Tag: High Holy Days

Categories
Books High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Theological Dialectics: Balancing Competing Values in Mishkan HaNefesh Pt. II

In my previous entry I discussed Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh, a new commentary on the CCAR machzor. I also described some of the dialectical issues facing its editors — those tensions that arose as they navigated competing values throughout the seven-year editorial process. This time, I will focus on God.

Judaism yearns for God in endless shades of metaphor, and Mishkan HaNefesh honors that theological breadth. Rooted in sources from antiquity to modernity, the many depictions invite us into a nuanced theological conversation at a time when God can seem especially harsh and distant.

Liturgy is where the rubber hits the road for most Jews, theologically speaking. The editorial team seized the opportunity to offer new access points to worshipers. The sources they included expand notions of God and the human-divine relationship far beyond traditional prayer language. Some of these most powerful dialectics include: Faith and doubt; din and rachamim (judgment and compassion); and divine power and human agency.

Faith and DoubtIMG_0555

See Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh Index of Themes, “Theological doubt and struggle, or outright unbelief,” p. 133; “Science and scientists,” p. 132; and “Scientific language in poetry,” pp. 132-133. 

Doubt can be an act of reverence; proof that we spiritual seekers are taking our search seriously. Alongside the many pronouncements of faith, Mishkan HaNefesh makes room for serious questions about divine power and the nature of evil — questions based in Jewish tradition. Editor Rabbi Janet Marder cites the reading “Who is like you among the silent?”[1] which presents a powerful counter-text for Mi Chamocha, in which the addition of a single Hebrew letter turns eilim (gods) to il’mim (the silent [literally, mute] ones) — transforming a prayer in praise of God’s redemptive power to a cry of anguish, denouncing God’s silence in the face of human suffering.[2]

The phrase comes directly from the M’khilta, and the tone of enraged protest was inspired by medieval Jewish poetry from the crusader period. While certainly subversive, this reading is also authentically Jewish: it voices the sorrow, doubt, and sense of abandonment of generations of oppressed Jews.

Notably, the new machzor reaches out to those who struggle with faith. Some readings express skeptical curiosity; others, outright doubt. Rabbi Marder writes:

Some readings are drawn from the writings of scientists who express their own spiritual longing, sense of wonder, or moral convictions. These words… are placed in dialogue with the liturgy — a juxtaposition that conveys the clear message that science and religion may fruitfully co-exist. This machzor also includes contemporary poetry that celebrates the grandeur of creation in quasi-scientific language…Finally, many readings and poems directly articulate theological ambivalence, difficulty with prayer, anger, struggle, and the search for truth.[3]

Din and Rachamim

See Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh Index of Themes,”’Recognizing the good’ and self-forgiveness,” p. 132.

Mishkan HaNefesh urges us to consider the attributes of judgement and mercy in new ways. In particular, readings concerning hakarat hatov (recognizing the good) direct us toward the laudable deeds of the past year in addition to the regrettable ones. (See YK pp. 93, 312, 313, 424, 425, 659, and 667). These good deeds “Serve as a counterweight to the liturgy’s intense focus on scrutiny of one’s own wrongdoing. They also highlight a damaging moral failing — quite pervasive but usually not acknowledged in the prayer book: the inability to regard one’s own behavior with the same gentleness and forgiveness we are expected to offer others.”[4]

When worshipers consider the full range of their actions and emotions as part of heshbon hanefesh (spiritual self-audit), they affirm a point of connection between humanity and divinity. Like God, we have infinite potential for good, but we make mistakes. Like God, we have the ability to forgive. And for many of us, forgiving ourselves is the most difficult forgiveness of all.

Divine Power and Human Agency

See Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh Index of Themes, “Theology of human empowerment”, pp. 133-134

Many familiar liturgical metaphors of the Yamim Nora’im are quite grim: humans as sheep passing under God’s rod and staff; or as guilty children subject to the discipline of a strict parent. Mishkan HaNefesh retains these images, but supplements them with a variety of rabbinic, medieval and modern sources that reframe the power differential.

Take the iconic and terrifying Unetaneh Tokef. This piyyut (liturgical poem) envisions God as judge and arbiter of all creation, deciding (in gory detail!) the fates of every soul. Mishkan HaNefesh retains the piyyut, but includes a “counter-text” immediately opposite:

Left Side (“counter-text”) Right Side (translation)
Let us embrace the day and its holiness,

For this day is a throne of goodness and power.

When the people of Israel do God’s will,

They strengthen God’s power on high.

But when the people of Israel fail to do God’s will,

They weaken — if one might say it —

God’s great power on high.

So let this day recall Your power — and ours.

 Let us proclaim the power of this day —

A day whose holiness awakens deepest awe

(…)

In truth,

You are judge and plaintiff, counselor and witness.

The right side affirms the familiar hierarchical theology of the Yamim; the left side challenges it. The covenant is still hierarchical, but humans have some agency; some role to play in the relationship and in the world. The editors of Mishkan HaNefesh deem this the “theology of human adequacy.”

It is a theology thoroughly grounded in rabbinic literature. One of my favorite examples — also from the machzor — comes from the Midrash:[5]

Said the Roman Procurator Turnus Rufus to Rabbi Akiva: “Whose Acts are greater, those of human beings or those of God?”

Rabbi Akiva answered: “The deeds of human beings are greater.”

(…)

Akiva then brought to Turnus Rufus wheat stalks and cakes, raw flax and fine linen. “The wheat and the flax are the work of God,” said Akiva, “but the cakes and the linen were made by human beings. Are they not superior?”

So our Sages taught: “All created things require refining and improvement. The mustard seed needs to be sweetened; the lupine needs to be soaked; the wheat needs to be ground, and the human being still needs to be repaired. The world that is given into our hands is still incomplete. Go forth, then, and work to make it better.”[6]

In Mishkan HaNefesh, this midrash appears on the left side of the spread in nisim b’chol yom  as if to suggest that just as we thank God for the wonders of our world, we also acknowledge our roles as partners in the work of creation.

—

Danny Moss is a CCAR rabbinical intern and a rising fifth-year rabbinical student at HUC-JIR.

 

[1] YK p. 197

[2] DMhN, p. 72

[3] DMhN, p. 81

[4]  DMhN, p. 71

[5] Tanhuma, Tazria 5; Genesis Rabbah, 11.6

[6] YK p. 163

Categories
Books High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Falling In Love All Over Again With Mishkan HaNefesh

I want to begin this post by sharing with you that I have a deep and true love of Mishkan HaNefesh.  My congregation used the Reform Movement’s new machzor last year, and as a rabbi and as an individual, I found Mishkan HaNefesh to be inspiring and moving.  On Erev Rosh Hashanah, after months of preparation, I stood on the bimah and led my community through our first service with Mishkan HaNefesh.  I watched as my congregants encountered and appreciated the beauty of our new machzor.  I noticed when they lingered over a prayer that moved them and when they held their books to their chests as they sang words that were so familiar that their books were completely unnecessary.  I could see that their hearts were opening to the words and to the experience of praying with Mishkan HaNefesh, and I knew that even as we lived through the inevitable difficulties that that always accompany the first services with any new prayer book, our community had accepted and embraced the opportunity to create new memories with our new prayer books.

Recently, the CCAR Press released Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh: A Guide to the CCAR Machzor.  Reading the detailed commentary and the essays included in Divrei reminded me just how much I love Mishkan HaNefesh.  Divrei is meant to be a “midrash on the machzor” and offers both very practical advice for using Mishkan HaNefesh as well as high level insight into the book’s creation.  There are many, many valuable pieces of information included in Divrei that will undoubtedly enhance the experience and understanding of both congregants and clergy.

Mishkan HaNefesh Discussion 07-29-2015 00

Last summer, my congregation was lucky enough to have Rabbi Hara Person, the publisher and director of the CCAR Press, join us for an evening forum about Mishkan HaNefesh.  In a couple of hours, Rabbi Person explained to us how Mishkan HaNefesh had come into being while also introducing us to some of the innovative features of the new machzor.  This program provided us with invaluable insight into our new prayer books, and as I read Divrei, I felt like I was experiencing an expanded version of Rabbi Person’s wonderful class.

While I found the commentaries at the beginning of Divrei to be enlightening, I thought that the behind-the-scenes information in the essays was really fascinating.  I especially enjoyed reading Rabbi Janet R. Marder’s, “Praying in Captivity: Liturgical Innovation in Mishkan HaNefesh,” because she addressed at length my favorite aspect of Mishkan HaNefesh– the beautiful readings and prayers that Rabbi Marder explains are either, “…recovered from the tradition itself… [or] presented in a boldly contemporary idiom.” (p. 72)

bearman 2When I sought feedback after the holidays last year, I heard more about the new readings and prayers than any other aspect of our services.  I heard over and over again from congregants who looked chagrined as they told me, “I loved the readings so much!  Sometimes I wouldn’t follow along with the service because I wanted to stay on a page that really spoke to me.”  When I replied that I thought it was wonderful that they had connected so deeply with the prayer book, they immediately grew animated as they shared exactly which texts had affected them.  More often than not, the readings that grabbed their attention are what Rabbi Marder calls “counter-texts.” (p. 72)  For my congregants and myself, these counter-texts and their relationships to the canonical prayers were and continue to be incredibly powerful.
As I prepared for the High Holy Days last year, I spent hours reading both volumes of Mishkan HaNefesh like novels– approaching each page with a pencil in hand, filling the margins with notes about how I felt about each text, and drawing stars next to my favorite readings (full disclosure- there were a lot of stars). bearman 3

Early on in my preparation, I decided to share my enjoyment of Mishkan HaNefesh through social media.  My posts and tweets helped create a sense of anticipation and excitement in my community and let my congregants know how deeply I connected with our new machzor.

As I prepare for my second High Holy Days with Mishkan HaNefesh, I find myself eagerly anticipating the choice of which prayers and readings I’ll include in this year’s services.  I’m looking forward to incorporating what I have learned from both last year’s High Holy Days as well as the resources included in Divrei as I seek to create and lead meaningful services for my community.  And, when the choices seems too difficult, I’m going to comfort myself with what I think is one of the most important messages in Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh– namely that, “…what matters is not ‘mastering’ the book, but rather allowing the book to help us experience transformative, sacred moments.” (p. 2)

—

Rabbi Rachel Bearman serves Temple B’nai Chaim in Georgetown, Connecticut.

Categories
Books High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Theological Dialectics: Balancing Competing Values in Mishkan HaNefesh

Creating a new prayer book requires managing competing priorities. Should translations reflect the literal meaning of the Hebrew, or evoke its more poetic and idiomatic features? Should the historic machzor text take priority, or should newer voices enter the conversation? Should the liturgy emphasize personal transformation, or communal complicity?

These questions capture the essential challenge of dialectics: balancing competing values in pursuit of progress. Consider tradition and innovation, the quintessential question of Reform Judaism. These values are not mutually exclusive; rather, they co-exist in dynamic tension. It’s like steering a canoe: if you only paddle on one side, you’ll just go in circles. Only by alternating strokes on both sides will the boat move forward. Similarly, dialectics requires thoughtful attention to a small universe of values.  To paraphrase Hegel, it is by interrogating — but not necessarily resolving — apparent contradictions in values that we can arrive at a higher truth.

The editorial team of Mishkan HaNefesh confronted this small universe of values at every step throughout its seven-year process. The ultimate goal? To guide each worshipper along the path to t’shuvah and to invite the community into a space of sacred transformation.

That is easier said than done. It is easy to get lost in the machzor’s wealth of content and creative possibilities. It can be difficult to even know where to begin! Recently I started reading the forthcoming Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh. It is a sort of “midrash on the machzor,” a guidebook for community leaders and sh’lichei tzibbur, and it is incredibly usefuI. I love this book because it opens a window into the editorial process. It explains decisions and indexes content in a way that contextualizes this vast project, making it much more accessible. I may not personally agree with every decision, but understanding its grounding philosophies will allow me to use the new machzor more skillfully. In particular, its editorial essays suggest myriad ways the machzor can serve as an invitation into some of Judaism’s most worthy conversations.

And that brings me back to dialectics. Consider the ‘right side/left side’ layout, which, according to the editorial vision statement, “encourages diversity, choice, and inclusion of many ‘voices’; the use of counter-text; and a stimulating balance of keva and kavanah.” Those familiar with Mishkan Tefilah will recognize the format immediately, but the machzor takes the philosophy even further by including many surprisingly subversive texts opposite the more traditional versions.

The most dramatic example is the depiction of God. The God of the High Holy Day liturgy can seem distant and punishing; even terrifying. But that is not the whole story. Avinu Malkeinu, a sort of anthem of the High Holy Days, voices the dialectical dilemma of divinity. Even when we speak in hierarchical terms, we conceive of God as both a sovereign and a parent. Both roles evoke accountability and intimidation in their power differential, but they also draw a contrast: the political ruler is distant and largely theoretical. The parent is intimate; a bedrock of our immediate reality. But we hope that both will exercise compassion and patience even though they must govern and discipline. If these concepts all inhere in one terse phrase from our liturgy, how much more nuanced are the many Jewish conceptions of God! By inhabiting the richly-layered world of Jewish dialectics, Mishkan HaNefesh presents a challenging and complex theological atlas. In subsequent entries of Ravblog I will examine a few specific ways the editors approached their work, highlighting their own words from Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh. Ultimately, wrestling with these values both honors our multi-vocal tradition and opens doors that many in our communities might otherwise find locked and barred.

Order Divrei Mishkan HaNefesh

Danny is a CCAR rabbinical intern and a rising fifth-year rabbinical student at HUC-JIR.

Categories
News

Bringing In Mishkan HaNefesh

Two years ago, Temple Beth Sholom had a fire that forced us to rebuild. Along with the destruction of our building, our prayer books, including our Gates of Repentance, were deemed unfit and we buried them in genizah, under the foundation of our new chapel.

This tragedy afforded us a very unique opportunity; without any committees or genizalengthy conversations with the congregation, we chose to immediately purchase Mishkan HaNefesh. The congregation was not totally unfamiliar with Mishkan HaNefesh as we piloted the Yom Kippur Afternoon Service the year before. The Afternoon Service was unique, so it did not give us the full flavor of what Mishkan HaNefesh had to offer.

I spent the three months leading up to the High Holy Days sharing personal articles about transitioning to our new machzor, along with articles from colleagues. My hope was to build anticipation and excitement within the congregation.

Our congregation’s practice is for every person to purchase and bring their personal copy of the machzor for the High Holy Days. We have some available, but ideally we hope our congregants will Mishkan HaNefesh Cover Picture (Light) 10_14_2014invest in their own copy. Many pre-purchased the book and we provided personalized bookplates. We had a number of copies for congregants to borrow and on Rosh HaShanah, all of the books had a card inside. I invited the congregation once again to purchase their own copy. I asked them to fill out the card that evening, give it to a greeter, and then take the book home. The next week, we had the Yom Kippur edition and personalized book plates waiting for all those who purchased them on Rosh HaShanah and the days between. The response was greater than we expected and we had boxes of books waiting for pick up on Yom Kippur. The personalized plates allowed us to then confirm which books were ours and which belonged to congregants.

On Erev Rosh HaShanah, I used the sermon as an opportunity for us to explore our High Holy Days liturgy, its history and in it’s present form. I encouraged the congregation to make the prayer experience their personal experience. “Explore the text, get lost in the readings, don’t worry, we will call out the page numbers and let you know where we are when you’re ready to rejoin the communal prayer. There are no italics, therefore, if you want to read along, then please, read along!” This meant I needed to be aware of my pacing and not only have the congregation follow me, but allow me to follow the congregation.

My goal was to not be the leader of the service, but a participant along with them—to be a guide as we trekked through our High Holy Days experience together. “Guest readers” were not included in the service in order to maintain the flow. Instead, people were invited to participate in the Torah and Haftarah service. And my Cantor, David Reinwald and Cantor Shannon McGrady Bane took us on a completely different journey with Jonah on Yom Kippur Afternoon. They chanted the book of Jonah in English!

The experience of these first High Holy Days with Mishkan HaNefesh was greater than I expected! The congregation was grateful for the opportunity to pray at their pace and to be active participants. I appreciated hearing all the voices from the congregation throughout all the services. The prep work leading up to the services was greater as I needed to maintain the momentum of the service and not go on automatic pilot. The exploration of the text was well worth it and enhanced my personal preparations.

If you can, take the plunge into Mishkan HaNefesh. It will be worth the investment of money, time, and the heart.

— 

Rabbi Heidi Cohen serves Temple Beth Sholom in Santa Ana, California.

Categories
High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Taking Mishkan HaNefesh Off the Page and Into Our Hearts

As we prepared to lead Yizkor from Mishkan HaNefesh we were challenged with how to make a large space feel intimate.  Our High Holiday services take place at the Performing Arts Center of SUNY Purchase, an intimate concert hall that seats 1500 replete with a stage large enough for any philharmonic orchestra.  Our plan was to use the ritual of the seven candles as outlined in Mishkan HaNefesh but in such a large space, we were concerned that the significance of these candles may lose its meaning for those sitting in the upper balcony.

Two things serendipitously came together.  The first is a page in Mishkan HaNefesh that is set apart from the others.  In the midst of the Yizkor service one finds a two-page spread that is different in color, whose words simply say, “Yizkor Elohim” and then a variety of words, randomly spaced (although nothing in Mishkan HaNefesh appears random) across the page describing different relations and the emotions one might feel having them gone.  Verbs like, “I miss…  I remember… I think of…I mourn… i promise,” and relations like, “my mother… my father… my uncle… my friend… my companion.”  Amidst the plethora of amazing readings and poems, I personally find it to be one of the most powerful set of pages in the entire set.  I wanted our congregants to be able to spend some time meditating on those pages.

The second “aha” moment was a Facebook posting (thanks CCAR Facebook page) of Rosh HaShanah services at Denise Eger’s congregation in Los Angeles.  Student Rabbi Jeremy Gimbel led a rousing noggin with everyone standing and dancing and clapping.  Up, above all those on the bima, projected on a screen was a piece of the artwork found in Mishkan HaNefesh.  “This is how we are going to bring that page from the Yizkor services to our congregants!” I thought.yizkor

I quickly sent an email to Hara Person and Dan Medwin asking how we could get a jpeg or PDF of those pages from the Yizkor service to project on our large stage.  For years we have projected the stained glass windows from our sanctuary on the scrim behind our portable aron kodesh.  Now was an opportunity to transform that moment of worship.

During the days between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, Dan and Hara quickly sent us a JPEG of that page.  Our projectionist jumped on it, transforming a static JPEG into move-able text where one word appeared, then another and another.  He also played with the background colors to a project a reddish hue, bringing it more in-line with the coloring of the concert hall.  In this small (albeit complicated by my standards) act, we were able to move Mishkan HaNefesh off the page and into people’s hearts.  I have no idea how others felt about it (no one complained which I take as a compliment).  It was for me, one of the most moving moments of our chagim.

So once again, hats off to the editorial team of Mishkan HaNefesh for their creativity in worship and to our staff at the CCAR for being agents instead of gatekeepers, of saying yes when they could have said no, and for being so responsive to one rabbi’s request.

 

—

Rabbi Daniel Gropper serves the Community Synagogue of Rye, New York. 

Categories
High Holy Days Rabbis

Inspired by Hannah: A Conversation for the New Year

I was ordained eight years ago in a beautiful and sacred ceremony.  Standing on the bimah before our beloved Rosh Yeshivah, bordered on the transcendental.  When he blessed me, I cried.  It was a moment I will carry with me always.

But my ordination marked more than the beginning of my rabbinate.  It also marked the beginning of my motherhood too.  Just three weeks prior to ordination, I had my first child, a baby boy.  My first taste of motherhood was unlike anything I could ever have predicted or imagined. My emotions were fierce and turbulent, and my attachment immediate and unwavering.

My ordination was the first time I had ever left my son, and I was a wreck.  Those early post-postpartum days wreak havoc on the mind and body, and I was feeling the strain of excess hormones, total exhaustion, and round-the-clock milk production.

I remember bringing my hand pump with me to ordination, in fact. I stashed it beneath my seat, and dashed to the bathroom when I couldn’t stand the pressure a single second more. I remember standing in the bathroom, robe open, shirt unceremoniously un-tucked and unbuttoned, trying desperately to collect as much milk as I could with this irritatingly inefficient apparatus.

I was sweating, worried on one hand that I was missing my ordination, but on the other that I was neither collecting enough milk nor relieving the pressure that was building steadily in my chest.  I hated the fact that my ordination ceremony was happening while I was stuck in the bathroom, but I hated even more that I had left my three week old at home. I was overwhelmed by this emotional face-off, and unnerved by my inability to mitigate this internal strife.

I was a new mother and a new rabbi at the very same time.  Two paths, some would say divergent, others, perhaps not, and two very separate worlds of responsibility and meaning.  These two worlds appeared simultaneously, with little signage and no GPS in sight.  How would my rabbinate pave the way for motherhood?  Or rather, how would motherhood pave the way for my rabbinate?  I set out in search of balance, a way to honor these two parts of my life.

Eight years and three more children later, I am still searching.  I have worked part-time and part-part time.  I have prioritized here and prioritized there, working nights so I could have days, and days so I could have nights.  I have wiggled and jiggled and maneuvered in more ways than I can count.  And while every way had its merit, no way was perfect.  I wonder if I stumbled upon the best way to achieve said balance or if some path has eluded me as of yet.  It remains to be seen.

These days, I am home, with no work to put a claim on my time besides the work I create for myself.  And yet, the personal versus professional dichotomy still remains. In between the diaper duty and the laundry and the dishes, I spend a lot of time thinking about the rabbinate, and how it fits in to the crumby corners of domestic life, and how it spills over from the lofty, dignified walls of the synagogue into the messy, sticky, soggy world of a family. What does it mean to be a rabbi when you are stuck cleaning a toilet?  Or changing a diaper?  What does it mean to be a rabbi when you’re carrying a baby, along with two backpacks and a lunch bag to boot?  What does it mean to be a rabbi when all signifiers of esteem and import and formality have been stripped away?  What does it mean to be a rabbi when the title you use most is “mommy”?  Where does “rabbi” fit in to this picture?

The truth is, I don’t know.  These days, I am not sure where “mommy” begins and “rabbi” ends.  I’m not certain I’ll ever know.  The view from where I stand is foggy at best.

I know I am not the first or the last to ask these kinds of questions. And I know my struggle to define my identity is not unique to me, or to mothers in the rabbinate, or even to mothers in general. But each of us speaks from a place that is unique, and each of us adds our own voice to the conversation.  In the New Year, I want to add to this conversation.  I want to be a part of this conversation.  I want to start a conversation.

—

Rabbi Sara Sapadin resides in New York City.  She most recently served Temple Israel of the City of New York.

Categories
High Holy Days Israel

Rosh Hodesh Elul at the Western Wall

This was not the first time I spent the night with her. I’ve lost track of the hotels in which we’ve slept. She in her bed and I in mine, I keenly aware of her powerful presence throughout the night.

Yet this was a first for me, and for her. She had been carried into the open plaza hours earlier by another who loves her as I do. Now it was my turn to sit with her, to guard her through the final hours before dawn.

Although we had never met, I located my two sisters in the quiet darkness. They told me how the month before, one of them had accompanied our beloved, but they were forced to leave the plaza at dawn. When our beloved’s followers arrived at the appointed hour to celebrate with her, she sat in a police station, held tightly by a woman who wanted only to protect the beloved. The faithful gathered without her, mourning her absence, determined to find another way to insure her presence next month.

This night and this day would be different. Together, we who love her would return her to the circle of disciples who would arrive in three hours.

We sat close to one another, three women surrounding a scroll that has been carried by our people for thousands of years, over deserts and mountains, across seas, a scroll whose words are inscribed on our hearts. The day before we had begun the portion that includes: “צדק צדק תרדוף you shall, you must pursue justice.” (Deuteronomy 16:20).

Every month, my sisters gather at the Western Wall to welcome the new moon. And every month there are new challenges and obstacles to the pursuit of just, equal access to this ancient sacred space.

Elul is the month of preparation for Rosh HaShanah, a month when Jews immerse ourselves in self reflection, when we consider our deeds of the past year. Every morning during the month of Elul, we sound the shofar to wake ourselves up, to look back with clarity so that we can look forward with compassion and determination. We spent a night of watching so that our sisters could welcome the month of Elul with the Torah as our guide; we accompanied her through the night so would she accompany us through this month of searching and beyond.

Soon after I arrived at the plaza, a policeman stood before us and demanded that we unwrap our precious cargo, that we reveal our beloved. When he saw the Torah, he demanded that we, and that she must leave the plaza. My companions were prepared for this challenge. They called — and woke — the Chief of Police, who told the officer to leave us alone.

It is a rare privilege to experience the arrival of a new day. We sat together, flooded with wonder as the night dissolved into light, shielding our precious legacy. The ancient rabbis, driven by a desire to praise the Holy One at every hour of day and night, were keen observers of the changes of light, and air, and atmosphere as the earth circles the sun. Trembling, we waited for the dawn, and for our sisters.

The women began arriving, donning tallitot and tefillin, exchanging glances of appreciation and concern. Some had been stopped as they entered the plaza because they carried shofarot. Yet each who arrived brought with her the conviction that it is her right, and her responsibility, to raise her voice in prayer, in song, to welcome this month.

My night of watching had come to an end; it was time to return the beloved to her followers. “For from Zion will come the Torah, and God’s word from Jerusalem.” With pride and joy, one of my sisters carried the Torah through our group, and each woman reached out to touch her.

When we unrolled the scroll, our hearts opened. On this first day of this new month, we remembered sixteen year old Shira Banki, who was murdered as she walked in the Jerusalem Gay Pride parade two weeks before. As we lifted the Torah, we called upon her as our tree of life, renewing our commitment to remain firmly planted in our pursuit of justice, in paths of peace.

Every day during the month of Elul, we conclude the morning service by sounding the shofar. Thanks to the determination of several women, and the intervention of the Chief of Police, every woman present was invited to take a turn blowing the ram’s horn. For some, it was a first opportunity to bring this ancient instrument to life. One of us held the Torah close to her heart as she lifted a shofar to her lips  She joined the circle of women who welcomed Elul with cacophonous, piercing, haunting blasts that reverberated across the plaza.

May the shofar’s call wake up each of us, renewing our determination to work for justice and peace in this month of Elul and in the new year, 5776.

—

Rabbi Sue Levi Elwell is scholar in residence at Washington Hebrew Congregation. She is also the editor of The Open Door, the CCAR Haggadah (2002).

This blog was originally posted on The Times of Israel.

Categories
Books High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

What Should a Prayer Book Look Like?

I grew up using a Holy Day prayer book called The Union Prayer Book II, Revised Edition. It was small, black, and either dull or appropriately understated in appearance, depending on your perspective. Even its name was remarkably prosaic. It didn’t tell you that it was a High Holy Day prayer book, only that it was the other prayer book, the UPB I being the edition for Shabbat.

If it’s what you grow up with, it is what you think is right, the way things should be. The English was a bit flowery, there wasn’t a lot of Hebrew, and it included instructions to the congregation of when to stand and when to sit, like stage directions in a script.

Holding a new prayer book in your hands is a revelation. After years of reading out of the same book, it starts to feel like an old friend. We encounter the new prayer book and think, “Are prayer books supposed to/allowed to look like that?”

Prayer books are a snapshot of the Jewish community: its theology, its social dynamics, its aesthetics; each prayer book is a portrait of our people in a different place and time. None are the same, because we, as a people, are an evolving religious community.

Sometimes we forget that prayer books themselves were once an innovation. There were no prayer books before the Middle Ages. In the early rabbinic period, there was much greater fluidity and spontaneity in the language of prayer than we have today. Prayer books helped to freeze the language of prayer.

The printing press changed everything. Jews were among the best customers of these new printed books, and by the late Middle Ages, Jews everywhere could pray with a book in their hands.

Even today, it is the publisher who decides what goes into a prayer book, and what it should look like. Which brings us to the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the Reform movement, and the aesthetics of Mishkan Hanefesh.

The first thing you will notice is that Mishkan Hanefesh is not one prayer book, it is two. The Rosh Hashanah book has a gold cover, and the Yom Kippur book has a silver cover. I think the gold represents the theme of God’s sovereignty, which is reaffirmed on Rosh Hashanah, the birthday of the world. Silver suggests the white of Yom Kippur, the cleansing of sins, the purification of the soul.

Inside, the pages themselves are set off by colors. Traditional texts and translations appear on white pages, usually on the right side of a two-page spread. Grey pages (on the left side) offer alternative prayers, sometimes creative meditations on the theme of the traditional text, sometimes poetry that speaks to the theme, even “counter-texts” that speak for those who struggle with the traditional text.

Then there are the blue pages, meant for study and reflection. These pages, interspersed throughout the prayer book, invite the worshipper to take detours, to go deeper, to spend time in thought, not in recitation.

Of course, technological advances make all of this possible, but the application of publishing tools is done in a way to invite a more spiritual, and a more flexible experience both for the worshipper and for the worshipping community. No two congregations are likely to have identical experiences with Mishkan Hanefesh, and from year to year, we will find new riches in its pages.

Mishkan Hanefesh has done away with stage directions. Every congregation has its own customs, and the prayer book no longer tells us what to do. That can be unsettling, but also liberating. It empowers us to think about our ritual more consciously.

Finally, Mishkan Hanefesh just looks different. The Hebrew typeface is original, and was created expressly for this Machzor. It is elegant but not ornate; it rests easy on the eyes.

And, then, there is the art work. Yes, this prayer book has art! Clearly, representational art would be a distraction from the deeper themes of prayer. The art is abstract, suggestive, inspired by the prayers it accompanies, but not explicitly interpreting them. That is left up to us. The artist, Joel Shapiro, worked in the medium of woodcuts. You can see the grain of the wood, the rough edges of the cut, the simple primal shapes, all of which direct us back to a confrontation with our own raw self.

Welcome to Mishkan Hanefesh, your new sanctuary of the soul.

— 

Rabbi Larry Milder serves Congregation Beth Emek in Pleasanton, CA.
Categories
High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

HaBocheir B’shirei Zimra: The Ones Who Choose Song

We cantors had this crazy idea – well, I had this crazy idea: a new machzor deserved new music.  The process of creating a new machzor transformed the conversations about the narrative of the High Holy Days; that conversation should extend to the message and experience of its music as well.  So two years ago, we convened a group of cantorial colleagues to study Mishkah HaNefesh, to delve into its new texts, layouts, and flow of prayer and song.  This was truly an inspired combination of cantors with different backgrounds, experiences and talents; our study and dialogue was of great depth and excitement as we considered our current musical repertoire for the High Holy Days, where we wanted either a new musical expression of a familiar text or deliberating about what we would aspire to have for some brand new text.

The journey has been amazing.  We approached a cohort of composers from the Reform Jewish world, our friends and colleagues who are members of either the American Conference of Cantors or the Guild of Temple Musicians, with a bold invitation – to donate their time and talent to us through the gift of a musical composition to be part of what we hoped would be a ground-breaking anthology of new High Holy Day music.  Their generosity of spirit was overwhelming.  Our committee then proceeded to commission each composer with a text and genre of musical direction, specifically chosen for each composer.  And so, Shirei Mishkan HaNefesh was born, the newest music created by those who are called to express our deepest hopes and aspirations through music, the musical threads of Mishkan HaNefesh.

In the ensuing months, we spent time in dialogue with each composer as their creative juices flowed.  Together, we tweaked and refined each draft of the composition, bringing the text to life through the musical notes and voices; this partnership helped to create the extraordinary musical expression that we envisioned and hoped for.

Fast forward to our recent ACC-GTM convention in Fort Lauderdale – the first copies of Shirei Mishkan HaNefesh arrived!  In keeping with the goal of honoring the generous contributions of the composers, the volume also contains short statements from each composer about their musical inspiration for their composition.  We chose to present the entirety of its contents to the convention participants in order for everyone to have a more concrete experience of the music, and enable all of us to determine the ways we would use pieces in our services.

Of course, that presentation required rehearsal and preparation.  What an experience it was, to sing and hear the notes come off the page, springing to life as we began to sing. The resonance of the piano, the soaring voice of each cantor, the blending of choral voices, the rising and expansion of sound and word: we had seen it on paper, heard it in our heads, yet the layers of sound and the diversity of expression were so much more moving than I even anticipated.  As the Editorial Chair of the project, I had the opportunity to write some introductory words to the volume.  Experiencing the music coming to life, I feel even more confident in the hopes I expressed there, that these beautiful musical expressions of our sacred texts will inspire all those who hear them, helping them enter into the Mishkan of prayer in the Days of Awe, with a sense of fulfillment and peace.

—

Cantor Susan Caro serves Northern Virgina Hebrew Congregation in Reston, Virginia.  She is also the Editorial Chair of Shirei Mishkan HaNefesh.

Categories
High Holy Days Machzor Mishkan haNefesh

Sing Unto Adonai A New Song

Shiru l’Adonai Shir Chadash­–Sing unto Adonai a new song. As worship leaders and worshipers, how many times have we heard this charge from psalm 96? It is a wonderful reminder of the interplay between scripture and liturgy, and their fundamental difference. Scripture does not change. Indeed, even the would-be “mistakes” of the Torah are not corrected. Rather, alongside them in our chumashim we see how certain words really should be spelled and/or vocalized. Liturgy on the other hand has long been fluid–ever changing to match the new hopes, desires, frustrations, and morals of humankind’s maturation. Singing to God a new song is to constantly find new ways to express our evolving expression to God. As a result, change in liturgy and the music therein has been constant not only in our movement, but also in other Jewish movements and in other religions generally. As we pray together each week, we attempt to transform ourselves so that we can meet the moral and spiritual challenges each changing day brings.

One exception to this constant, gradual change is the liturgy and music of our High Holy Day worship. Like a massive ship, the services for the Days of Awe carry many more of our congregants, and meet far less frequently than our Shabbat services. While the liturgy and music of the High Holy Days we know today is quite different from that of even 50 years ago, they are still progressing at a much slower pace. Therefore, change to this grand liturgy is more jarring and difficult when it comes, even when that change is long overdue. But as the High Holy Day liturgy helps us make cheshbon nefesh–accounting for our souls–it is of utmost importance to keep these prayers and their musical expression up to date with humanity’s ever changing moral, spiritual and aesthetic requirements.

What could fill cantors and synagogue musicians with more purpose and joy than to literally follow the psalmist’s urge to sing a new song unto God? Shirei Mishkan Hanefesh, the musical companion to our new machzor, Mishkan Hanefesh, attempts to fulfill the monumental task of creating new melodies to express our liturgy during the yamim noraim. Indeed, the beauty of this new music is that it will make more of our liturgy accessible to our congregations. The goal of introducing these new settings, however, is not to replace the older ones, but to live alongside them so that they add to the richness of our prayer. While liturgy changes, scripture’s grounding constancy reminds us that we must walk a careful path between change and tradition. Carefully updated liturgy and music for our High Holy Days bring our penitential prayers fuller expression, but they cannot effectively do so without the same attentiveness to the established prayers and music that have carried us thus far.

Cantor Daniel Mutlu serves Congregation Beth Israel in Houston, Texas.  Cantor Mutlu was also on the editorial committee for Shirei Mishkan HaNefesh.