There's nothing like being in Israel in the springtime. The sun shining brightly. The almond trees flowering. The lilies smell so sweet. I was fortunate to be able to lead our congregational trip to Israel just 4 months ago in the end of May. Our group of fifteen felt such pride in representing
Peninsula Temple Beth El in Israel. And, as we have shared our stories, we have felt such pride in bringing back a piece of Israel to you. It was an experience that changed our lives. There's nothing like being in Israel in the springtime.
There's nothing like being in Jerusalem, with its shimmering gold stones, its streets crowded with Jews from all walks of life. There's nothing like Shabbat in Jerusalem. After the frantic bustle of shopping, cleaning, and cooking, the blare of the siren signals that Shabbat has begun. Quiet
descends upon the city. No cars on the roads. Shops are closed. People walk to shul. The sounds of Shabbat dinner silverware clanking through the open windows of families' homes.
There's nothing like praying on Shabbat in Jerusalem. I took our group on Friday night to a synagogue called Kol Haneshama. The rabbi sat in the front of the room dressed in white. People poured in until the chairs were full and people were standing in back. Children, teens, young adults and older adults alike joined in the chanting and uplifting singing of the Hebrew prayers. The melodies seemed eternal. The room resounded with joyful voices and was stilled in meditative silences. It didn't matter that we were newcomers, or that we didn't know all the tunes, or that no directions were given about when to rise and when to sit. The rhythm and energy that abounded all around us brought us along on the journey through Shabbat prayer. At the end of the service, one of the members of our group turned to me wide eyed and asked, can we do this at Beth El?
What is the "this" she was asking about? "This," I believe, is being part of a community that takes prayer seriously. "This" is about being open to worship innovation and change. The question was not asked by an awestruck tourist in Israel. It was asked by one of our highly involved temple
members who takes worship seriously in her own life. We will return to her question, because this is not a sermon about Israel. It is a sermon about worship transformation. It is a sermon about community transformation through worship. And, it is a sermon about personal transformation, and how we can transform our own lives through prayer.
Our group's experience at Kol Haneshama was not my first. Shabbat in Jerusalem has deeply shaped my own prayer life and worship experience. Every time I go to Israel, to Jerusalem, to Kol Haneshama, I leave rejuvenated and restored with a sense that prayer can be meaningful and
inspiring and that it can enhance one's life for the better. But, prayer was not always so easy for me, nor is it always now. Prayer does not come easily to most, except maybe to the youngest of children among us. Prayer is a struggle, for clergy and laymen alike. When it works, it is about
being part of something larger than ourselves, about God becoming real in our lives, and about envisioning and bringing into being a world that is better than the world we live in. But, to be honest, I can remember more times in my own life when I found myself during a prayer service looking at my watch, and feeling frustrated and disconnected with what was going on around me.
Jerusalem is not the only place that has influenced my own prayer life for the better. There have been several communities that I have been fortunate to have been a part of that take prayer seriously, approach worship with a healthy dose of experimentation, and open the doors widely to all who seek a meaningful and authentic prayer experience. For example, a Shabbat morning minyan at a Reform synagogue in Los Angeles, that every week attracts regulars and newcomers alike, with guitar music, extensive singing, creative readings, children's programs, Torah study in place of a sermon, and open discussions and reflections about the worship experience during a community potluck lunch that follows the service.
I could cite many other settings that have shaped my prayer own life because worship renewal is happening all over. Of course, worship renewal is not a new phenomenon. The rabbis of old stated that the one who makes his prayer fixed, it is as if he has not prayed. Prayer was supposed to be
spontaneous and heartfelt, much like Hannah in our Haftarah reading this morning, who poured out her heart to God. The rabbis were captivated by Hannah, who prayed so fervently and passionately in asking God for a child that the priest Eli mistook her for a drunkard.
Today, major changes and broad initiatives in worship renewal are taking hold across the country. True to its earlier origins of worship revolution, the Reform Movement embarked on a new wave of worship reform, officially, in 1999. That year at the General Assembly in Orlando, Florida, Rabbi Eric Yoffie, president of the UAHC, now called the Union for Reform Judaism, delivered a sermon entitled, "Realizing God's Promise: Reform Judaism in the 21st Century." In addressing thousands of Jews, he said, "Reform Jews are rediscovering the power and the purpose of prayer...Yes, we know how hard prayer is; we do not expect that every Shabbat we will leave the synagogue personally transformed. But we do expect to be gently moved each time we come to Temple...In many of our synagogues, the prayers are heartfelt, the music uplifting, and the participation enthusiastic. But that is only a part of the story. All of us—rabbis, cantors, lay leaders—seem ready to admit that far too often, our services are tedious, predictable, and dull. Far too often, our members pray without fervor or concentration...Poll after poll tells us that 40 percent of Americans attend congregational worship every week, while for Jews, the figure is under 10 percent. We joke about two-day-a-year Jews, but we know in our hearts that the fault is not entirely theirs. We need to ask ourselves why so many of these Jews feel religiously unsatisfied in our synagogues."
Yoffie's question is a serious one. With today being an exception, why is service attendance the rest of the year so low? What are the obstacles to meaningful prayer? His sermon propelled the Reform movement to engage in a new initiative for congregational leaders called Ivdu B'simcha—Worship with Joy. But, the level of religious dissatisfaction goes far beyond any
single movement. This has nothing to do with Reform, Conservative, traditional, or non-traditional. It is not helpful to place blame, on one person or on ourselves—saying that it is our own fault that we can't pray so why should we come. The problem is much deeper and much more systemic. As a response to this serious question, major national institutes such as
Synagogue 2000 and ECE—the Experiment in Congregational Education were formed, dedicated to revitalizing and reenergizing synagogue life in North America. Many congregations have worked under the guidance of these organizations to probe deeply into matters of worship and to ask the tough questions that are involved in any kind of change.
These leaders of worship renewal note three great challenges in our prayer settings. The first is music. Every congregation that has revived its worship has begun with music that is participatory, warm, and accessible. Ritual music has the ability to touch people in a way that words cannot. If you really think about it, you have to admit that responsive readings are not the most powerful all time Jewish ritual expression. Music transforms the ordinary into the miraculous. Music invites individuals into a community of prayer. The music of prayer was never meant to be a spectator sport. Just as all of Israel sang with Moses and Miriam at the shores of
the Red Sea, the congregation, too, must find its voice.
The second great challenge of our national worship revolution is to bring groups of people back into our sanctuaries that we have unwittingly sent away. Rabbi Yoffie suggests, for example, that we may have unintentionally driven young families and children away. In his sermon he wrote, "Convinced that exuberant children could not be accommodated at regular Shabbat worship, and that their baby-boomer parents would not be drawn to the somber melodies of the older generation, we created the monthly Shabbat family service, which is shorter, more energetic, and more spontaneous. And it has succeeded. The average family service is filled with wonder and enthusiasm, and our sanctuaries are often filled to over-flowing. But by creating the family service, we have signaled that young parents and children are not welcome at other times—that for them, in effect, Shabbat falls but once per month."
For other groups as well, our synagogues have given the message that Shabbat is not a weekly occurrence. Rabbi Lawrence Hoffman, co-developer of Synagogue 2000, comments on special Sabbaths such as Scout Shabbat, watching the second-grade class perform, or guest personalities that attract an entire network of new people simply because they are involved in scouting or whatever the special attraction is for that week. Anyone who really appreciates prayer has probably decided to stay home.
The Shabbat morning bar or bat mitzvah has also become a specialized private family affair, in many cases alienating the uninvited, young and old alike. Saturday after Saturday, a different family plays the role, inviting its own network of watchers for the occasion. This is far from a simple matter. For many Jews, the rite of bar or bat mitzvah is the single most significant religious event in their lives, and we must respect its impact. Still, Judaism is a collective enterprise, not a private pursuit. The child is meant to become a bar or bat mitzvah in the context of Shabbat morning communal prayer and to be welcomed into the congregation as the newest adult member.
No wonder that so many find prayer dull or meaningless. In effect, the special attractions have usurped real authentic worship.
The third challenge is fear of innovation itself. This fear often grows out of a reluctance to give up something that we call tradition, which usually means, "what I remember from my temple when I was growing up."
The tale of a Buddhist monk describes one tradition gone awry. A monk in the mountains of Asia used to take his pet cat to worship. The worshippers complained that the cat disturbed their contemplation. So the monk tied the cat down. Years later, when the monk died, his disciples continued to care for the cat, but without recalling anymore why the cat was present during
prayer. They insisted on tying it down during the worship, as before, to a tether post now known as the sacred cat stand. When the cat died, a new cat was purchased and tied to a beautiful new cat stand. In later centuries, learned treatises were written on cats, and masters of the sacred arts designed cat stands with hidden meanings.
What we assume to be necessary in our worship may just be cats, leashes, and cat stands. These quaint but inauthentic embellishments of the worship service took hold once upon a time, but could just as easily be gotten rid of. Saying that something has always been done a certain way is not a reason to continue to do it. We must look at our worship and decide what is really necessary and what is merely cats.
These challenges may seem daunting, but I want to convey to you this morning that worship renewal is very much alive and filled with success stories. Such as the announcement I saw at a service I attended last summer in New York. The announcement read: So much makes Kabbalat Shabbat unique during the summer at Congregation B'nai Jeshrun. For it is then that all of the varied members of our community young and old, singles and couples, children and parents come together in one place. That variety, that energy can truly lift our prayers even higher and help our spirits soar. Along with the joys comes a unique challenge. We ask that you please arrive on
time. Once we reach our capacity, fire codes compel us to refrain from admitting more congregants; and that can occur as quickly as ten minutes after services start. It stuck me at the time what a great problem this would be for every synagogue to have.
It would also be to our benefit to look closer to home. The West Coast has always been known to be on the cutting edge of innovation and reform. Temple Chai in Phoenix, Arizona used to get about 100 regulars on a Friday night. About seven years ago they made some significant changes. They moved all the services to 6:15, created their own siddur, created a cd, added much more congregational singing and chanting, and, in the senior rabbi's words, removed all the gimmicks so that Shabbat is just Shabbat. They now have 300-400 people praying together every week.
Just down the road, hundreds of participants gather for song-filled worship each week. From the toddlers twirling in the aisles to the senior citizens sitting in the pews, everyone is singing and mingling with one another. And, just up the road in the city, at a temple that was the bastion of
Classical Reform Judaism, thousands of young adults gather to pray and socialize at a Friday night service that is lead by a rabbi, song leader, and band, while families fill the seats at an alternative Shabbat morning minyan service that has become so popular they may need to move it into the main sanctuary.
Finally, we must look even closer to home, into our own sanctuary and into our own hearts. To return to our temple member's question, can we do this at Beth El? The good news is that is many ways we already are. We have some of our own success stories right here: the Friday night Shabbat Hallelu service with a band and more participatory music, the Shabbat morning minyan
we began this year on mornings when there is no bar or bat mitzvah. There was a buzz each time children, teens, and adults of all ages prayed together and stayed afterward to eat lunch together. We have ten brave families this year who have chosen to be part of a brand new program in the sixth grade called Oneg Shabbat, the Joy of Shabbat, designed to allow them to learn more about prayer and to experience Shabbat in community. There are mediations taking place in our new mediation room each week. And, we have all experienced worship transformation during these High Holy Days. Last night, you could choose between two different styles of worship, hopefully finding one that is meaningful to you. Today, we have welcomed our children
and young families back into our sanctuary, so that we can all pray together in one community.
Worship transformation is always a process, however, and we still have far to go. My next door neighbors who attend church regularly were shocked to hear how few people attend services weekly at my synagogue. This past year a mother called me and said that she had misplaced her school calendar and was wondering if I could tell her when the third grade service was. You
shouldn't have to look at your refrigerator to know when to come to services. Every Shabbat service should be welcoming and inviting to all of our generations. On a typical Friday night, I look out at our congregation and realize that I am the youngest person there by several decades. Last
year I recall fondly meeting in the living room of one of our long standing temple havurot. They asked me about my vision for the temple and they asked me why there are so few kids at services. They wanted to see children at services, even if that meant making some changes. Why they said? Because the children are the Jewish future.
We want to make sure there is a next generation at Beth El. The children will help us to breathe new life into our prayer.
There are exciting new developments happening all over and it is time for us to get on board. We have a beautiful new sanctuary and it is time for us to fill it week in and week out with all of our generations. This beautiful space can become a laboratory. Experimentation encourages us to dream and gives us permission to fail. As with any laboratory, there are some floods, some things that don't quite go as expected. It is ok that experiments don't always succeed and we will need to be generous and forgiving. Not everything dreamed up will send everyone home transformed. But, experimentation can also give a taste of what is to come. Experimentation broadcasts the message that innovation is a priority.
Why now? Why today? Because if not now when? Because prayer is too important. Because we can all be transformed through prayer. I, too, want to be able to pray at our services. I invite you join me in being part of a community that takes prayer seriously. I invite you to experiment with me with worship and in doing so, embark on a process of community transformation. Come be a part of our temple's Kedusha Committee and play an active role in reflecting on and making decisions about worship for our community. Call me or Rabbi Berg or Cantor Schwab and share with us your thoughts on what worship should look like. Come to a new class that I will be teaching on Sunday mornings parallel to religious school time on navigating the siddur and uncovering the meaning of prayers—a Liturgy 101 class—for all of you who want to understand more of what goes on in services and who are interested in cultivating your own prayer life. Come
pray not only with your heart and with your mind, but also with your feet. Your presence here matters. Our community needs you—to make a minyan for those who are in mourning, to welcome the newest bar or bat mitzvah into our congregation, to support each other when in need, and to celebrate with joy.
Why now? Because today is Rosh Hashanah, the first day of the New Year, the time for renewal and transformation. We speak often of personal renewal during these days, of striving to be the best individuals that we can be in the year ahead. We must also speak of communal renewal, of opening our doors wide enough to embrace the past and strive to be an even better community in the year ahead. It is a call for renewal from within, not from without—a renewal that begins with institutional self-reflection and ends with self-generated innovations that can deepen the synagogue as a sacred community.
When we return the Torah to the ark later this morning, our voices will swell to a crescendo, as we sing the words Hadesh, hadesh yameinu kekedem - "Renew, renew our days as of old." The Hebrew word hadesh comes from the root hadash, meaning "new." The plain reading of the verse is a call to return to times of old, when things seemingly were better and simpler. But, kedem also means to anticipate, to be in front of. What if we read these words as a call to action for the future: Renew, renew our days as we anticipate our future. Not "Give us back the good old days," but "Make our days full of newness, as You did long ago." Is this not what our synagogue,
a sanctuary ought to be: a sacred community that inspires and leads us to renew our own days? As we endeavor to renew our own communal worship, we will find that we will renew ourselves as well.
