Temple of Judaism Lite

The other day I was talking with my temporary counsellor. She knew I was not happy here. Part of my difficulty has been in not finding a Jewish community that I can relate to. Actually, it really has more to do with davenning (praying).

I am a davenning fool. At my previous (C)synagogue, I attended morning minyan almost every day. I attended services every Shabbat, both Friday and Saturday and every festival. I complain that the services are too short. The highlight of my life has been the hours I spent davenning barefoot during Yom Kippur at Chabad one year.

I am particularly enamoured of Hasidic philosophy. I remember once reading that everyone is gifted in some manner- some have a gift for davenning, others for studying Torah, and others for tzedakah (charity). And, I would add, some are gifted in chesed (deeds of lovingkindness). Well, I have the gift of davenning. I took to it like a duck to water. The first time I opened the siddur and prayed, I was transported- such extravagant, ravishing poetry.

Many Jews I have known, usually disaffected, have complained that they do not know Hebrew and prayer is meaningless to them, not to mention, boring. I find this hard to comprehend. I daven in English. Perhaps it is as meaningful as one makes it- it all depends on what you bring to it. If you do not bring yourself, then how can you be engaged? If you do not believe that you can connect with G-d, then you are mouthing words to nothing. To a rational person who does not believe in the possibility of connection, indeed, it would seem absurd.

It also requires focus. Strong concentration. This is something that comes naturally to me. Jews have been looking to other religions, other kinds of meditation, to fill the gap in their connection to G-d, and sometimes, to Judaism. I think that the fixed prayers are a genius system for meditation and contemplation. There is a logic to the structure and content. The result can be that you traverse different levels of consciousness until your entire being becomes one of praise and the words do not really matter any longer. You simply become... Praise.

At the synagogue I usually attend here, the rabbi has added niggunim (wordless melodies) in various places after having chopped off almost everything up to Shacharit (morning service). Instead of preparing for the central prayers, the Kriat Sh'ma and the Amidah, after a brief niggun we are plunged right into Shacharit. To me it feels shockingly abrupt. No dipping your toe into the waters- damn the torpedoes!

Adonai passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and broke the rocks in pieces before G-d; but G-d was not in the wind; and after the wind, an earthquake; but G-d was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake, a fire; but G-d was not in the fire; and after the fire, a thin voice of silence [ a still, small voice] (I Kings 19:11-12).

The other thing guaranteed, it seems, to leave me in misery, is the rabbi's little moments of guidance. The genius of the fixed prayers is that they provide a structure and encourage and nurture an inward flow- all prayer leads to an inner silence, perhaps directly to that "still small voice" that Eliyahu (Elijah) met. The rabbi, however, will comment on a bit of the Torah portion, or on middot, or on "mindfulness", wherever he sees fit, all the while, pulling me out of either my reaching for G-d, my connecting to G-d, my conversing with G-d, my contemplation of G-d, or my standing mute before G-d- out of the flow. When I am barely through half of the Amidah, another niggun begins. So, often, I feel as if I am back where I started.

I suppose that everyone who davens with kavannah (devout intent) has a singular purpose that meets their needs. In my case, that time davenning helps me to renew and refresh my pursuit of holiness. Cleaving to G-d is a reality. Even when it does not seem to happen, the effort sustains me. It is hard to be a Jew. It is important to drink from the Source in order to live a holy, Jewish life, with purity of heart. Wrestling with G-d and with my own proclivities seems to be my lot in life. I cannot simply sustain myself with affirmations. Nor, I think, can anyone. I come away from services, frustrated , annoyed and disappointed.

Currently, I have this dilemma. There is a temple with more traditional services across town, where sometimes, the davenning makes me feel at home. The rest of the time, I have to move several times because of all the talking. On the other hand, the synagogue I usually attend (Temple of Judaism Lite), provides me with a community I am getting to know- I am not anonymous. Neither satisfies my most fundamental need.

The counsellor said that I should look at what I can bring to it and she is right. However, I have no family, I have no friends here, I have no one and I don't even want to be here. I have no earthly foundation to raise me up and keep me strong- no bedrock of prayer and sacred community to assuage my misery and give me a reason to spread my wings- somewhere I can hang my kippah and call it "home". Without that stability, I feel lost and adrift. The counsellor said that I should not look outside but inside myself- self-reliance. I said, that is not the Jewish way. I am not self-sufficient. Frankly, neither do I think that G-d is enough, though He is the final comfort and hope when all else fails or disappoints. A Jewess without a community striving for holiness is like a limb without a body.

Catherine Madsen sums up my dilemma quite well in a letter of rebuttal to the charges of "art-snob hyperbole" regarding her essay on the watering down of words, Kitsch and Liturgy. Madsen writes:

Arlene Goldbard is, of course, right that working on substantive matters with people we may or may not like is the essence of communal religious life, and that we can do it with or without wholly satisfying liturgy.

....But there's a point Goldbard misses: kitsch, when used publicly and set above criticism, doesn't remain a matter of personal taste. It becomes genuinely demoralizing to certain serious and committed people who badly want to become stronger people and can't manage it on a diet of liturgical mind candy. The operative words of the sentence she takes as quintessential "art-snob hyperbole" are abjectness and humiliation: it's painful when the writers of liturgy consistently heap contempt on our needs and on the intelligence of the people we pray with—even the people we may not like. I call it "the worst humiliation" because the rest of religious life really is full of honor and purpose; where is the capacity of new liturgical writing for honor and purpose?

I am wrestling with the question of "should I leave or should I stay"? In addition, I know the rabbi is trying to bring disaffected Jews back to the fold, and is succeeding in terms of numbers. One person stated that she loved the liturgy because it was not "intimidating". He is using the tools of Jewish Renewal mixed with simple Hasidic philosophy as a framework. And yet, there is no heart to it, I feel. It seems a dish served cold, and the elaborate and demanding sumptuousness of Jewish thought and questioning has been diluted into what I think of as "Judaism Lite". If water does seek its own level, then, currently, I am wracked with thirst. Moreover, to paraphrase the wondrous Auntie Mame, it seems to me that "Judaism is a banquet and we poor suckers are starving to death".