by Sharon Mann

Editor’s Note:  This post is the first of two about Congregation Emet VeShalom.  The complementary post will appear tomorrow.

Reform Judaism and religious pluralism, which are taken for granted in the United States, are not axiomatic in Israel. As a member of Emet VeShalom—a Reform congregation in Nahariya, a peripheral area of Israel eight miles from Lebanon’s border—I know maintaining a non-Orthodox congregation is fraught with challenges. At present, one major challenge facing ours is that we do not have a rabbi serving as spiritual leader of our community. Our members are facing this challenge by stepping up and taking on the different roles of leading our Kabbalat Shabbat (Friday evening) services on a weekly basis, in addition to many of their other voluntary activities for our congregation.

Our Ritual Committee Chairperson and President work tirelessly to keep our congregation going and flowing from week to week by arranging a monthly schedule of participants. Each week, one person acts as leader of the services (or “coordinator,” as we refer to the position); one or more act as chazan (cantor), and a third member gives the drasha (discussion of the weekly Torah portion). Still, as Emet VeShalom is a relatively small congregation, it is not easy to fill all these roles and provide the spiritual nourishment that all seek at services.

Therefore, in March, I was surprised and delighted to receive an email from Marla Gamoran, founder and executive director of Skilled Volunteers for Israel, informing me that an American Reform rabbi, Rabbi Jonathan Biatch of Temple Beth El, Madison, WI, was planning to be in our area during his sabbatical and wanted to volunteer with our congregation. I was gratified to learn of Rabbi Biatch’s desire and put him in touch with our Ritual Committee Chairperson to discuss how he could help us. Rabbi Biatch quickly committed himself to leading services and giving the discussion of the Torah portion for three consecutive Friday evening services. He also volunteered to give a lecture in English to the English-speaking members of our congregation.

To my knowledge, Rabbi Biatch’s volunteer work with us at Emet VeShalom is the first of its kind here. His contribution to our congregation brings together two concepts that we as Reform Jews hold dear, namely tikkun olam (repair of the world) and strengthening connections between Jews in Israel and the Diaspora. We are blessed by his presence and the spiritual leadership he is sharing with us. He made such a wonderful impression at the first service he led that at its conclusion our community coordinator said, “We already miss him!”

In his d’var Torah on the portion Emor, Rabbi Biatch spoke about taking advantage of opportunities in life that we can declare as “holy.” He gave us several examples, including the opportunity to sanctify time and personal and communal relationships. We are learning from his example. At Emet VeShalom, we are joyful and appreciative that Rabbi Biatch chose to sanctify and dedicate his time and skills to enrich our congregation and our lives in Nahariya.

Sharon Mann made aliyah 20 years ago and lives in Nahariya, Israel. She is an active member of Emet VeShalom.

Here are just a few of the recent stories from across the webosphere that speak directly to (and about) Reform Jews. What Jewish stories have you been reading recently? Leave a comment and let us know!

• “Modern-Day Rabbi Must Be CEO, Teacher, and Spiritual Leader at Once,” Forward
  Are rabbis the new CEOs? Anne Cohen reports that “expectations have changed.” Rabbis are now required to read a spreadsheet as well as the Gemara. They need to be accessible, media-savvy public speakers; business-oriented entrepreneurs; fundraisers; program generators, and in touch with popular trends. To prepare rabbinical students for the challenges ahead, seminaries are reassessing their curriculum to focus more on professional development and pastoral skills than ever before.

• “Let There Be War at the Wall,” Haaretz
  In this op-ed, RabbI Eric Yoffie writes that his first reaction to the ugly confrontation at the Western Wall on Friday was to be appalled and sickened. “But on reflection,” he says, “I’ve changed my mind: I welcome the war that the ultra-Orthodox have chosen to launch.  As offensive as these actions were, there are multiple reasons to expect that good might emerge from the nastiness of recent days.”

• “Almost Half of Israeli Jews back Women of the Wall,” Times of Israel
  Forty-eight percent of Israel’s Jewish population, including 64% of its secular citizens, support the Women of the Wall organization in its bid to enable alternatives to traditional prayer services at the Western Wall, according to a poll released Sunday. Only 26% of those who described themselves as traditionally religious supported the movement; none of the ultra-Orthodox respondents supported the movement.

In the traditional liturgy, the special character of each holiday is particularly conveyed by the piyyutim (hymns, liturgical poems) that are recited or chanted on that day. Most of these piyyutim have been omitted in Reform liturgies since the nineteenth century, out of a sense that their Hebrew diction is too arcane and their theology too medieval. Yet, some of these poems have routinely been retained in Reform High Holy Day prayer books, particularly for Yom Kippur.¹

Probably the best known of the piyyutim for Rosh Hashanah, which over time has come to be recited on Yom Kippur as well, is Un’taneh tokef (“Let us declare the awesome sanctity of this day”). This poem powerfully dramatizes the Zichronot theme of Rosh Hashanah as Yom ha-din, the Day of Judgment, on which “all creatures pass before God as in a military muster” (the imagery comes from Mishnah Rosh Hashanah 1:2).² It describes in rather harrowing images³ how the book of memory, in which each person’s deeds are inscribed, is opened on this day, and how everyone’s fate for the next year is inscribed on Rosh Hashanah and sealed on Yom Kippur–for life or death, for prosperity or suffering. Yet the poem continues on a hopeful note that prayer, repentance, and charity may avert or temper any severe decree. It then contrasts the frailty and fragility of human life with God’s eternity, and expresses confidence in divine compassion. In the traditional liturgy, the poem is recited in the Musaf Amidah, right before the Kedushah, the acclamation of God’s holiness. The poem’s very last lines, in fact, transition into this acclamation.

The poem is intentionally upsetting; it aims to stop each of us in our tracks and to make us consider ultimate themes of life and death, as well as our personal behavior and responsibility for our actions. In previous generations, many worshippers were literally moved to tears by its message and imagery. In our own day, it is not necessary to take any of this mythic imagery at face value in order to take seriously the poem’s underlying ideas and exhortations. Some North American Reform prayer books (notably that of Isaac Mayer Wise) that were concerned about the imagery omitted altogether the first part of the poem. Others, such as the Union Prayer Book and Gates of Repentance, shortened the poem by omitting its ending. The current draft of the new Reform Mahzor gives the entire poem, with extensive framing commentary and “left-page” alternatives. Some North American Reform prayer books (notably the 1855 prayer book of Temple Emanuel in New York and the Union Prayer Book) included this poem only in the Yom Kippur liturgy rather than on Rosh Hashanah, regarding “the awesomeness of this day” as more appropriate to Yom Kippur.

The poem has an interesting history. It was composed by an unknown poet in the land of Israel during the Byzantine era (perhaps in the 6^th to 7^th centuries C.E.),⁴ and appears in three Mahzor fragments of the rite of the land of Israel found in the Cairo Genizah. It does not appear in any fragments of the Babylonian rite found there, nor does it appear in the Sefardic rite. It is taken up into the medieval Ashkenazic rite together with other piyyutimfrom the land of Israel (there was a movement of – some – liturgical texts and customs from the land of Israel through Italy and into the Rhineland). The well-known legend (paraphrased by Chaim Stern in Gates of Repentance) of the martyrdom of Rabbi Amnon of Mayence/Mainz,⁵ who is said to have composed and recited this poem in the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah as he was expiring, is just that-an Ashkenazic legend that aims to sanctify the rather recent custom of reciting this poem by linking it up with a tale of pious martyrdom in the wake of the Crusades in the Rhineland. In the legend, Rabbi Amnon is said to have come in a dream to the prestigious Rabbi Kalonymos Meshullam ben Kalonymos and taught him the poem. Rabbi Kalonymos ben Meshullam was, in fact, one of the martyrs of the First Crusade.

Un’taneh tokef remains one of the highlights of the High Holy Day liturgy on account of its sober theme and graphic imagery. It exhorts us to consider what really matters in life, and leaves us with a sense of urgency, but also a sense of confidence that repentance and change are possible – and that this is how we should approach the Divine.

For further reading:
Machzor: Challenge and Change. Resource Pack for Individual and Group Study. CCAR, 2010.
Rabbi Lawrence A. Hoffman, PhD, ed., Who by Fire, Who by Water: Un’taneh Tokef.Jewish Lights, 2010.

1. Very often the piyyutim retained were from the Spanish-Portuguese Sephardic rite, which are written in a more classic biblical Hebrew style under the influence of Arabic poetics, rather than from the Ashkenazic rite, where the earlier and more florid Byzantine poetic models from the land of Israel were still being emulated. The Spanish poems, on the whole, are easier to understand and correspond more to western poetic aesthetic ideals than the Byzantine and Ashkenazic ones. Thus, for example, it has been common in Reform prayer books to begin the Yom KippurSeder Ha’avodah, the description of the Yom Kippur rites in the Second Temple, with the introductory poem from the Sephardic rite rather than from the Ashkenazic one. That custom may still be found in Gates of Repentance, p. 410.
2. The best manuscripts of the Mishnah and at least one Genizah fragment of the poem read here kiv’numeron rather than kiv’nei maron. Numeron is a Greek loan-word, meaning a military muster, during which each soldier is counted. B’nei maronrepresents a later attempt to read this as two Semitic words: “those on high” = the angels (construing maron as an Aramaized form of marom). Interestingly, the creative misreading seems already to be presumed in the content of the poem, which proclaims that the angels also are judged on Rosh Hashanah.
3. As a graphic depiction of the Day of Judgment, this poem has sometimes been likened to the Catholic Dies Irae hymn of the Latin Requiem Mass, which describes the Last Judgment in similarly harrowing terms (and dates from roughly the same period). Un’taneh tokef, of course, does not deal with the final judgment at the end of time but rather with the annual judgment on Rosh Hashanah.
4. Piyyut-scholar Joseph Yahalom has identified the poem’s author as Yannai, a sixth-seventh century synagogue poet best known for his extensive weekly cycles ofkedushtot, which relate the weekly Torah readings to the first three benedictions of the Amidah. See his “Who Shall be the Author and Who Shall Not,” Haaretz, September 6, 2002.
5. This first appears in Or Zarua (“Light is sown”), a book of liturgical customs and their reasons by Isaac ben Moses of Vienna (c. 1180-1250). The name Amnon is characteristic of Italian Jews, not Ashkenazic Jews. There apparently was a Rabbi Amnon who was martyred in Italy.

Dr. Sarason is Professor of Rabbinic Literature and Thought and the Associate Editor of the Hebrew Union College Annual. He was ordained at HUC-JIR.

Here are just a few of the recent stories from across the webosphere that speak directly to (and about) Reform Jews. What Jewish stories have you been reading recently? Leave a comment and let us know!

• “His Father’s Murder Drives a Rabbi’s Pursuit of Gun Control,” New York Times
  This piece is actually a couple of weeks old, but it deserves ongoing attention. Rabbi Joel Mosbacher’s father was shot to death in a petty robbery in 1999. “I’ve carried this story with me, this anger, every day for the last 14 years,” says the rabbi, who serves Beth Haverim Shir Shalom in Mahwah, N.J., and now advocates for stricter gun laws.

• “Can a moderate chief rabbi transform the Israeli Rabbinate? Not likely,” JTA
  Israel’s Chief Rabbinate controls marriage, divorce and conversion for all Israeli Jews, secular or religious, and changes to the way the rabbinate handles these matters cannot be made unilaterally. Rabbi David Stav, a Modern Orthodox rabbi in the running to be Israel’s next Ashkenazi chief rabbi, has cultivated an image as the liberals’ solution to a rabbinate dominated by the Haredi Orthodox, and he is waging a public campaign in advance of the chief rabbi elections that has won him a strong base of popular support.

• “Jewish ‘Women Of The Wall’ Plan Further Court Battles Over Prayer Rights At Western Wall,” Huffington Post
  Women seeking equal prayer rights at the Western Wall are planning a further challenge to Jewish Orthodox tradition at the site after a court ruling bolstered their cause. The Women of the Wall hopes to have its members read from a Torah scroll at the Jerusalem site, a ritual reserved under Orthodox practice for men only, when it holds its monthly prayer session there on May 10, says activist Anat Hoffman, leader of Women of the Wall.

• “AJWS CEO Ruth Messinger sees God as a ‘force for justice,’” The Jewish Week
  As part of The Jewish Week‘s “God Talk” series, Alfredo Borodowski,executive director of the Skirball Center for Jewish Learning at Temple Emanu-el, interviews Ruth Messinger, president of the American Jewish World Service (AJWS) and a member of the URJ’s Faculty of Expert Practitioners. In 1988, Messinger left a 20-year career in politics, including Manhattan borough president, for AJWS, which supports human rights for marginalized people around the world.

• “To stay afloat, shuls merging across denominational divide,” JTA
  In areas with waning Jewish populations, Reform and Conservative congregations are merging, combining customs and sharing sacred spaces to preserve local Jewish life. Some synagogues in financial straits have stopped one step short of a full merger, opting to share facilities revamped for the needs of communities with a range of practices and beliefs.

By Cantor Hayley Kobilinsky

Tekiah! Teruah! Shevarim! Tekiah Gedolah!

If these words do not evoke within you a sense of excitement that is at the core of the High Holy Days, then surely the unmistakable blast of the shofar, the ram’s horn, will.  I can still remember the anticipation of hearing the shofar blown at services as a child.  I would count the pages remaining until that moment.  I would close my eyes as though doing so would let the sound absorb more deeply into my heart.  If my family was running late that morning, I dreaded the thought of missing it.  No blast was more exciting than Tekiah Gedolah – the longest blast, preceded by the biggest breath, and followed by a collective sigh or nervous giggle by the “Jews in the pews.”  Hearing the shofar blown, be it a clear, strong tone, or one which sputtered and wavered, was a visceral sensory experience that has never left me, along with the sight of the Torah scrolls dressed in white, the scent of the ushers’ white carnation boutonnieres, and the taste of apples dipped in sweet honey. 

It is somewhat ironic that the shofar, long in use as a means of communicating and announcing, is itself introduced by a blessing, attesting that we are commanded to hear the voice of the shofar, followed by a Shehecheyanu for reaching this season and hearing the shofar for the first time.  The traditional melody (in this example, arranged by Herbert Fromm), is akin to a majestic trumpet call.  The shofar blast we are accustomed to hearing tends to include a characteristic accent at the conclusion of each long blast, as the ba’al tekiah, or head of the shofar calling, gives one last exhalation of breath and the pitch ascends.  As you listen to this recording, you will hear a mirror-image of this movement; the ends of the blessings do not rise in pitch, but rather descend.  I like to imagine that these blessings, despite their majesty, are not intended to diminish the grandeur of the shofar calls themselves, therefore the blessings reflect the appearance of the shofar as though they are its opposites. (LISTEN)

Please forgive the following tangent: There are those for whom the Shehecheyanu is only acceptable using one particular melody (LISTEN). If you don’t hear this melody at each occasion which merits a Shehecheyanu, such as Rosh Hashanah, don’t fear: Your preferred melody will come around again, most likely in 3 months or so, right after the Chanukkiah (menorah for Chanukkah) is lit for the first night of the year.  That melody is intended for Chanukkah, but since Chanukkah is most often celebrated in the home, many generations of Jews have grown up hearing that joyful, catchy tune, and it has remained steadfast in their musical memories.

The three-part shofar service includes many poetic insertions which give the cantor opportunities to weave traditional High Holy Day musical themes with a hint of shofar-like sounds.  One of my favorite moments is in the third section, shofarot.  In the paragraph, “Attah nigleita ba’anan k’vodecha,” the shofar is mentioned several times in the context of how its blasts both captured the attention of and heralded the appearance of God.  “Amid thunder and lightning did you reveal yourself to them; amid the blasting of the shofar did you appear to them.  It is written in your Torah: On the third day, in the morning, there was thunder and lightning, a dense cloud over the mountain, and a loud shofar blast; all the people in the camp trembled.”¹  In this selection from a traditional cantorial recitative by Cantor Adolph Katchko, the strength of the voice of the shofar (“kol haShofar”) is highlighted with arpeggios and proclamatory high notes. (LISTEN)

It bears mentioning that the shofar blasts themselves are unique and varied: tekiah: a solid blast, neither long nor short; shevarim: three solid blasts, one following another in quick succession; teruah: a minimum of nine short, punctuated, rapid blasts; and tekiah gedolah: literally, “big tekiah,” this blast is a long, solid one, held as long as the ba’al tekiah can manage.  (There is also a compound blast sequence of “shevarim-teruah” in which the two patterns are performed back to back.)  This ancient musical pattern (one can’t quite call it a melody, as the actual notes are not dictated) has been echoed in settings of other pieces of liturgy throughout the High Holy Days, and has been utilized and adapted by modern composers as well.  For a heavy metal piece, “Al Taster,” the Israeli group Salem begins with four blasts of the shofar: tekiah, shevarim, teruah, tekiah gedolah.  Jewish Broadway composer Stephen Schwartz began the show “Godspell” with three blasts of the shofar: tekiah, tekiah, teruah. Madonna begins her Middle-Eastern-influenced song “Isaac” with a ba’al tekiah blowing a shofar: tekiah, shevarim, teruah, tekiah, tekiah, shevarim, teruah, tekiah. While I highly doubt that Salem, Stephen Schwartz, or Madonna preceded their use of the shofar with a blessing, I’ll let it slide; I have a feeling that their songs were recorded in a studio and not a sanctuary.

1. Translation adapted from High Holyday Prayer Book, translated by Philip Birnbaum, Hebrew Publishing Company, NY.

Sources:

Shofar Service, Herbert Fromm, Yamim Noraim (Days of Awe): Volume 1: Rosh Hashannah, ed. Samuel Adler, Transcontinental Music Publications

Shehecheyanu, traditional melody, ed. Stephen Richards, Manginot: 201 Songs for Jewish Schools, Transcontinental Music Publications

Ata Nigleita, Adolph Katchko, A Thesaurus of Cantorial Liturgy: Volume Three: For the Days of Awe

Selections sung by H. Kobilinsky

Hayley Kobilinsky has been the Cantor of Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk for eight years, and has been an adjunct faculty member of Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion’s Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music for two years. She is the president of Kol Hazzanim – Westchester’s Community of Cantors.