The new normal we need to refresh our shul services
Rabbi Dr Samuel Landau has introduced mindfulness and other innovations into his synagogue on Shabbat morning
Why are we going back to the way that we used to do shul, rabbi?” a concerned friend asks. “Wasn’t it better when we had shorter services?” What did we synagogue-goers learn from the pandemic? One lesson, sadly, is the discovery that services can be shortened with seemingly none the worse for wear. This is a shame; it suggests a relationship to prayer that can be represented as a tick-box exercise.
We had a list of texts and readings to get through on Saturday morning and we learned that it is relatively easy to complete this task in two hours rather than three.
One is compelled to ask: have we gained time at the expense of something much more valuable? How relatable, relevant or meaning- ful is the synagogue service to us when we cannot help but impatiently watch the minutes tick by or fall into a slumber punctuated by “Amen” and “Shkoyach”. What has happened to Jewish worship that it has become so stale?
As with many things, Covid has simply exposed the cracks that already existed. For many years the tyranny of the ticking clock beset many a religious service. Counting down minutes to the kiddush or policing the pulpit so that the rabbi never spoke longer than their allotted eight minutes were favourite Saturday morning pastimes.
Surely we can do better.
Surely an encounter with the Divine, with each other, with ourselves, should be a time of intensity, connection, oneness and more.
Simon Sinek found fame through his Ted talk and book Start With Why. Before we focus on the “how” or “what” of a project or activity, we need to know our “why”, he says. What is the “why” of prayer?
Prayer’s essence can be found in its halachic requirements, its name and its setting. Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik (1853-1918) interprets Maimonides to legislate that the essence of prayer is to speak to God. Even if we do not focus on the particulars of the words being said, it suffices to stand before Infinity and know that communication, connection and conversation are occurring. Without that, there is nothing. Furthermore, the word “to pray”, l’hitpallel, is in the reflexive grammatical form, connoting selfjudgement and reflection. Finally, prayer occurs as a community, a group joined in their shared intention to reach Beyond. Prayer is therefore the experience of us coming together in shared vulnerability before God.
If the “why” of prayer is to come together in shared openness before God, then everything we do in a synagogue space should be targeted to meeting that “why”. I have no doubt that the words and processes of the siddur can achieve that “why”.
At times, the soaring melodies sung in full group voice raise our souls, and at others the whispered words of psalms tug at our heartstrings. Yet such application of the siddur requires training in language, liturgy and meditative practice.
Applying the siddur as we have it in the absence of such training no longer meets the “why” of prayer — so why do it? This question haunts many of us. I suspect it may be the reason that British Jews in their droves are not returning to synagogue despite the reduction in Covid risk — why do it?
It is time that we create spaces within our shuls to learn, practise and experience what it means to come together in shared openness before God — what it means to pray. This prayer training might include meditative practice to become present, group discussions to engage the mind and psychological exercises to awaken the heart. While for some, the traditional services meet their needs, it is important to create parallel alternatives to learn the magic of prayer.
In Barnet, we created the Medura (Bonfire) and Rush (Noise) Shabbat morning experiences. Medura begins with mindfulness to ground the group in the moment. We follow with a “checkin” of the week; the highs, lows and sources of gratitude.
We select key parts of the siddur and unpack them with new weekly insights. We discuss the Torah portion, asking questions, seeking challenge and reflecting on its application to contemporary issues. We sing, we laugh, we cry and we connect.
Rush is the noisy service where the only forbidden word is “Shh”. It is an inter-generational experience where parents/carers and their young people come together to explore the siddur with Modeh Ani mindfulness, counting my blessings (creating blessing boxes to store all the good things Hashem has done for us), singing the Shema and then “writing” a letter to God which is posted in the Ark (guided to include the three basic components of prayer: praise, thanks and request).
We dramatise the weekly Torah portion in parashah theatre. We ask parents and children to debate the application of Jewish wisdom to their lives. Finally, the group splits and the young people have fun while the adults discuss the challenges of Jewish parenting. These programmes are in no way intended to be prescriptive but rather to share a possible “how” and “what” to meet a fundamental “why”. The next task is learning to integrate such parallel experiences into the original service.
If we can grapple with these challenges as a community, perhaps we can turn the tide on synagogue engagement. We can re-imagine community spaces to meet the underlying “why” of prayer. And one day we will be asking, why wouldn’t we go to shul?