeit prefabricated structures) is an enormous step forward for the non-Orthodox streams of Judaism. But, of course there is a fly in the ointment—while the promise has been made, it is not likely that the buildings will be constructed any time soon. The article concludes: “…due to a legal dispute unrelated to the issue of non-Orthodox discrimination, the building of the prefabs has been delayed.” Funny, that doesn’t seem to impede the progress of building Orthodox synagogues with government funds in every Jewish community. Oh well, at least this “promise” is a small achievement for we liberal Jews.

During these High Holy Days many Jews will be spending far more time than is their custom within the walls of their synagogues. As you sit and listen to the majesty of the sacred liturgy and reflect upon the meaning of the Days of Awe, I ask that you consider a few things (my non-Jewish friends and readers can translate the following to their own circumstances as I am sure that it is quite applicable): Think about how your synagogue can be more of a community for you and how you can make it more than a place to go for worship. Think about how you can take the synagogue beyond its walls and make it a positive force in your life and in the life of the community.

If archaeologists were to uncover the remains of your synagogue a thousand years from now, what would they be able to learn about it? What could they/would they say about its function in Jewish life and its efficacy in perpetuating a Jewish future? Would your synagogue prove to be an institution for Jews or one that makes Jews?

Looking back to our past; looking forward to our future, I wish you all: “Tizku l-Shanim Rabot—may you merit many years of blessing” as we welcome the New Year 5767.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

A New Year in a Holy City

September 20, 2006

I have learned much in the course of this past year since making Aliyah and settling in the Holy City of Jerusalem. One thing I learned is that it takes more than calling a city holy to make it holy.

In a peregrination through the city you see ample evidence that people revere more with words than deeds the very center of Judaism and the font from which our ethical-religious tradition flows. Heaps of garbage adorn empty lots and piles of refuse bear reeking testimony to picnic rites held in our many parks. Dogs do, people discard and nearly everyone seems to turn a blind eye to the daily desecration of our holy Jerusalem. And litter is not our only problem.

Driving through this city is an adventure; a risk of life and limb challenging even the most skilled of drivers and testing the mental acuity of anyone foolish enough to sit behind the wheel of a vehicle. And there, from that vantage point, one is afforded a remarkable view of the human comedy played out on the stage of Jerusalem’s roadways. Here, everybody is in a hurry—car horns blare seconds before the light turns green, drivers weave in and out of traffic to squeeze even one car-length ahead and seem to accrue points to themselves for every other car that they can out-maneuver in a reckless (and too often, lethal) ballet. Then, there are those drivers that one encounters on an annoyingly regular basis who block traffic on our already crowded thoroughfares by double-parking with a cavalier attitude of, “I’ll only be a minute!” While the driver is off on his or her “quick” errand, irate drivers curse and cringe while assaying a circumvention of the offending vehicle at the same time trying to avoid the metallic kiss of on-coming traffic. “Yes,” I think to myself each time I encounter these insensitive dolts, “you may be blocking traffic for ‘just a minute,’ but you’ll be a jerk for ever!”

As long as I am on to my Sturm und Drang on insensitivity, let me tell you about this fellow in my Uplan (Hebrew language) class. Wendy, my friend and classmate Stuart Geller and I call him the Yitush—the mosquito. Like the offensive insect he is small and seemingly insignificant, but annoying as hell! He interrupts the class constantly; answering rhetorical questions, “correcting” other people’s mistakes (usually incorrectly) and always being the first to volunteer to read (often without taking the trouble to actually volunteer). The Yitush is a man about 65 or 70years old. He was originally from England where—from what we have gleaned from him—he lived an orderly and remarkably ordinary life as a bank clerk. You know the kind…so caught up in the indignity of their lowly estate that they ennoble themselves by assuming aristocratic airs as they, in their full bureaucratic self-importance they haughtily tell you that you filled out your social security number or account number incorrectly and must do the whole thing over again—in triplicate! I knew his kind in elementary school. They were the audio-visual monitors who found great satisfaction in wearing as many keys as possible at their waist, each a kind of Croix de Nerd—first-class. I make mention of the Yitush because he has a quotidian ritual that would be most annoying, if anybody really cared. Each day at break time, students from the various classes gather in the foyer where Kobi the wonderful owner of the building’s kiosk dispenses cappuccino, hot chocolate, tea and soft drinks, as well as sweets and sandwiches to the long line of hungry Ulpaniks. Many of the students—some well on in years—seem to have difficulty managing the five or ten minutes standing in line before they get to the front and place their order. Not the Yitush, no, while everyone else waits in line, he goes to the side of the coffee cart, takes a cup and then walks around behind the tiny counter and makes himself a cup of coffee while our dear Kobi bravely soldiers on in the coffee wars obviously doing his utmost to ignore this attack to his flank. Watching on, I can only describe the Yitush’s manner as being like someone who tries to act unobtrusive and nonchalant, all-the-while desperately hoping that someone might notice that he could do something that they couldn’t…except that nobody reacts at all, it is as if they did notice. Nothing, if not persistent, he repeats this tactic in his battle plan to win the admiration and respect (or at least the grudging envy) of others the next day and the next and the next.

What do the litterers, the insensitive drivers and the Yitush have in common and why do I mention them here? Like I said, it takes more than calling a city holy to make it holy. Jerusalem may indeed be blessed with an intrinsic holiness that God, or Jewish tradition has bestowed with loving grace upon it. But it is we who inhabit the city make it holy each and every day. How we treat our city and how we act in it actualizes that sublime holiness that informs our sacred sentiments or makes a mockery of them. You can’t desecrate something by offense or neglect and say that it is holy. You can’t be insensitive to others and their needs and say that you live in holy space. You can’t promote your self-worth while denying the worth of others and take pride that you reside in a holy state (if not a state of holiness). It is we, by our actions, who make our place and our lives holy and by that I mean, understanding and acknowledging that we live in the presence of God. Jerusalem is truly a holy city only if and when people act within its precincts in holiness.

Isn’t this true of our lives, wherever we live? Don’t we all seek to bring a sense of transcendence, of holiness into our lives? Isn’t that, after all is said and done, what brings meaning and significance to our lives? Isn’t that exactly what these High Holy Days that we are about to observe and celebrate all about?

And, if the truth be told, we know all too well that within each of us dwells the spirit of the litterer, the insensitive driver and, yes, even the Yitush. The city of our lives is populated by all of these characters, and more… What is most annoying about them is that they remind us of ourselves, the part of ourselves that we seek to purify and sanctify during the sacred days ahead. The High Holy Days is our time for cleaning up the city, of making things run right in our lives. Then, and only then, can we aspire for our souls to dwell in a truly holy place.

To you and yours, Wendy and I send our best wishes for a happy, healthy and fulfilled New Year.

Shalom from Jerusalem.

Five Years Later

September 11, 2006

I, like some 95% of Americans, know exactly where I was on September 11, 2001 when the terrorists attacked. As soon as the first plane hit the World Trade Center I received a call from my colleague, Heidi Cohen, relaying the terrible news. I immediately switched on the TV and watched as the towers shook and then crumbled in a colossal heap—a grotesque monument to debased inhumanity. Throughout the day, as I went about the congregational and communal tasks of dealing with the crisis, I, together with a nation united in shock, remained attuned to the flickering screen as the horrific events unfolded. It became the horrible, unimaginable leitmotif of that day and those that followed as we tried to sort out the magnitude of this crime against humanity.

For days the scenes on the television were repeated and repeated in a soul-numbing ballet of grief and wanton destruction. How many died? How many survived? Who by falling stones? Who by fire? Questions raged about us in a sad echo of the U’netaneh Tokef prayer of the High Holy Days, then as now, just beyond the horizon of that awful morning.

Our High Holy Days require of us a Heshbon ha-Nefesh—a personal accounting of our lives and the direction in which we are headed. That time of the Yamim Nora'im—the Days of Awe—in 2001 brought us to an accounting unlike any other in recent memory. We asked questions about the future (both personal and collective) and plumbed the depths of our souls to find some meaning, some hope to emerge from the rubble and the shattered sense of security that we had vouchsafed ourselves before September 11th.

On that day five years ago America, and much of the world, joined the existential war in which Israel has been engaged since its founding. It is a war as much with ourselves as with any outside enemy. And, in a way, the external threat is much easier to deal with than our internal battles.

The enemy without is clear—a foe bent on our destruction, challenging us at every turn to steel ourselves and be ever watchful against a constant threat to our security and physical welfare. And so, we set up commissions and agencies to oversee and to warrant our now all too tenuous national security against an intractable enemy. We set out on military ventures in hot pursuit of a wily and elusive international terrorist network unlike any opponent we have faced in battle before. By their own declarations our enemies call for our destruction, thus our terrorist enemy has removed any semblance of ambiguity about the nature of this war in which we are entangled.

On the other hand, the battle within us has no clear lines. We are plagued as much by our own conscience and morality as we are by terrorist bombs. Even today, five years after the collapse of the World Trade Center and the attack on the Pentagon, we weigh and debate and struggle with the means that we employ to cut off yet another of the hydra-heads of those poised against us, and our very civilization. Each action and restriction upon personal freedom undertaken in the name of protecting our physical security gives rise to a hundred questions—to what extent do we compromise our values in order to defeat an enemy bent upon destroying the civilization established upon the foundation of those values. We struggle and we make compromises with our ideals and have done so for the past five years. Our enemies see this struggle as a sign of weakness, a lack of courage and resolve. But, I would argue that our battle within is, in fact, a manifestation of our strength as a nation and as a civilization.

The ability to scrutinize and question our motives and actions is a hallmark of democratic civilization. Our leaders are subject to accountability and can be challenged and even replaced by their constituency. We see such questioning in the US, in Britain, and here in Israel as the media raises issues such as Guantanamo detention, or the prosecution of the war in Lebanon. We do not see it in the enemy camp whose leaders disdain criticism and who are replaced by coup and assassin more often than by the ballot.

There are those who describe September 11, 2001 as the opening salvo of World War III. However, if this is true, then this is a war unlike any other. It will last much longer than the four years of World War I or the six years of World War II. There will be no set battlefields like the Ardennes or Guadalcanal—this war is being waged on a global front. Just as we Israelis came to realize that the home front is the front, the rest of the world is slowly coming to the conclusion that there is no place away from the heat of battle as it is being waged right where we live.

And, unlike either WWI or WWII, this war is not about territory so much as it is a clash of civilizations and ideologies. This is a war waged by radical Islam against the rest of the world, not just Christian “Crusaders” and Jewish infidels, but against every non-Muslim whom the fanatics of Islam mark for domination and destruction. This is by their own admission, expressed in their own propaganda. The question is, do we take them at their word, do we believe them, or do we simply discount what they say as so much rhetoric meant only for internal consumption?

Tragically absent so far in this war are clear, strong, authoritative and numerous voices within the Islamic world condemning the fanatics and actively working against them. Until that changes, the war will drag on for years, perhaps decades.

Ultimately it will not be the West (alone) that will defeat the terrorists and the warriors of radical Islam, it will be the Muslim world itself—any and all those who seek a better world for themselves and their children, one in which life is cherished instead of sacrificed, where actions are informed by values rather than inflamed by fanatical rhetoric. Our challenge is to foster and encourage those voices. It is far more difficult a strategic objective to achieve than any tactical battlefield military objective. And how, I wonder, do we prosecute that kind of war? Does anyone know?

So, have we learned anything since that woe-filled day five years ago? I believe so. I do not think that we are as naïve as we were before 9/11, walking about with a false sense of security as we did before the WTC perfidy. There is a lot that we do not take for granted anymore—beyond our personal safety. There are probably very few people today who do not see this war for what it is—an existential war pitting us against an enemy out to destroy us.

But, there is so much that we have yet to learn. I open the papers today and see that “negotiations” are continuing with Iran over its freeze on its nuclear program. Though it has categorically rejected the latest (supposedly last) offer of compromise by the Europeans, the representatives of the EU persist in pursuing talk rather than sanctions. And Israel, the country most directly (but not solely) threatened by a nuclear-armed Iran debates whether or not to take unilateral action to thwart Iran’s nuclear ambitions. Talk is always better than the use of force to achieve objectives, but unless force is a credible consequence of the breakdown in discussions, then negotiations have little hope of achieving anything. What, after all, do the Iranians stand to lose? Why should they accept the UN’s offers if it faces no consequences for acting otherwise?

Have we learned anything from 9/11? I am not sure. Can we deal with its consequences? Maybe the answer is to be found in the words of the same U’netaneh Tokef prayer of the High Holy Day liturgy that echoed in my ears five years ago today—U’teshuvah, u’tefilah, u’tzedakah ma’avirin et ro’a ha-g’zerah—“Repentance, prayer and righteousness bring us through the evil decree” (translation my own). “Repentance” implies the resolve to deal with our realities. “Prayer” (as the Hebrew word suggests) involves self-scrutiny and self-judgment; it directs us to strategic planning for dealing with our realities. And, lastly, “righteousness” alludes to value-based action resulting from our resolve and self-scrutiny in order to effect meaningful change upon our realities. This formula will not “avert the evil decree” (following the traditional translation of the verse), but it can help us to effectively “get through” (from the Hebrew word ma’avirin) the difficult realities and challenges that confront us after that fateful day five years ago today. Whether or not the likes of Al Qaeda and the forces of radical Islam will be defeated will ultimately be up to the Islamic world itself. Whether or not we and our civilization will be defeated will be up to us.

Shalom from Jerusalem.