Liturgy, Lights, and Free Will OR We'll Leave the Light On for Ya' (Well, hopefully!)

I love those radio commercials that end “I’m Tom Bodett for Motel 6, and we’ll leave the light on for ya’.” It actually reminds me of one of our prayers that has occupied my thoughts of late: the “Prayer for our Congregation,” which we recite prior to returning the Torah to the Ark. The version with which we are probably most familiar as Reform Jews is actually an amalgam of three prayers composed between the 4th and 11th centuries. The third of these prayers, a Mi Shebeirach from medieval France, calls upon God to bless “this congregation (as a praying body) and all other holy congregations.” God will bestow special reward upon “whoever dedicates synagogues for prayer, whoever enters them to pray; whoever donates lamps for lighting, wine for Kiddush and Havdalah, food for wayfarers, charity for the poor; [and] whoever occupies himself with the needs of the community in a faithful manner.” The word “money” is not to be found; only the tangible articles are—the synagogue building, the items needed to perform the holy tasks inside it, AND most importantly, “whoever enters to pray.” Why would the Reform liturgists do away with this language? Perhaps a return to the original text would not be such a bad thing, for “this congregation and all other holy congregations” are in dire need of these basic necessities; and we are praying that “whoever occupies oneself with the needs of the community” will come to us and stay with us. “Those who donate...” are growing fewer in number as temple affiliation continues to drop lower on the priorities list. Perhaps even you, dear friend, have opted to give less or have considered leaving your congregation. We have lost sight of those concrete items mentioned in the prayer above, both figuratively AND literally. That check we write looks like a lot of money if all we see of the temple is either from the curb as we drop off our children or from our seats in the 23rd row at High Holy Day services. From the curb it is impossible to see the need for “lamps for lighting” and “wine for kiddush.” Would that all could see their temple statements as a reminder of their commitment and not as a bill, as an investment in our community, and not as another financial burden. If there are fewer and fewer who “occupy themselves with the needs of the community,” neither the “holy congregation,” nor the “synagogue to enter to pray” will be here. Our synagogues do not exist for profit. We exist to glorify God and to pass along God’s teachings. We are here to learn with you, inspire you, comfort you, and rejoice with you. Without you, we have no purpose, no raison d'être, for Judaism is a faith based on community, and that takes y-o-u.  We’ll leave the light on for ya’, but we can’t do it without your help and commitment. Come on in... That special reward is waiting.

Summertime... and the Living is Easy...Except for the Jews

Ahhhh... Summertime... Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high... It’s the time for carefree vacations, going away to camp, and making memories with our families. In traditional Jewish consciousness, however, a large part of summer is not for the making of new memories, but rather for commemorating events of the past – the tragedies that have befallen our people over the millennia. The Hebrew months of Tammuz and Av that coincide with summer are replete with days of mourning and fast days that were instituted to mark the destruction of both of our sacred Temples, and later came to also memorialize other calamities. 

destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE

The Fast of Tammuz commemorates the breach of the walls of Jerusalem by the Babylonians on the ninth of Tammuz in 586 BCE and the same act by the Romans on the 17^th of Tammuz in 70 CE.  Tisha B’Av (the Ninth of Av) commemorates the destruction of both the First and Second Temples. Considering all of the fast days in our calendar, Tisha B’Av ranks just behind Yom Kippur in importance. 

Even the period between Pesach and Shavu’ot is considered a time of sadness, for which there are several reasons. We grieve because we are no longer afforded the opportunity to bring our grain offerings to the Temple, and we mourn to also commemorate tragic events known to occur during this time – the deaths of over 1,200 disciples of Rabbi Akiva in one year, and the massacres of thousands of German Jews by the Crusaders. There are to be no weddings or other joyous occasions scheduled during this period.  

As Jews who affiliate with a Reform congregation, however, we live our lives as modern, busy Americans. Save for Ha-Shoah – the Holocaust, our collective memories of the destruction of our Temples in Jerusalem and the other horrible acts that have been perpetrated against us have, for the most part, dimmed and faded away.  After all, we live in America – the Land of the Free, “Die Goldene Medina.” We are safe and prosperous here with no fear of being expelled or locked in a ghetto. And we have our land of redemption and promise – Medinat Yisrael, the State of Israel. Why continue to mourn and lament?  We cannot change the horrors that have befallen the Jewish people. Should we not move on towards a brighter outlook? How can these days of mourning be of significance for us as liberal, contemporary, American Jews?

I struggle with the summer calendar and its observances every year. Sometimes I fast, sometimes I do not.  When I don't, I feel guilty.  When I do fast I most often cannot feel any kind of spiritual connection, and again I find myself wracked with guilt. This year I have decided to set about finding a way to observe these days in an authentic and meaningful way. In my research of this topic, I found every observance along the gamut as one would imagine – from the early Zionist youth movements who designated Tisha b’Av as a day of recreation and sports, to the view of Professor Ismar Schorsch, the former Chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary (of the Conservative movement) who wrote that whereas the fast day of Yom Kippur is designed for self-reflection, “Tisha B'av is dedicated to pondering the nation's destiny.”  For those with this view, It is important for us to maintain a balance between our individual paths and our collective destiny.  There are also those who are angered that control of the Temple Mount was surrendered in the name of peace in 1967; for that reason alone we should mourn and wail louder than ever before.

Because none of these observances or justifications seem to resonate with me, I have decided to create a Tisha b’Av seder, an ordered progression of ritual observances thematically connected to traditional practice, yet relevant to my time and place.  Modeled after the Pesach seder, my seder will mark a similar kind of journey, leading from the hopelessness and despair of destruction, exile, and slaughter, to the hope, promise and redemption that we seek to bring to the world. The beginning of the seder will include such texts as Psalm 137:1, “By the waters of Babylon we sat and wept for Zion,” as well as the chanting of some selections from Aicha, the Book of Lamentations. The table will be set with empty gray plates to represent the fasting with which our people have afflicted themselves for hundreds of years.

As the seder progresses, it will transition with readings and musical selections containing words of comfort from the Prophets and Psalms. Poetry and prose from other traditions may also be included.
 
Round bowls will then be placed on top of the empty plates, further symbolizing our journey from mourning to hope. Then the seder participants will be served certain foods ritually designated as symbols of wholeness and renewal, such as eggs, olives, grapes, and other round foods from Israel and our own land of plenty.

Would you like to help me craft such a seder? 

I’d love to hear your ideas and suggestions!