Singing in the Synagogue

Not once, not twice ... seven times or more, a little blonde girl pulled aside the sheer curtain that separated men from women, to blow a kiss at her father! I was sure she would be stopped, sure her mother would change seats so the little girl couldn't touch the curtain. I thought maybe her father would ignore her, or shush her as she called "Hi Papa!". None of that happened. In fact, when she skedaddled through the curtain to the men's side, they moved sideways so she could get by. Her dad gave her a hug. Then she returned, smiling, to her mother, blowing one last kiss. Wow! There went my synagogue preconceptions!

It was Friday night. A rainy, hailing, freezing night. Snow was forecast. Our host, Debbie Weissman (prof at the Hebrew University and a synagogue leader) had said it might be empty, but this orthodox, modern synagogue was nearly full - especially on the men's side. Maybe some women had stayed home with smaller children. They had lit sabbath candles at home. That starts Shabbat, and you don't even think about work after they're lit. You certainly don't take pictures! ... So most of these photos are gleaned from elsewhere! Shabbat begins Friday at sundown, and lasts for a day plus an hour - 25 hours. (Start time changes according to the sun; they post it weekly in the synagogue's online newsletter!)

Torah Ark - in a Hebron synagogue

 we visited. A soldier prays.

Our guys put on their kippahs and sat with the men. The thin curtain between us went two-thirds of the way up the room, to the low "Reader's platform" with its large table facing forwards. At the front of the room, in pride of place, was a tall wooden cupboard - like the Wardrobe that led to Narnia! It is the "Torah Ark" and every synagogue has one. Inside the Ark is the holy scroll, containing what we'd call the Old Testament - the Torah. Every synagogue has a copy, and every copy is hand-written on a parchment scroll by specially-appointed scribes. It can take up to a year to complete.
 The more formal "Torah reading" service would happen on Saturday morning. This (Friday) was a family service to welcome the Sabbath and God's restful presence.

The service began when a man got up from where he sat among the others, and stepped onto the Reader's Platform, throwing a ceremonial prayer shawl over his shoulders. This was the prayer leader. We'd call him "worship leader". Standing by the table, he began singing a lively tune. Debbie had told us that the service starts with sung prayers and I suppose all true worship songs are prayers. He faced away from us and toward the Ark, where the Word of God symbolized the Person of God. The worship leader wasn't performing but praying, and was leading us toward God. 

As soon as he started, everyone joined in, following in their prayer books, reading from right to left. The prayer leader's hand joyfully thumped the table, keeping the rhythm going. No instruments guided him or the congregation, but men and women's voices rose with gusto. Synagogue services are conducted in the language of Torah so I didn't understand a word - it was all Hebrew to me! But it didn't matter. The tunes were bright, easy to follow. I found myself harmonizing, playing with notes, tapping my foot, joining in. 

As we sang, a little girl, about four years old, ran onto the platform. She was lovely, wearing bright shiny beads, the kind you get from a birthday party treasure chest. Clearly, this man leading the prayers was her dad. Her arms reached up; his went down, and he swung her high onto his shoulder, smiling. The prayer song kept going. Her head rested there, big eyes gazing at the congregation around them. She was quite at home, and welcome!

Mothers guided daughters through the service order. Boys, sitting with their Dads, joined in the good work of praying. People came and went as they pleased. Movement was no bother when it happened. We'd been warned about the movement by our host. "I know that in church you are a lot more respectful, you have to stay still," she said. "Not here! Sometimes I think people walk in and out too much, but it's how we do it. This is our home. In your home you can move."

The service called for movement. At three points we turned and faced another way. The first was to the door, "welcoming in the sabbath," with God's beauty and rest among us. Then we stood in solidarity with those we know who mourn. And we stood, facing each other for the singing of the Shema - "Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one ...".

There was a period where the prayer leader went silent, where people could lift their own petitions to God, from their hearts. This they did by rocking, humming quietly or murmuring. I shut my eyes and joined in. It was prayer being raised like incense - undefined, almost imperceptible, yet permeating every part of the room. It was as fruitful as bees buzzing among flowers. It became strong like pillars of God's throne. Then it was over and the leader led out in one last sung prayer, before the sermon.

Debbie had told us that the sermon should not be long. She said, "Once it went on for a really long time - maybe 20 minutes! But usually, no more than 5 minutes. That's enough. If it goes longer, you'll see people pointing at their watches and back at the preacher, to say it's too long!" ... I could hardly wait! "And," said Debbie, "if you doze off to sleep, that's okay. You won't be alone. Just try not to snore!" We all chuckled.

When the preacher got up, I looked at my watch. It was 5:56 pm. He stood in a simple white shirt, by the Torah Ark, facing the people. Smiling and relaxed, looking at both men and women, he preached. I couldn't understand a word, so I observed what was going on. I kid you not, three minutes into his sermon, a woman two rows in front of me fell asleep! Her head lolled and nodded to one side. She'd been awake till then, but the sermon was her cue. (She did not snore!)

I glanced through the curtain. There was a young man, head leaning heavily on his hand, the way students do when they're asleep in class but trying not to be obvious about it. (Turned out this was the preacher's son!!) Could it be possible? A 5 minute sermon was too long??? Not for most, thankfully. Most people stayed with the preacher, who communicated with enthusiasm till he finished with a joke, and sat down, satisfied.  6:04 pm. The sermon had been 8 minutes long. The dozing woman woke up. The preacher's son jumped a bit and smiled at his Dad as he rejoined him. All was well. 

There were announcements, but no offering - everyone who makes this synagogue their home has to pay membership dues. Our group from Tantur was welcomed in English, and invited, "If you would like to share a Shabbat meal, please talk to me after the service!"  What an offer! Shabbat rest includes the time for warm hospitality. Sadly, we couldn't take him up on it.

A beaming young boy, front teeth missing, came bouncing up to the Reader's Platform and, facing the Ark, began to sing. This was the closing prayer, sung antiphonally: the boy led a line of song and the congregation responded. Back and forth we sang - his small voice, then all the congregation. It was wonderful! A child always closes the service like this. (We'd had a similar thing happen in a Lutheran church we visited, where kids returned from Sunday School just before church ended, showed their craft and told us what they'd learned!) When the song/prayer was over our little leader bopped back to his seat, and the service was closed. I saw him later, very happily organizing the prayer book shelves with his friends.

This is a place that loves children, I thought. Kids know exactly what the synagogue service is about; they take part in it, they help to lead it. They are visible, can move around, are modelled and taught by their parents, are welcomed by other adults, and are growing up within the community, as a sacred, special part of it. 

The thin divide

I thought about the flimsy curtain that separated the men from the women. We've made the gender divide almost invisible in our churches and culture, but perhaps we've built another wall, much more solid, of sound-proof concrete dividing the ages. Will our kids learn to love and become part of the service?

Warmed by the rousing prayers and the spirit of fellowship and community, we went out into the rain. I felt in some ways like I'd been transported back to my childhood church, where love and blessing filled the air. I was so happy to have met this community, and hoped that one day they'd go through the Wardrobe to what lay beyond, as easily as the little blonde girl had run through the curtain to kiss her father.