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Friday May 27, 2005

My silly Shabbat neuroses find a home in the dome

by jay schwartz

I recently figured out that when it comes to Shabbat services, I’m emotionally stunted at 10 years old. Entering the sanctuary of pretty much any temple, I start to sweat a little. Even with a little nosh and wine from the Kiddush table before the service starts.

As if sensing my anxiety, Sherith Israel in San Francisco seems to have made an effort to make things a little less intense. Every third Shabbat of the month, the synagogue holds an alternative service in its reception hall. No bimah, no pews. Rabbi Larry Raphael stands at a lectern and speaks casually to the congregation.

The biggest difference, however, between the normal service and “the Journey to Shabbat” is the emphasis on music. Cantor Rita Glassman sings in front of a band consisting of guitar, mandolin, bongos and some clarinet. They set almost everything in the service to music — including most of the prayers.

I appreciate the effort. Because while I’m proud of being a cultural Jew, I also want to enjoy Jewish spirituality — something that isn’t an active part of my life.

I went to the service recently to test the waters, to see how I fared psychically at a nontraditional service. And I love music. If there was going to be any way for me to feel better about the experience, it was to be with a drum beat and some klezmerish touches.

To understand just how neurotic I can be about services, let me confess something a little embarrassing. I freaked out a little even before I walked through the doors. Because Sherith Israel is that temple — the big majestic dome on the hill. It’s both intimidating and inspiring in its grandeur. I can see that dome all over the city, saying to me, “This is serious Judaism. This is a landmark.”

Which is one of the reasons I can get ferklempt around Shabbat. Because in the face of this kind of “serious” Judaism I start to feel like I’m not a real Jew. I can’t read Hebrew and know what it means. I don’t know if the story of Joseph is in Genesis, Exodus or elsewhere. I can’t even name the five books of Moses.

We filed into the hall and sat in one corner of the large reception area. You could almost feel the presence of the dancing and giggling bar mitzvah crowds from years and years of events.

There was the band, and there was the rabbi just standing there, bare without a Torah or ark behind him.

They got into it. A couple of times I thought the mandolin player was going to fall out of his chair from working the fretboard so frantically.

Slowly I started to feel that old familiar feeling, hot and a little fidgety. My 33-year-old self was undergoing a transformation — to that 10-year-old self again.

I glanced around the room to see if anyone could tell. I felt my face. I still had the barest of stubble so I knew at least I hadn’t literally turned 10.

I was determined to fight back. The music was nice, though it reminded me of the tunes from my synagogue growing up. That was the problem — that was the trigger for feeling like a neurotic kid.

Again I looked at the congregants, but this time I looked at their smiling faces and their tapping toes. Everyone was relating to the service from a common place, sharing prayers that were thousands of years old.

Right then the rabbi said something with perfect timing. “There is no separation between God and anything else.” Essentially, the rabbi said that God comprises everything — my nervousness, the prayers of praise, the big dome on the hill.

I decided that the answer to my neurosis wasn’t to fight it, but to be with it in the temple. A God that encompasses everything can make room for one conflicted congregant.

Shabbat is a time for observance, but maybe for me another connotation of observance on the Sabbath is key: the sense of observing myself, in a search for peace with Jewish institutions and rituals.

As the cantor shook a tambourine and the rabbi rocked back and forth to the beat, I got a little bit outside of myself and felt some solidarity with everyone around me.

Jay Schwartz can be reached at jay@jweekly.com.

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