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Letters to the Editor

My warmest congratulations to you on printing Warren Hoffman’s article “Singing Too Loudly” (Spring 2008). This obviously is not the only issue confronting our movement now, but to my mind, it is a serious and egregious one. We must address it as urgently as we can.

Many congregations have undertaken to inaugurate procedures that would lead to a more participatory and revitalized service. Ten years ago, I attended such a service at Temple Emanuel in Newton, Massachusetts, when my granddaughter, Kayla Greenberg, became bat mitzvah. Neither the service nor the reception violated halakhic norms, and the celebrating family was able to remain within the synagogue after the service and participate in a joyful celebration. This is the direction in which our movement must go. It may not answer all of our questions, nor dissolve our dilemma, but certainly it is a good way to start. A rejuvenated service might well lead to a deeper understanding of the role tradition has played and can play in our changing world.

RABBI MYRON M. FENSTER
Rabbi Emeritus, Shelter Rock Jewish Center, Roslyn, New York

I respectfully disagree with the premise of “Singing Too Loudly,” which I read as encouraging congregants to sing as loudly as possible during services.

The Conservative shuls that I attend in the Washington, D.C., area do not suffer the dearth of vocal participation that the author has apparently encountered elsewhere. Most of us do seem to be aware of the rule of thumb that a cantor once mentioned to me: Sing with gusto if you are so moved, but keep your volume lower than the leader’s. That rule ensures that all the congregation can hear and follow the specific melody and pace that the leader has identified as appropriate for the occasion. It also prevents the kind of friction mentioned by the author, which is so regrettable in any worship service. (Not to compare the Kaddish Yatom, the Mourner’s Kaddish, to singing, but I recall that several times right after my father died I literally was not able to hear myself reciting kaddish due to another mourner who was standing near me.)

Of course there are exceptions, but they usually are not disruptive only because they are not the common practice. There is a wonderful man at my shul who sings with all his heart, as loudly as he can, out of key, and we (mostly!) all love him because we know his unique past and the haunting memories that stoke his fervor. I respect his special needs even while I temper my own.

After reading Warren Hoffman’s article, I have but one thing to say: Keep on singing as loudly as you can! As a Jew-by-choice who came to Conservative Judaism through a classical Reform congregation, I was immediately impressed by the warmth of my current synagogue, West Suburban Temple Har Zion, but immediately felt lost as I am so bad with languages that I am lucky that I learned my native tongue. But then magic occurred. My neighbor in shul became my coach (Mrs. Farhi – and did she sing too loudly!) and Cantor Figa’s strong voice began to teach me the prayers. When the cantor went on vacation, I feared getting lost. But other worshippers became my teachers by taking Psalm 98 to heart. They filled the room with their voices and gave me the support I needed. Every week these strong too-loud voices taught me more and more parts of the Kabbalat Shabbat service from the siddur so that soon I became comfortable and confident at services. I could enjoy the warmth of congregational prayer because of the gift of others’ knowledge and strong voices. On vacation I fit right into other congregations. The blessing of being with voices that sang loudly has given me this opportunity.

I really prize the fact that on Kabbalat Shabbat someone at the service joins the cantor as he sings (sometimes even a baby or toddler will sing along in his or her own way) and that the young member (or bar or bat mitzvah) leading a prayer who falters is uplifted by some strong voice in the congregation.

I would like to invite Mr. Hoffman to sit with me at our shul on Friday evening. I will enjoy the pleasure of his singing too loudly so that I can learn more.

Warren Hoffman’s article unfortunately tells a story of someone who knows what he likes and likes what he knows. I am happy that he finds his havurah service with all its happy-clappy trappings to bring him true kavanah. He fails to understand that some people “can connect to liturgy, to Judaism, and to God” by sitting “passively,” hearing a good hazzan and choir deliver the service. There is no question that participation in some form by the congregation is important for a complete service but a solo voice from the participating congregation can be a bit annoying and perhaps intimidating to someone who may not be totally comfortable with or knowledgeable about the Hebrew text. Perhaps Mr. Hoffman and his havurah can plan and execute their own festival and holy day service so he will not have to be an “interloper of sorts” at these times.

I appreciate Warren Hoffman’s story. For me, too, music can readily facilitate my kavanah and my connection to transcendent spirituality, beyond the limitations of language.

I identify with the well-known story of the ignorant boy who enters a service near the end of Yom Kippur. The boy wants to join in the praying but does not know how to read. Finally, he takes out a flute and plays his yearning for God from the depth of his heart. Considering the violation of convention, it is striking that the Baal Shem Tov said that this action carried all the prayers of the community straight to heaven.

Mr. Hoffman’s article also made me reflect upon how music can offer perspective on the more general issues of participation and professionalism in congregations. Within Conservative congregations, I have experienced a great diversity of music, ranging from an operatic cantorial style that is performing to us more than praying with us to a folk style accompanied by hand drums.

I also have seen wide-ranging positions about using musical instruments, ranging from vocals only to a massive organ on the bimah.

With both music and Judaism, I have come to value both a foundation of basic rote knowledge and skill and aspects that are more spontaneous, personalized, and creative. Sometimes I just want a place to go and be uplifted by what others are doing, and at other times my connection requires my active participation and preparation. At their best, music and Judaism can build community across the often exaggerated boundaries of genre or denomination (for example, consider the music of Matisyahu).

Both Jewish and musical gatherings feel the most transcendent when the leader/performer is imbued with the sense that he or she is not the source but at best an indirect channel, and that we are all connected by and to something much bigger than any one of us.

I believe we all need and deserve both music and Judaism in our lives too much to leave either of them completely to the professionals. I am not sure that all of Mr. Hoffman’s denominational generalizations are completely accurate, but his point is well taken that the bigger and more formal any institution becomes, the greater the challenge to maintain the vibrancy and personal connection.

Rabbi Joshua Cahan (“Women and Tefillin,” Spring 2008) and Tefillin Barbie creator Jen Taylor Friedman (“Should All Barbies Wear Tefillin?” Spring 2008) argue that egalitarianism requires that the traditional male practice of wearing tefillin becomes obligatory for girls and appropriate for Barbie dolls. But hasn’t egalitarianism gone too far? In the Conservative movement, you have to be blind not to see its effect – boys have become a distinct minority in our synagogues. This, of course, is not equality, but represents a serious new form of de facto discrimination, which is being ignored by our movement leaders, scholars, congregational rabbis, and amazingly even the boys’ parents.

When girls were underrepresented, policies and efforts were appropriately changed to accommodate this crucial half of our children. Now that the pendulum has swung too far, similar attention and actions are needed for our boys.

Between us, my family includes former USYers, youth directors, and a co-chair of METNY USY alumni. I’d like to thank the Conservative movement for pushing my family and many of our friends toward the Orthodox movement. In case you can’t tell, that was sarcastic. It seems that United Synagogue is pushing more and more of its more traditional members out of the movement. With articles like those by Rabbi Cahan and Jen Friedman pushing their sense of what should be done – as in women wearing tefillin – we traditionalists are facing more and more scorn, especially from the clergy and lay leaders.

United Synagogue has in the past 10 to 20 years forced egalitarianism on its member shuls, forced us to accept gay and lesbian rabbinical students and clergy, and some member shuls have gone as far as to force their members to make their daughters wear kippot, tallitot, and tefillin. Let me make this clear: I have no problem with egalitarianism for those who want it. But I and my family have a major problem with my or any other shul forcing me to do this. I can hear the retorts now: “Just go to a shul that is more toward the traditional side of the Conservative movement.” In New York, Los Angeles, or Chicago that may be a viable option, but in a small enclave like Charlotte or any place in the south, it is not. Here there are just one Reform temple, one Conservative synagogue, and Chabad. I don’t feel I should have to go to Chabad just so my daughters are not forced to do something that is against our beliefs; but that is where United Synagogue is pushing us. Egalitarianism is okay if it is a choice, but when it is not – when you are made to feel that you do it or else go away – it is dead wrong!

Rabbi Jerome Epstein’s article “Jewish Education: The Jewish Child’s Birthright” (Spring 2008) does not mention the Solomon Schechter day school system as a means (probably the gold standard) for Conservative Jews to educate their children.

In the spring of 2005, I wrote a letter to the editor of the United Synagogue Review in which I said (and still believe today) that in order for the Conservative movement to survive, it must actively encourage parents to send their children to Schechter schools and it also must find a way to make a Schechter education affordable for all who seek it.

This past high holiday season, a brochure by Rabbi Epstein, “Ancestors and Legacies: Purposeful Planning or Neutral Neglect,” was given out at Conservative shuls across the country. It talked about the importance of imbuing our children with a strong sense of Jewish identity via various organizations across the movement – but it failed to mention the Schechter system.

I strongly believe in the value of a Solomon Schechter day school education. Two out of my three children attend a Schechter school, and God willing, my third will attend one as well when she is old enough.

The article on Jewish education is unfortunate proof that Conservative Judaism continues to commit acts of omission by failing to support Schechter schools publicly.

When will the Conservative movement take a stand and vociferously encourage its congregants to send their children to Solomon Schechter day schools? The survival of Conservative Judaism depends on it.

I appreciated the focus of Rabbi Epstein’s column. I fear, however, that he does not realize the true depth of the problem in the real world. He writes that we “cheat the student if the primary result of five years of religious school is just the ability to lead Shabbat services and chant the haftarah.” I regret to inform him that in the 21st century at many United Synagogue congregations, the average bar and bat mitzvah has memorized the haftarah portion and can barely read the Hebrew, let alone the trope, and has no idea what is going on outside of the Torah service.

I am distressed that nowhere in his column did Rabbi Epstein mention Jewish day schools. All research clearly indicates that enrollment in a Jewish day school has a tremendously positive and lifelong impact on children’s Jewish identity, affiliation, and involvement for the rest of their lives. I would further note, in response to the discussion about the need for increased Hebrew literacy (“Hebrew Literacy: Sine Qua Non for Synagogue Involvement,” Winter 2007), that young children cannot learn a foreign language in a program that meets only once or twice a week, with each session separated by several days, little or no homework, and a lot of other material to cover. As a foreign language educator, I know that a fiveday- a-week program in a day school makes all the difference in teaching a child to read and write Hebrew, speak it as a living language as well as a language of prayer, and develop fluency and understanding. The day school movement is the answer to so many of our contemporary American Jewish community’s dilemmas, and it must be recognized and supported and encouraged as the very best way to help parents fulfill their responsibility to teach their children.

I just finished reading Rabbi Stephen Listfield’s letter to the editor (“On Knowing The Words,” Spring 2008). In a cerebral way I understand his position, but writing that “There is no reason that a practicing Jew should not learn the basic meaning of his or her Hebrew prayers” offers no solution. Where do we go from here?

My first name is Christian and for more years than I would like to remember, I sat in a pew at St. Margaret’s church listening to a Latin service that I did not fully understand. When the service switched to English I had a great sense of loss, as if the magic was gone. I think what our heart tells us can be far more meaningful than a mere recitation of the words. Knowing the words does not automatically lend l egitimacy to the experience. Been there, done that.

Over 20 years ago, I was lucky enough to marry a Jewish woman who opened up my eyes to a whole new world. She passed away several years ago, leaving me with two wonderful Jewish daughters. We belong to a Conservative Jewish congregation and I am now in the process of converting. I have tried on more than one occasion, without success, to learn Hebrew. I have enough trouble with the Jewish calendar.

Relegating the Jewish experience, the ability to pray “directly” to God, to a cerebral activity is naive, exclusionary, and really quite silly. Yes, I would love to speak Hebrew, but take it from me when I tell you that I am passionate, and make no apologies for it. My prayers are no less real than those of the Hebrew-speaking community surrounding me at services. I am thankful that services are not in English and still have that magical element about them.

What solution does Rabbi Listfield have for me and many others who just cannot learn Hebrew? Is our experience any less real and meaningful than his?