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Tag: High Holidays

Be present as possible

On Rosh Hashana we will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur we will be sealed, who will live and who will die, who by fire and who by water. It’s a jarring incantation. Religious or not, however, this time of year – with fall approaching, a new school year starting – is a time for introspection and account-taking that extends to the very essence of our mortality.

Unless we are consciously faced with it, it is rare for people in our society to think deeply about our own deaths. (For an interesting reflection on the topic, see page 46.) But we would do well to keep the transience of life closer to front of mind throughout the year – not to be needlessly grim or to dwell on the negative, but because it is life’s finite nature that affords its value. Like anything that is limitless, life would lose some of its value if it were unending.

Time is central to Judaism. We mark the coming and the going of the day, the arrival of Shabbat and the return to the week, the numerous times in the calendar that call our attention to the seasons, our history, biblical events, the new year.

Time is likewise central to our existence. Our lives have a beginning and an end; what happens in the middle is what we make it, given the resources we are born into or develop. We do not know when we will die nor what happens to us afterward. We know, though, what happens when others die. We grieve our loss.

We lament and experience stages of pain and eventual relative acceptance.

At this time of year, as we gather with families and in our congregations and communities, there are countless obligations placed upon us. Our tradition tells us that we accept these obligations willingly and with openness. Our tshuva may be painful or involve humbling ourselves to make amends with those we have harmed, but we do this to improve ourselves, our relationships and our world.

In some interpretations, this is when our personal fate will be determined. But our attention naturally turns also to those around us. Who will be at the table this Rosh Hashana and not next? Whose presence do we miss even more keenly at this time of year than on an average day?

We are reminded now not to take for granted any of those we love. This is something we should certainly commit to carrying with us throughout the year. The presence of loving family and friends is a joy that we can easily forget to appreciate and we must remember to value these moments.

We should also be reminded of the presence of loved ones in a different, more ordinary sense. Perhaps there has never been a society more distracted than our own. The most obvious distraction is our digital devices, which can remove us from the presence of those we love even as we sit across from them at a table. Other distractions have been around longer – worries about work or some other aspect of our lives; obsessions and addictions; the myriad things that can take us away from what is truly most important in our lives.

As we mark the High Holidays and the start of a new year, let us be thankful for the presence of those around us, and let us try to be as present as possible in return.

Posted on September 11, 2015September 9, 2015Author The Editorial BoardCategories From the JITags High Holidays, mortality, Rosh Hashana
We need less awe, more action

We need less awe, more action

“Day of Atonement” by Isidor Kaufmann, circa 1900. “We cannot afford the luxury that accompanies the perception of atonement as an end unto itself. We must look at every facet of our lives, internal and external, collective and individual, and challenge ourselves to think anew,” argues Donniel Hartman. (photo from commons.wikimedia.org)

There are those who believe that the goal of Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), as its name attests, is to merely attain atonement for our sins, to recalibrate our standing before God. These are called the Days of Awe, for our destiny stands in the balance: who will live and who will die. To achieve this atonement, we fast and pray for forgiveness.

The problem with this approach, however, is that, beyond fidelity to the laws and practices of the holy days, it does not make any other demands upon us. Instead of striving to change our behavior, we are satisfied with the yearning for atonement. The old year fades out and a new one approaches, and everything stays as it was.

There is much experience of awe in the Days of Awe, but there is little action. Instead of serving as a catalyst for change, the High Holidays often remain a line of defence for the status quo, a defence achieved by the idea of atonement itself. Isaiah’s critique against his generation, who complained before God, “Why, when we fasted, did You not see? When we starved our bodies, did You pay no heed?” (Isaiah 58:3), continues to reverberate and have new significance.

What is the cause for this continuing failure? I believe that it may be found in the fact that the idea of atonement has two distinct meanings and we, unfortunately, give preference to the more convenient and easy one. Atonement can be viewed as an end unto itself or as a means that enables a new beginning. As an end unto itself, its goal is to change the consequences of past behavior and not to change the behavior itself. God is the one who atones for past mistakes and erases them from the equation. Yom Kippur has a goal to recalibrate the world, a form of restart button. However, as an end unto itself, it enables the human being to start over from the same place and to wait again for the next Yom Kippur with its promised “new beginning.”

On the other hand, atonement can be viewed as a means. Its importance is derived precisely from the fact that it has the capacity to enable and serve as a catalyst for change and renewal.

One of the major stumbling blocks that prevents us from changing our behavior is the difficulty in believing that we are capable of it. We are shackled to mediocrity and the status quo, for we often believe that we are ruled by the past and that it defines us in the present and will continue to do so in the future. The idea of atonement can serve as the ally of the status quo or as the vehicle of liberation from it. A human being who achieves atonement can squander this moment of grace by repeating the mistakes of the past, or he or she can use atonement to establish the belief that the past does not necessarily define who we will be in the future. One who receives the gift of atonement is given a chance to reshape one’s life; the critical question is whether we use this gift or waste it by believing that atonement as an end unto itself is sufficient.

The rabbinic tradition understood both the challenge and danger embedded in the idea of atonement. It consequently ruled that Yom Kippur atones only when it is accompanied by tshuva (Mishnah Yoma 8:8). The days are truly Days of Awe, for they are days of reckoning, not merely with God, but primarily with ourselves and regarding our lives. This notion of a day of reckoning requires us to go beyond the experience of the awe that accompanies these days and to act and challenge ourselves to embark on new directions for our lives. To do so, however, we must not merely pray, but must internalize the central category that fulfils a key role throughout the rituals of the Days of Awe – hattanu – we have sinned.

The purpose of the ritual of confession, the Al Het, is not to remove our sins from the eyes of God, but to establish them in front of our eyes. It is only a human being who recognizes his or her limitations and who strips away the aura of self-righteousness who can recognize both the need and responsibility to change.

It is not simple to be a Jew, for we are obligated to strive for excellence and to see in a life of mediocrity a contradiction to our identity. We cannot afford the luxury that accompanies the perception of atonement as an end unto itself. We must look at every facet of our lives, internal and external, collective and individual, and challenge ourselves to think anew. We must reconnect to our values and ideals, and find new ways to allow them to guide our individual and national lives.

May these Days of Awe serve as a spiritual foundation and moral anchor for the renewal of our people. May we truly believe in our potential for renewal and may this belief give birth to new levels of aspirations, dreaming and action. May this year be a year of health, happiness and peace. Shana tova.

Donniel Hartman is president of Shalom Hartman Institute and director of the Engaging Israel Project. He contributes a regular column to Times of Israel and writes for many other publications on a regular basis. This article can be found on the Shalom Hartman Institute website, hartman.org.il, and is reprinted with permission.

Format ImagePosted on September 11, 2015September 9, 2015Author Donniel HartmanCategories Celebrating the HolidaysTags High Holidays, repentance, Rosh Hashana, tshuva, Yom Kippur
Tradition and jazz fuse

Tradition and jazz fuse

Sim Shalom founder Rabbi Steven Blane leads the services and the band on the online synagogue’s new CD. (photo from Sim Shalom)

Google “Canada synagogue live streaming” and a handful of choices come up, including Vancouver’s Temple Sholom. There are many more options out of the United States, but it appears that there is only one completely online synagogue – Sim Shalom. Though if you’re in New York at the right time, you could attend Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur services. This year, they will take place at the club Bitter End. But, if you can’t make it or watch them online, you can hear a sampling of the congregation’s interpretation of the prayers on their new CD, Sim Shalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays.

Sim Shalom founder Rabbi Steven Blane leads the services and the band. The CD comprises some of music from the services last year and was recorded live at Zebulon Sound and Light (aka ZEB’S) with jazz guitarist Saul Rubin. It features Carol Sudhalter (sax and flute), Tai Ronen (bass), Jack Glottman (piano), Frank Levitano (drums) and Itai Kris (flute). Sudhalter, Ronen, Glottman and Levitano will once again join Blane for this year’s High Holiday services – Sim Shalom’s fourth – which will be live streamed, and include live chat.

image - Sim Shalom CD coverFor those who are not willing or able to bring themselves to participate in – or even watch – Shabbat or holiday services online, the CD is a nice compromise. That is, if you like jazz. With the exception of a mostly traditional rendition of Kol Nidre and Ashamnu, the prayers are full-on jazz, though many regular attendees at a non-Orthodox synagogue that has a cantor and/or choir will recognize most of the main melodies and be able to sing along.

Given that Sim Shalom’s vision “is to become the principle online worship, spiritual and learning resource for the Jewish unaffiliated and the interfaith,” it is appropriate that Sim Shalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays begins with Hine Ma Tov, a hymn expressing how good it would be if people could sit together in unity.

The Barchu and Sh’ma that follows will be familiar to anyone who has heard White Rock South Surrey Jewish Community Centre Cantor Steve Levin lead a service (sans instruments), as will at least a couple of others. Rounding out the CD are Halleluyah, Amidah, M’chalkayl, Untanef Tokef, B’rosh Hashana (which will become a favorite of listeners), Ochilah L’el, Sh’ma Koleynu, Shofar Service (the blowing of the shofar followed by a rousing Areshet Sefataynu), Avinu Malkeynu and Hayom.

“During the High Holidays, members of the Jewish community reflect upon life and the year that has passed. They pray that the year ahead will bring blessings and peace,” reads the CD’s promotional material. “Jazz is thoughtful music, improvisation within a structured form that can be filled with many emotions. Playing jazz in many ways is a metaphor for experiencing life. The new CD reflects the juxtaposition of emotions where jazz and the High Holidays intertwine.”

In reality, the range of emotions this CD evokes most likely will be limited to the happier, less introspective end of the spectrum, but that’s not a bad thing. Sim Shalom’s Live Jazz High Holidays is a well-produced live recording that captures the positive energy in ZEB’S at last year’s services. It is an enjoyable and uplifting CD.

A downloadable version is available at cdbaby.com/cd/rabbistevenblane for $9.99 US, or 99 cents US per song. For more information about Sim Shalom, including how to join its services online, visit simshalom.com.

Format ImagePosted on September 11, 2015September 9, 2015Author Cynthia RamsayCategories MusicTags High Holidays, Sim Shalom, Steven Blane
How Tashlich took its form

How Tashlich took its form

Yemenite Jews participating in Tashlich, Rosh Hashana, 1926. (photo by Shimon Korbman, Shalom Meir Tower, Tel Aviv via Wikimedia)

Readers will perhaps find it hard to believe, but the custom of Tashlich, which has become an integral part of the Jewish experience, has no mention in the Talmud. In Ashkenazi writings, the first literary sources of the Tashlich ceremony are from the late 14th century. However, with respect to the Spanish expulsion, even in late works such as the Shulchan Aruch from the 16th century, Tashlich is not mentioned.

The early Ashkenazi sources in which Tashlich is mentioned describe an unusual ceremony, both with respect to its participants and with respect to its time and place. Texts written by both Jews and non-Jews at the beginning of the modern era tell of a ceremony in which the whole community – the old, the young, the women and their servants – go out to a river bank during the middle of the day, after the midday meal. Under the shade of the tangled tree branches and against the gurgling sound of the pure river water, those present entertain themselves by throwing crumbs to the fish, which jump out of the water in an attempt to catch them. This is in contrast to the atmosphere of a Jewish festival whose focus is the synagogue.

One is led to ask how such a ceremony came to be and how it found its place on the day on which the centre of attention is the synagogue. The explanations found in Ashkenazi books on Jewish customs that were written in the 15th and 16th centuries are confusing and fragmentary, and thus it is difficult to get a clear picture of the custom from those sources. However, there are other sources from the same period. Jews who had converted to Christianity and Christians who were involved in the anthropological study of their Jewish neighbors included a description of the ceremony in their writings, which was based on Jewish texts and primarily on what they themselves observed.

It appears that the various rituals are first of all related to the intellectual level of those present. The learned among the Jews present at the ceremony recited a verse from the Book of Micah, “You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea,” without adding any practical interpretation. Most of the community, in contrast, did not stick to the literal text but spoke what was in their hearts in simple German. The “spilling of sins” was manifested in the shaking out of one’s clothing and quickly leaving the location so that, God forbid, the spirit of evil deeds should not return the sins to the individual who had just got rid of them.

Some of the Christian sources relate that the appearance of fish during the ceremony was auspicious for those present, who viewed this as a sign that their sins had been transferred to the fish. This is similar to the belief that the scapegoat that was sent into the desert on Yom Kippur takes with him the sins of the people. In the Jewish ceremonies of the 15th century, fish appear in a different context: upon their appearance, those present are to remember that “we are like these live fish that are all of a sudden caught in a fortress.”

During the centuries in which the Tashlich custom took shape, walking to the river was an accepted pastime during the leisure hours of Jewish festivals and Shabbat. Jews and non-Jews spent time among the trees along the river banks, wading in the water and fishing. From the rabbinic texts, we learn of more than a few halachic problems related to this pastime, such as the carrying of food. Apparently, people used to carry items of food with them to throw to the fish and thus violated the prohibition of carrying from one domain to another. There were those who requested food from their gentile neighbors, who were also spending time on the river bank, in order to throw it into the river; but the act of feeding the fish itself was also prohibited. It is no wonder then that the rabbinic texts dealing with this activity on Rosh Hashana were vehemently opposed to throwing food to the fish because of the prohibition of carrying from one domain to another. As far as they were concerned, going to the river on Rosh Hashana was not related to any religious ceremony. It is interesting that some of the sources from the 15th century state explicitly that the custom of Tashlich is not particularly important and that people are not so meticulous in keeping it.

The Tashlich ceremony had other unusual characteristics, which differentiated it from “official” traditions. The literature of the 16th and 17th centuries relates that women and children participated in Tashlich, in contrast to other public ceremonies in which men were the only ones generally present due to considerations of modesty and separation between the genders. Furthermore, religious ceremonies in Jewish society generally took place in the synagogue or at home, but never in nature. With this in mind, Tashlich is to be understood not as a religious commandment but as the product of a social event. It can be said that Tashlich is a refashioning of a leisure activity as a religious/spiritual activity. It combined entertainment and prayer that had been recited on the High Holy Days for hundreds of years.

Based on the above, it can be said that there is no single explanation for the development of Tashlich. From the various existing testimonies, it can be assumed that the custom began sometime during the 14th century as an attempt to give religious significance to a popular afternoon pastime on Rosh Hashana. The time of the ceremony, its unusual location on the banks of the river, far from the community’s spiritual centre, the participation of women and children and the core of the ceremony – i.e., the casting of breadcrumbs into the river – which became an accepted pastime each Shabbat and festival, indicate that this was not a ritual created by halachists, but rather was an attempt to create another dimension to a popular pastime. The halachic texts that describe Tashlich stress its symbolism and the subjective spiritual process the believer goes through. In contrast, the texts that describe popular Jewish culture indicate that most of the public attributed the results of the ceremony to the activities carried out during it.

Over the years, there have been many efforts to give the ceremony a more religious flavor: the number of participants was narrowed, its date was changed and the weight of the texts and conceptual components was increased. Thus, Tashlich moved away from its roots in the culture of leisure in Ashkenaz and gradually took on the character that is familiar to us today.

Eli Freiman, general manager of Shuki Freiman Co. Ltd., is involved in academic research on the popular aspects of ritual in Jewish culture. This article was translated from the original Hebrew by a third party and the author does not take responsibility for any marginal disparities between the original text and this translation. This article can be found on the Shalom Hartman Institute website, hartman.org.il, and is reprinted with permission.

Format ImagePosted on September 11, 2015September 9, 2015Author Dr. Eli FreimanCategories Celebrating the HolidaysTags High Holidays, Rosh Hashana, Tashlich
Reminder of fragility

Reminder of fragility

Until this summer’s drought, most Vancouverites would have prayed for weather that made their umbrellas unnecessary. These High Holidays, however, many of us will be joining more wholeheartedly in the prayer for rain. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

I never gave much thought to the significance of rain until I moved to Miami. Rabbis in Miami face the High Holiday season with more than the usual rabbinic anxiety. In South Florida, the High Holiday season coincides with hurricane season. In the last several years of Florida living, I have reflected often on the ways in which Judaism invests rain with religious meaning. Prayers for rain mark the culmination of the High Holiday season.

The land of Israel is known as the land “flowing with milk and honey.” However, Israel is not a land flowing with water. The limited resource of water in the Holy Land is a central feature of biblical theology. Rain in the Promised Land plays an essential role in the covenantal relationship between God and the Jewish people.

Deuteronomy explains the unique spiritual essence of precipitation in the land of Israel. Unlike Egypt, where the water comes up from one’s feet, Israel is a land where people must look to the heavens for rain. In Egypt, it was easy to fall into idolatrous practices. The natural abundance of water from the Nile made the Egyptians worship the products of their own hands. However, this spiritual shortcoming is prevented in a land where the natural resources are scarce. The need to look heavenward for rain and the need to pray for rain continually remind the Israelites of God’s involvement and concern for our livelihood. “It is a land which the Lord your God looks after, on which the Lord your God always keeps His eye, from year’s beginning to year’s end.” (Deuteronomy 11:10)

God’s responsibility for dispensing rain in the land of Israel is a central aspect of our covenantal identity. Not only do we live in a land that depends upon God for rain, but God’s gift of rain will be conditioned upon the fulfilment of our covenantal duties. Every day, twice a day, the Jewish people express our love and commitment to God in the words of the Sh’ma.

The second paragraph of the Sh’ma is an excerpt from Deuteronomy about the connection between our covenant with God and rain: “If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving the Lord your God and serving Him with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for your land in season…. Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them; for the Lord’s anger will flare up against you, and He will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain….” (11:13)

The notion that the natural events of weather are reflective of God’s covenantal relationship with the Jewish people is a difficult one for many modern Jews. This paragraph is omitted in the version of the Sh’ma found in Reform prayer books.

However, the theological lessons of Deuteronomy can be teased out without adopting a literal reading of the text. Is it true that rain falls in Israel only if the Jewish people are observing all the commandments? Or perhaps our daily recitation of the Sh’ma establishes a consciousness about our fragility in a world where we cannot control the elements. In such a world of limited human power, we recognize that our lives are a gift from God. The recognition of our dependence leads to a sense of responsibility. The Jewish response to the precarious nature of life is to find meaning and purpose in commandedness. Rain in the land of Israel serves as a reminder of our covenant with God.

According to the Torah, the scarcity of rain in Israel is a spiritual safeguard. As the Israelite nation prepares to enter the Promised Land, the Book of Deuteronomy is consumed with a fear regarding the spiritual danger of sovereignty. Once we leave the desert and settle in our own land, we might forget about God’s role in our lives:

“When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses to live in … and everything you own has prospered, beware lest your heart grow haughty and you forget the Lord your God … who led you through the great and terrible wilderness … a parched land with no water in it, who brought forth water for you from the flinty rock; who fed you in the wilderness with manna … and you say to yourselves, ‘My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.’ Remember that it is the Lord your God who gives you the power to prosper.” (8:12-18)

For 40 years, the Israelites depended upon God for sustenance in a hostile environment lacking natural resources. That dependency cultivated an intimacy with God and an appreciation for our human weakness. However, when we enter the Promised Land, and we build our own houses and plant our own crops, we might grow arrogant and distant from God.

According to the medieval commentator Rashbam, it is precisely because of this threat that God instituted the festival of Sukkot at the time of the harvest, when we are most likely to glorify in our material success:

“Therefore, the people leave their houses, which are full of everything good at the season of the ingathering, and dwell in booths, as a reminder of those who had no possessions in the wilderness and no houses in which to live. For this reason, the Holy One established the festival of Sukkot … that the people should not be proud of their well-furnished houses.” (Rashbam, Commentary on Leviticus 23:43)

The purpose of dwelling in the sukkah, according to Rashbam, is to remind us of our vulnerability in the desert and to return us to that ideal spiritual state of humility and dependency. Without a yearly reminder of our frail human condition, we might grow too haughty in our own land and begin to worship the power of our own hands.

The festival of Sukkot culminates in the holiday of Shemini Atzeret. This obscure holiday embodies one main ritual – tefilat geshem, the prayer for rain. Focusing on the uncertainty of rain is the perfect conclusion to the High Holiday season. One of the recurring themes of the High Holidays is the nature of human mortality. As human beings, our existence is vulnerable and ephemeral. Will we even be here next year? “Who shall live, and who shall die … who by fire and who by water?” This yearly reminder of our fragile human condition is meant to jolt us out of our complacency, to inspire us in our search for greater meaning and purpose in life.

This central High Holiday motif finds its dramatic finale in tefilat geshem, as the cantor comes forward during the musaf prayers, dressed in a kittel, the white burial shroud, and invoking Yom Kippur melodies. We conclude the spiritual marathon of the High Holidays with prayers for rain, humbled by the awareness of our fragility and our dependence upon God for sustenance and survival. As we pray for rain, we also rejoice in the notion that God cares for us and keeps His eyes on us, from year’s beginning to year’s end. Rain will be a daily reminder of our human limitations and the greater meaning and purpose we can find in accepting a covenant with God.

On this Shemini Atzeret, may our prayers for rain remind us of our vulnerabilities and our responsibilities to God, “Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall.”

This article was originally published in the Jewish Week and can be found on the Shalom Hartman Institute website, hartman.org.il. It is reprinted with permission.

Format ImagePosted on September 11, 2015September 9, 2015Author Lauren BerkunCategories Celebrating the HolidaysTags High Holidays, rain, Shemini Atzeret, Sukkot, tefillat geshem

Enriching or superficial?

With the High Holidays around the corner, I have noticed my usual light bout of pre-holiday anxiety. So much always seems to ride on this part of the Jewish calendar. For strong believers, there’s the spiritual reckoning. For the less religious who still care about affiliation, there’s the loaded nature of synagogue attendance, compounded by the challenge of pricey tickets. And, for the simply social, there’s the pressure of ensuring some communal marking of the calendar.

Amid all of this, Reboot – an organization that bills itself as “affirm[ing] the value of Jewish traditions and creat[ing] new ways for people to make them their own” – is taking a lighter touch: its annual 10 questions project. Sign up at doyou10q.com and, starting on Sept. 13 and lasting 10 days, the website will email you one question per day encouraging you to engage in the kind of personal reflection that is customary during the intervening days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

Once completed, the answers are sent to Reboot’s “vault” for safekeeping, and users can decide whether to share them or not. Either way, one year later, Reboot will send the answers back to the participant, and the questions will be posed again, so one can see what changes in life perspectives occur over time.

It’s a truism that Jewish life is fundamentally communal. A quorum of 10 is required for prayer; weekly Shabbat dinners are often an extended-family-and-friends affair; Jews are encouraged to educate their children Jewishly in a group setting; Jewish summer camp focuses on intense communal experiences; and bar and bat mitzvahs are marked by a public aliya la-Torah.

So, are individual, web-based initiatives like Reboot’s enough to scratch the itch of Jewish communal practice? Or are they, in their push-a-button way, a frivolous addition to what should be undivided attention to the technicalities of Jewish literacy and to the bricks and mortar of conventional Jewish life, where Judaism is experienced publicly and communally?

This question isn’t a surprising one, but it may be misplaced.

In the age of “destination” bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies, where almost no one from one’s community may be in attendance, and in the age of concierge Judaism – a term the Jewish Outreach Institute now uses to suggest that Jews may be looking for an array of products and services tailored to their own individual needs – and in the generation of the Millennial who seeks to refashion Judaism to suit her own sensibilities, Reboot knows that one has to reach Jews where they are.

But there’s more to it than simply realizing that initiatives like Reboot may be what’s needed to save do-it-yourself-style Jews from disconnection. Despite the absence of Hebrew or Jewish texts or a group of Jews sitting in a study session with a rabbi, initiatives like the 10 questions project is not a challenge to Jewish literacy at all. In discussing the initiative with colleagues, I realized that, without Reboot’s initiative, I might never have given those intervening days another thought.

In my typical hectic pace, I would likely be rearranging my work schedule, securing a break-fast invitation for my family or deciding whether to host one, and practising the Haftorah my shul has asked me to prepare for Yom Kippur morning. No doubt the personal reflection bit would fall by the wayside and, even if I did try to engage in it, it likely would not be as fulsome as that encouraged by the kinds of daily questions Reboot sends. That kind of thinking and writing – including being faced with one’s past challenges – takes immersive effort, both intellectual and emotional.

So, tailored-and-trendy versus tried-and-true may be a false dichotomy, after all. We would be better placed to think of Jewish life as being enriched by as many touch points as our current crop of Jewish innovators can create.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She blogs at Haaretz and the Jewish Daily Forward. This article was originally published in the Canadian Jewish News.

Posted on September 4, 2015September 2, 2015Author Mira SucharovCategories Op-EdTags High Holidays, Judaism, Reboot
Reform has new prayer book

Reform has new prayer book

This month, the Reform movement’s new High Holiday prayer book, Mishkan HaNefesh, is being published. It replaces Gates of Repentance, which has served the movement since 1978, and is a companion to the movement’s siddur, Mishkan T’filah, which was published in 2007.

“It was an innovative siddur in a number of ways,” Rabbi Hara Person, publisher and director of CCAR Press, the Central Conference of American Rabbis’ publishing division, told the Independent. “It includes a lot of poetry and other kinds of readings that haven’t historically been in prayer books. It includes both the faithful translation of the text alongside, in some cases, alternative translations.

“The approach is multi-focal. It’s not an approach that says there is only one way to read our tradition or prayer. Instead, it opens up to people different ways of understanding, and struggling and grappling, with the text and tradition … and with theology.”

As an example of the new machzor’s increased accessibility, Person explained that, as does Mishkan T’filah (Sanctuary of Prayer), Mishkan HaNefesh (Sanctuary of the Soul) includes transliteration throughout for all of the prayers. “We wanted it to be open and welcoming to people, no matter what their background or how much or little a Jewish education they have,” she said.

About the diversity of the people sitting in the pews, she added, “Some may not be Jewish at all. They might be there with a Jewish spouse or partner. We don’t want to tell them that there’s nothing there for them. We want them to be able to learn and participate to the extent that they’re comfortable.”

Another significant aspect of the machzor is its inclusivity. “For over 25 years,” said Person, “we’ve been speaking up about inclusion of gay and lesbians in our communities on every level, so this is just another piece of that. That’s true for anybody who walks through our doors.”

This meant that the language of some of the prayers had to be updated.

At the heart of the prayers that talk about a bride and groom, for example, is the love between a couple. “So, we changed the language to reflect that and to not exclude gay and lesbian couples,” said Person. “Also, regarding being called to the Torah, we felt it should reflect the view and acceptance of all people, including those struggling with gender identity … calling people from the ‘house of’ as opposed to referring to them as ‘the son or daughter of.’…”

These most recent changes follow those that have come before regarding the increased participation and recognition of women.

“I think the Reform movement has a long history of egalitarianism, even from the very start,” said Person. “Even before women were rabbis, the Reform movement did away with separate seating in synagogues, so very early on in the history of the Reform movement, men and women were allowed to sit together in synagogues.

“So, these are just further steps in that progression of treating everybody with dignity and with a sense of equality and inclusiveness, and a way of saying we are all created in the image of God … women as well as men. It’s true for gay or straight or trans. Why would we exclude some but not others? It’s part of our value system to be inclusive.”

The new machzor has been in the works for a long time.

“We did a tremendous amount of piloting ahead of time,” said Person. “The book was in development for five or six years. Over those years, we had about 350 congregations across North America who piloted different sections of it.”

Some other interesting features of the new machzor are the poetry – from American and also Israeli writers – and art.

“We worked with an artist in New York named Joel Shapiro,” explained Person. “He created an opening piece of art for each of the services. They are woodblock cuts. He spent a huge amount of time studying the services and prayers and was inspired to create the art for the services.

“For me,” she continued, “it’s really exciting because some people love poetry and that’s going to … be a way into the prayer book and into the experience of worship for them. For others, it will be the commentary, and for others still, it will be the art…. Art may open the door for them and help them walk in. It’s really exciting that we were able to do all these things within the prayer book.”

A large-print version of Mishkan HaNefesh will also be available, as will an e-book version. “There is a percentage of people who actually use machzors before the holidays to do their own spiritual preparation,” said Person. “This book has so much in it for that. For a tablet, maybe they’d use it ahead of time, but not bring it to synagogue. I don’t know.”

For more information about the new machzor, visit ccarpress.org.

Rebeca Kuropatwa is a Winnipeg freelance writer.

Format ImagePosted on June 19, 2015June 17, 2015Author Rebeca KuropatwaCategories Celebrating the HolidaysTags CCAR Press, Hara Person, High Holidays, inclusivity, machzor, Mishkan HaNefesh, Reform Judaism

Importance of prayer

The holy month of Elul has begun, the sixth month in the Hebrew calendar. There is a rabbinic allusion that the month was named from the initial letters of “Ani le dodi v’dodi li” (“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine”), describing the relationship between G-d and His people. In the Aggadah, we read that Elul has special significance because of Moses’ 40-day stay on Mount Sinai (Exodus 34:28), which was calculated to have begun on the first of Elul and ended on the 10th of Tishrei (Yom Kippur).

Every weekday morning, the shofar is sounded and Psalm 27 recited. Sephardim have already begun saying Selichot, but Ashkenazim recite this only in the last days of the month. The word selichah means forgiveness – it is a plea for forgiveness for sins and, as we approach the time when we know that we will be judged, we practise a kind of spiritual stocktaking. We look inward, trying to assess what happened to last year’s dreams/goals, asking pardon for wrongs committed and hoping, with repentance, charity and prayers, to be written into the Book of Life for another year.

Rav Nachman of Bratslav expressed it beautifully: “Every word of your prayer is like a rose which you pick from its bush. You continue until you have formed a bouquet of blessings, until you have pleated a wreath of glory for the Lord.”

Prayer takes on special meaning in Elul, as we move toward Rosh Hashanah, which celebrates the birth of the world. Then, we will recite the special prayer called Unetenah Tokef (“Let us proclaim the sacred power of this day…”) when we are reminded of our mortality. The translation for part of it reads: “Humanity’s origin is dust, and dust is our end. Each of us is a shattered pot, grass that must wither, a flower that will fade, a shadow moving on, a cloud passing by, a particle of dust on the wind, a dream soon forgotten…. But You are the Ruler, the everlasting G-d.” Legend has it that this prayer was written some 10 centuries ago by Rabbi Amnon of Mainz. Ordered to convert to Christianity by the local bishop, Rabbi Amnon refused. His limbs were amputated and, as his mutilated body lay before the ark as he was dying, he said these words, which are also part of the Yom Kippur liturgy.

When mystics pray, they believe there is an ascent of the soul to upper worlds. Prayers of thanksgiving and praise are deemed worthier than petitionary prayers (when we are asking for things), because they are selfless. Some people believe that the highest form of worship is silence. The Bible tells us that Abraham was the first to utter a true prayer – for his fellow man.

In these times, when we are at war, agonizing over our losses and the many families who have lost loved ones, we in Israel need to have faith more than ever. We pray for all Jews to have a good, safe year. We share a common destiny – Jews in Israel and abroad – and it is this shared destiny that binds us together, no matter how different our ethnic and cultural boundaries may be.

I memorized the following poem when I was a schoolgirl. I never knew the author, and doubt that he was Jewish, but I think it is appropriate now and all the year: “I shall pass through this world but once / Any good therefore that I can do / Or any kindness I can show / To any human being / Let me do it now / Let me not defer it or neglect it / For I shall not pass this way again.”

Dvora Waysman is the author of 13 books, which are available through Amazon, or from the author at ways@netvision.net.il. Her website is dvorawaysman.com.

 

Posted on August 29, 2014August 28, 2014Author Dvora WaysmanCategories Celebrating the HolidaysTags Elul, High Holidays, prayer, Rosh Hashanah

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