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vaznettiI love Yom Kippur in the way I imagine some runners must love marathons--not just for the sense of satisfaction in completing something difficult, but also the extended moments of joy in the doing of it. Process and result. You wouldn't want to do it every weekend, but you still want to do it.
But even people who run marathons must have their favorites--the years everything goes perfectly, the courses which just seem to suit them. This was not one of those. I've been lucky enough to encounter two really wonderful services: the egalitarian minyan at the University of Chicago and the orthodox service at the Oxford Synagogue. Switching back from those to a conservative service was a bit strange: most of the service was reassuringly familiar, and it was nice, after all those years in Oxford, to see women up on the bima, but parts of the service seemed cut short. I'd forgotten how much of the "Al Chet" is cut in the Conservative prayerbook, for example.
I turned up to Kol Nidre with high hopes, because the Rosh Hashana service had been excellent. And there it was, gathered into a corner: the choir. With sincere apologies to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jood, if I wanted to listen to a choir, I'd go to an Anglican evensong service. To me, a Jewish service is a prayer service, and I pray out loud or muttering under my breath; listening to music is a distraction. The congregation chanted parts of it, but it was a funny balance. And the translation in the prayerbook was... well, the Kol Nidrei is a difficult thing, and I know that a lot of people have trouble with it. This wasn't as odd as the version in which they'd changed the text (Hebrew and English) from "next year" to "last year." Personally, I think the moral difficulty of Kol Nidrei is part of the point of doing it: repentance and forgiveness are difficult things, too.
Anyway, the choral intrusion in the rest of the Kol Nidrei service was minimal. The morning service was fine--no choir!--until they got to the martyrology. They did the martyrology! I've never been to a synagogue where they read the martyrology! Never! And that, in my opinion, is as it should be--especially the martyrology as it's written in the Conservative prayerbook, with its grand finale at the Shoah. (Is there some kind of contradiction between my insistence that we should keep Kol Nidrei as it stands and drop the martyrology? Probably. But I think the extended martyrology moves the emphasis of the service away from our relationship with God and reinforces the centrality of the Shoah to modern Jewish thought in an unhealthy way.)
So, faced with the martyrology, I did the only sensible thing. I walked out. It was already a little after one, and I was having a difficult fast, so I went home. In fact, I can't remember ever having such a difficult fast, so I had a banana, an oatmeal cookie and a glass of water, because I could tell that I wasn't going to make it and I have a lot of work to do today.
For Mincha they had a different cantor (the shul had apparently fired their rabbi last year, so they brought a cantor in from Montreal to lead the High Holy day services; he was very good, I thought.*) An old guy who--and this is the amazing thing--could not sing a note. The whole service went by in this flat, nasal voice. Amazing. I mean, Jewish services are not noted for their tunefulness, because congregations are usually trying to sing three or four different melodies at once, but this was exceptional. In a brief fannish aside, you know the expression on Simon Tam's face when someone on the Serenity does something he had no idea could possibly be done? I had that expression for the entire service. Let me repeat: it was amazing. Luckily the cantor from Montreal took over for Ne'ilah.
I think I've been spoiled by Orthodox services: the Yom Kippur service is solemn, but in such a joyful way, and has such a wonderful balance (reminding God of how much he loves us before we start confessing, for example), and the Ne'ilah especially, as we're torn between wanting the service to be over (because we are hungry and tired and have been praying all day long) and wanting it to last (to prolong those final moments as the gates are closing, that special holiness). This came close, but I might give the Orthodox synagoge a try, even though I'm not observant. (A congregant, who was clearly chosen for his ability to read Hebrew at speed, led the evening service. It was incredible--everything was there, but just... faster. A lot faster. Excellent.)
Oh, but at the very end, before the final tekiah gedolah? The president of the congregation gave a little speech and then invited people from the adult education program to give a presentation! What is with this insanity? And they were completely disorganized, not that it mattered, because no one was listening. If no one goes to these programs, it will be because they were announced at the end of Yom Kippur, and people do bear a grudge. So we didn't get out until after eight.
*He did have this strange, "I'm from Montreal and you're not," thing going, though. He'd say things like, "This is a Montreal tune," which I can't imagine would endear him to a Halifax congregation. And he consistently misused "momentarily." "Momentarily, we will have the Torah reading." Um, no. It will take longer than a moment. Honest.
Final score: 7/10. And now I must start typing up my lectures.
But even people who run marathons must have their favorites--the years everything goes perfectly, the courses which just seem to suit them. This was not one of those. I've been lucky enough to encounter two really wonderful services: the egalitarian minyan at the University of Chicago and the orthodox service at the Oxford Synagogue. Switching back from those to a conservative service was a bit strange: most of the service was reassuringly familiar, and it was nice, after all those years in Oxford, to see women up on the bima, but parts of the service seemed cut short. I'd forgotten how much of the "Al Chet" is cut in the Conservative prayerbook, for example.
I turned up to Kol Nidre with high hopes, because the Rosh Hashana service had been excellent. And there it was, gathered into a corner: the choir. With sincere apologies to
jood, if I wanted to listen to a choir, I'd go to an Anglican evensong service. To me, a Jewish service is a prayer service, and I pray out loud or muttering under my breath; listening to music is a distraction. The congregation chanted parts of it, but it was a funny balance. And the translation in the prayerbook was... well, the Kol Nidrei is a difficult thing, and I know that a lot of people have trouble with it. This wasn't as odd as the version in which they'd changed the text (Hebrew and English) from "next year" to "last year." Personally, I think the moral difficulty of Kol Nidrei is part of the point of doing it: repentance and forgiveness are difficult things, too.Anyway, the choral intrusion in the rest of the Kol Nidrei service was minimal. The morning service was fine--no choir!--until they got to the martyrology. They did the martyrology! I've never been to a synagogue where they read the martyrology! Never! And that, in my opinion, is as it should be--especially the martyrology as it's written in the Conservative prayerbook, with its grand finale at the Shoah. (Is there some kind of contradiction between my insistence that we should keep Kol Nidrei as it stands and drop the martyrology? Probably. But I think the extended martyrology moves the emphasis of the service away from our relationship with God and reinforces the centrality of the Shoah to modern Jewish thought in an unhealthy way.)
So, faced with the martyrology, I did the only sensible thing. I walked out. It was already a little after one, and I was having a difficult fast, so I went home. In fact, I can't remember ever having such a difficult fast, so I had a banana, an oatmeal cookie and a glass of water, because I could tell that I wasn't going to make it and I have a lot of work to do today.
For Mincha they had a different cantor (the shul had apparently fired their rabbi last year, so they brought a cantor in from Montreal to lead the High Holy day services; he was very good, I thought.*) An old guy who--and this is the amazing thing--could not sing a note. The whole service went by in this flat, nasal voice. Amazing. I mean, Jewish services are not noted for their tunefulness, because congregations are usually trying to sing three or four different melodies at once, but this was exceptional. In a brief fannish aside, you know the expression on Simon Tam's face when someone on the Serenity does something he had no idea could possibly be done? I had that expression for the entire service. Let me repeat: it was amazing. Luckily the cantor from Montreal took over for Ne'ilah.
I think I've been spoiled by Orthodox services: the Yom Kippur service is solemn, but in such a joyful way, and has such a wonderful balance (reminding God of how much he loves us before we start confessing, for example), and the Ne'ilah especially, as we're torn between wanting the service to be over (because we are hungry and tired and have been praying all day long) and wanting it to last (to prolong those final moments as the gates are closing, that special holiness). This came close, but I might give the Orthodox synagoge a try, even though I'm not observant. (A congregant, who was clearly chosen for his ability to read Hebrew at speed, led the evening service. It was incredible--everything was there, but just... faster. A lot faster. Excellent.)
Oh, but at the very end, before the final tekiah gedolah? The president of the congregation gave a little speech and then invited people from the adult education program to give a presentation! What is with this insanity? And they were completely disorganized, not that it mattered, because no one was listening. If no one goes to these programs, it will be because they were announced at the end of Yom Kippur, and people do bear a grudge. So we didn't get out until after eight.
*He did have this strange, "I'm from Montreal and you're not," thing going, though. He'd say things like, "This is a Montreal tune," which I can't imagine would endear him to a Halifax congregation. And he consistently misused "momentarily." "Momentarily, we will have the Torah reading." Um, no. It will take longer than a moment. Honest.
Final score: 7/10. And now I must start typing up my lectures.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 08:57 am (UTC)*That's* a weird regional thing. Confused the heck out of me the first time I ran into it. Although now of course I'm having trouble remembering where it was I encountered that one... might've been
no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 10:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 10:29 am (UTC)Actually, if it wasn't that I knew the person misusing it (who I still think was probably Rhi, but no bets) when I first heard it, I'd have thought that it was a genuine misuse rather than a regional variation misuse, if you know what I mean. Since I did know the person (whoever it actually was) I think I just stared blankly while I tried to figure out what on earth they'd just said, 'cause that word really didn't belong in there... *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-09-27 11:46 am (UTC)I sing there because (a) it's the only singing job I have left and to quit would mean I am in no way a singer anymore and emotionally I can't handle that, and (b) the damn money. It's a gig.
I agree, I think a choir is instrusive, disruptive, and unnecessary. Give me an old congregation full of people who've grown up developing their own thin harmonies for the prayers they love the most. Give me folks who pay attention rather than sitting back and letting the choir do the work for them. Hell yeah.
Our choir was more intrusive than most because our director insisted on conducting EVERYTHING. And I mean everything. He conducts, in strict rhythm, every "baruch hu uvaruch sh'mo". I shit you not. It's horrid.
How long was your "Al Cheyt?" Ours ends up at around three pages.
Our martyrology is always a horrible, drawn-out mess of hand-wringing that manipulates the congregation with gratuitously horrifying readings about martyrdoms throughout the ages. When we got to the 7 and 9 year old children being fed to circus animals, I left the choir loft and took a breather in the room behind the ark. Because, really. Save it for a Kristallnacht concert, okay? It's bad enough I had to sing a solo Ani Ma'amin after the damn Festival of Abominations.
Oh, the Montreal enclave. We had an invasion of Montreal folk in London when I was a teenager. I couldn't understand why so many of them were so damn...pretentious about being from Montreal. When I grew up I learned more about the community and understood it a little better, but I'll admit knowing it's going on today, all the way in Nova Scotia, is making me snigger in amusement.
Conversely, I'm really glad you found somewhere to go that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
(Re: your Mincha cantor...check out my tale of our Drunken Lounge Lizard haftorah reader. It will make you weep.)
I really need a "worst jew ever" icon.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-27 01:11 pm (UTC)Ado-wo-wo-wo-wo-nai!
Date: 2004-09-27 02:39 pm (UTC)The one thing I will say for those posh High German Reform shuls (or, as my father called our local example, the Protestant Episcopal Shul), at least they usually get people who know how to sing in their choirs. This one was just a bunch of earnest volunteers from the congregation, many of whom were not so gifted in the tune-carrying department. So I also got to feel bad for resenting them, because they were trying so hard. Go me!
The martyrology... Urg. You know, the original bit seems to be pretty short, and is just about how the Romans used to kill us. But it gets extended in Conservative and Reform prayerbooks into, yes, this drawn-out "First the Romans killed us, and then there were the Crusades, and oh no! the Christians burnt us alive! and then finally the Nazis came and killed us some more, with extra torture and the massacres of virgins!" which is horrific and, I really think, inappropriate to the Yom Kippur service. I'm not sorry I walked out.
The "Al Cheyt" in this book was only a page and a half--the last few places I've been it's been a good three pages, and at one of them (Portland? Oxford? I can't remember) the congregation sang that last bit, about the sin of missing all those sacrifices we can't do now on account of the temple being destroyed, in a very upbeat way. I liked that.
So this Montreal thing is not unusual? How bizarre. Also, your icon is making me laugh out loud. Bacon!