If women ruled shul...

It has often been said that if women ruled the world, there would be no war, no terrorism, and far less poverty. Although there’s no evidence to suggest that this is indeed true, men have been running the show for a while now, and it’s pretty fair to say that they’ve made an almighty mess of it. I’ve also got a sneaky suspicion that if women controlled religion, there would be a lot more common sense involved in the whole affair. If women ran the Beit Din, the chances are that there would be far more order and sensitivity associated with marriage, divorce and conversion. That’s for sure.

When it comes to Succot, I’ve often wondered what it would be like if roles were reversed. I always get a little stressed by Succot, and I’m pretty sure that if women were in charge, life would be much easier. Building the Succah isn’t a problem – thanks to our good friends in China, building the Succah has basically turned into lego for big kids. The four species though are a whole different story. It starts with the picking – our male leaders have developed, over time, an obscure set of laws that determine what’s kosher and what’s not. If women had been asked to interpret the verse, “Pick for yourself a beautiful fruit of the tree”, we would have crowds of people arriving at shul with pomegranates, mangos and galia melons. Instead, we’ve got men examining the tip of a wrinkled lemon with a magnifying glass to see if they can find any miniscule black dots.

But the bit that really gets me is when the men walk around the Bima for the Hoshanot. It would seem that the only reason that shuls were built with balconies was so once a year the women could peer down at the men… and laugh. A shul full of over 200 men, all holding the four species, cannot fit into a tiny space around the bima. But they try. After about 20 seconds they suddenly realise that they’re not going anywhere, so what do they do? They stay there, looking around and yelling at each other to move, as if that’s going to make things better. Eventually, after shuffling no more than three or four steps, they return to their seats, having not learnt a thing from their pathetic attempt. I am sure that if roles were reversed – women leading the service below and the men in the gallery – that the men would be treated to a synchronised display of weaving in and out of pews, worthy of the Royal Ballet.

But let's not take this role reversal thing too far - kiddush would be a disaster!

Valuing Life

In Mishnaic times, when someone accidentally killed, they had to flee to a City of Refuge, which would serve as a safe haven from would-be avengers. There were three cities east of the Jordan and three to its west. The Talmud wonders why there was a need for the same number to the east, when the population there was far smaller. The answer given is that there were more murders to the east than there were to the west. But murderers don’t get refuge – their punishment is death - ask the Rabbis. The Talmud replies that in a place where murder is commonplace, the value of life diminishes and consequently there are more accidental deaths.

We Israelis and Jews have long boasted about our tremendous value for life. We’re proud of the fact that we never forget about our soldiers – no man is left behind, nor forgotten. Every death – whether victim to war, terrorism or road accidents – pains us greatly. But is this for real or is it just empty, oft-repeated rhetoric? If we really did value life so much, then why would we continue to drive so fast, jump red lights and ultimately create an environment where our roads are so frightening?

The time has come for us to admit to ourselves that if life was really so sacred to us, we would do things differently. As I was driving along Route 1 last week, I was forced to slam on the breaks because a fellow driver cut across me at high speed, with no concern for anyone else on the road. Does he value life? He would claim that of course he does – after all he had a bumper sticker calling for the return of the kidnapped soldiers.

It reminds me of my shul. The shul wants to be friendly. So how does it go about be friendly? It appoints a "friendly officer" to stand by the door welcoming people. People might rarely talk to anyone new, and it’s quite unlikely that you’ll get invited by someone else for a meal, But there is a "friendly officer." These people simply don’t get friendliness. You make a shul friendly... by being friendly. When people are warm and welcome strangers, they are friendly. When a shul has to appoint a committee to make some friendly decisions, they have missed the point.

Likewise with valuing life. Valuing life isn’t about printing on the front page of the newspapers the names of everyone who dies in a car accident or in a military operation. Valuing life is making sure that they don’t die in the first place. It might not be so dramatic, but valuing life is about driving slowly and courteously. Currently, we do not value life any more than anyone else.

Read all about it!

Like most subcultures, Israeli shuls have their own printed medium of communication – it’s called the Shabbat leaflets. These leaflets, published by Yeshivot and Jewish organisations, started out some years ago as black and white photocopies, comprised of a few short Divrei Torah. As they became more popular, and publishers saw the possibility of making money from them, they began to include adverts for everything from mobile phones, kosher holidays to the Far East and new homes. As the money poured in, the leaflets got bigger, the graphics got fancier and the general appeal started to grow. The content branched out from Parshat Shavua to cover a wider variety of Jewish topics and the selection of leaflets grew as more and more organisations started printing their own. In piles by the front door of shuls across the country, worshipers now enter shul on a Friday night and can choose from a wide selection.

However, the common thread through most sheets is a strong political line. With Mekor Rishon as the only right wing newspaper among a generally left-wing media, these leaflets fast became the medium through which the Dati Leumi community leaders would air their views. Whatever the week’s Parsha, Rabbis from West Bank settlements search for connections to themes such as the holiness of Eretz Yisrael and the importance of a Torah-conscious leadership. During disengagement, the sheets were vocally anti-withdrawal, directly attacking the government and its policies. Shul reading, previously the exclusive domain of Talmud Torah, has been for some time now, infiltrated by right wing political propaganda. The sheets regularly advertise new housing projects in West Bank settlements, promote demonstrations, and around election time, can be expected to call upon its readers to vote for one of the right wing parties.

The Yesha Council now publishes its own leaflet called Yesha Shelanu. This leaflet is pure politics – it mostly consists of news stories and pictures, all centred around the settlements. In many ways it’s a breath of fresh air – for once a leaflet that says what it is, rather than trying to disguise itself as a Torah publication. Last week’s edition reviewed a new trend of getting married outside the Cave of Machpela and offered a prize to anyone who could identify a photograph taken somewhere in the Land of Israel (funnily enough the Yesha Shelanu photographer never seems to make it to the Galil, Negev or even the Mercaz!)

As something of a backlash against this trend, a couple of new leaflets came out, published by more moderate or apolitical organisations like Tzohar, which aim to keep the focus on Judaism. While some of these sheets have managed to break into the mainstream of shul reading, it is hard to ever imagine a politically left-wing sheet ever being circulated around the shuls. And this is precisely the root of the problem – these publications have no accountability whatsoever. Their circulation is guaranteed by central distributors who decide what to deliver to the shuls, as well as the shul gabaim who have the final call as to whether they allow sheets on to their premises or not. If the distributor or your shul gabbai doesn’t like it, you simply can’t read it – you will read what they give you. And what’s more, I’m yet to see a sheet which publishes letters, leaving the readers with no way of channelling dissatisfaction in the way one can with a newspaper.

So if I don’t like them, why do I read them? Simple really. Beats the alternative.

Ten weird and wonderful things about shul

They’re true the world over and if you go to shul, you’ll know what I mean…

1. Shaking hands – Every time someone gets a mitzvah at shul – whether it’s an aliya, opening the ark, lifting the Torah – everyone he passes feels the need to shake his hand and congratulate him. Congratulate for what? It’s easy, it didn’t involve any preparation and we’ve all done it.

2. Instructions on opening the ark – Every time the job of opening the ark is given to a guest, shul wardens always feel the need to explain how to do it, as if directing a novice on how to do open heart surgery. “There’s two strings, one is high and one is low. Pull the high one down and the curtain will open. Then you’ll find two doors. They’re the slidy variety so don’t try to pull them open… Would you like me to go up there with you in case you need help?” Let’s be honest, we all have curtains and doors at home, we’ll figure it out.

3. Shokeling – What’s with the ferocious swaying movement? Sometimes forward and back, occasionally side to side. Someone once told me that Jews shokel to help their concentration during prayer but have you ever seen people violently swaying in an exam, or while driving a car?!

4. 'Someone’s sitting in my seat' – We’ve all been there before, when visiting a shul that someone comes in late and tells you that you’re sitting in their seat. Reasonable people like myself see this as incredible rudeness unbefitting of a House of Prayer. That said, when I come to my shul and see someone sitting in my seat, I find somewhere else to sit…and spend the rest of the service pissed off that someone's sitting in my set.

5. Standing up for the Rabbi – As a mark of respect to the Rabbi, we stand up when he walks into the shul. The problem is, that we’re tired and can’t be bothered getting up for him. So what do we do? We’ve put our hands on the sides of our chair, push all our weight down on our arms, and lift up our back sides so there’s about an inch between us and the chair. Then we release the pressure on our arms and drop ourselves back down. Let’s get something straight – that is not standing up.

6. Pointing your little finger – When someone goes up to lift the Torah for Hagbah, we’ve got this weird thing we do when we point our little finger in the air, close one eye, aim our little finger at the Torah scroll and then kiss our little finger. In my book, that’s not the way to kiss something. And why the little finger?!

7. Correcting laning – When someone goes up to read from the Torah, despite the fact that we know he spent hours preparing the laning and does so for no material benefit, we treat him like an arrogant showman who is out to impress us. It’s the only way of explaining the combat that begins with his first word, where we yell out every time he slips up. And when we do, we have that smug sense of having caught the bastard.

8. Sweetie man – Children are taught never to accept sweets from a stranger. It’s one of the most basic rules of childhood, along with “stop, look and listen”. But when it comes to shul, kids are free to take candy from anyone, regardless of how creepy they look.

9. Missing pages – All shul siddurim have pages missing. We accept it as if it’s a given. In fact, we never question why it is that we have books at home that have been read many times but are still in decent condition, but shul siddurim are always missing pages. Do people get so caught up in their prayers that thy start tearing it apart?

10. Sleeping – It doesn’t matter how much sleep you’ve had – there are certain points in the service that can put even the insomniacs to sleep. The Rabbi’s sermon goes without saying, but things like Megillat Kohelet and that song before laning on Shavuot morning can put the whole congregation down. Just make sure not to snore.

Looking for: A woman to meet a man in his 60s

We Jews might only make up 0.227% of the world population, but we manage to find plenty of ways of differentiating ourselves from each other. We love labels. Orthodox, Reform, Conservative, Liberal, Secular, Charedi, Chassidic, Masorti, Traditional… the list goes on. Last week I received an email that referred to a shiur taking placing at an Egalitarian Traditional shul. The problem with all these labels is that we often have no idea what they actually mean. Which is why I was especially glad to see someone take the time to actually define one of these terms… in a lonely hearts ad in Friday’s Jerusalem Post.

The anonymous bachelor took out an advert on the classified page, titled “Looking for: A woman to meet a man in his 60s”. A native Californian now living in Jerusalem, “still involved in his U.S. businesses” (a.k.a. wealthy) describes himself as having “a rich history, a wonderful sense of humor, likes people and loves Israel… very modern orthodox”. Sounds good, so what’s he looking for? A “very modern orthodox…physically attractive and well groomed” woman, not “a leftist”, professional, worldly, “unencumbered with young children” and under the age of 50. After giving his email address he offers five bullet points defining “very modern orthodox”. They include having a day school education, being a follower of all basic halacha, into mixed swimming, watching TV and going to the movies…and a hatless trouser-wearer.

Well, there you go. If you do all of that, you’re “very modern orthodox”. If you wear a hat or skirts you must be “extremely modern orthodox” or perhaps “old-fashioned orthodox”. If you didn’t go to day school you’re just “a little bit modern orthodox” and if you’re a bit lax on basic halacha you might have to settle for “only just modern orthodox”.

If by any chance you fit the description and fancy meeting a guy 15 years older than you – who knows what he wants – don’t worry about being short of small talk for your first date. Mr Very Modern Orthodox promises “other criteria to be discussed”.

Three Cheers for Cromwell!

There are few things that I enjoy more than spending an evening curled up on the couch with a good DVD. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a new action film, a good comedy or an old musical. But recently, a new genre of DVD entered my life, when a friend of mine got hold of a copy of the ceremony at Bevis Marks Synagogue in London, marking the 350th anniversary of the re-admission of Jews to Britain. You can’t find that in Blockbusters.

The ceremony brought together the leaders of Anglo Jewry and representatives of the British establishment, most notably, Prime Minister Tony Blair, for a service of thanksgiving. Bevis Marks was the obvious location for such an event. It’s England’s oldest and one its most beautiful Synagogues, it’s in central London, and its members are as English as they come. They talk posh, wear top hats and no doubt, drink tea at five and host garden parties.

Several children from the local Jewish Primary School, dressed impeccably in their maroon school uniform, hair brushed and teeth sparkling, went up on the stage to offer thanks to the people of England. Addressing the Prime Minister, the children thanked him and his predecessors for being so kind to the Jew, allowing him to come back after he had been expelled 365 years earlier and for tolerating him ever since. “Oh thank you Prime Minister, thank you so much for not massacring us, or forcing us to live in ghettos. Thank you for allowing us to open businesses and to vote in elections. It really is awfully kind of you.”

Yes. We Jews are so used to persecution and hatred that we sound almost surprised when we’re left alone.

Don’t get me wrong. We have a lot to be thankful for, but at the same time, it’s a reciprocal relationship. We shouldn’t try to hide the things that are most important to us, as if we’re a bit embarrassed by them. Like our deep love of Israel. Throughout the ceremony I was struck by the absence of at least a mention of Anglo-Jewry’s strong ties to the Jewish State and support for strong bilateral ties between both countries. The service concluded with laughter all around when the choir performed its rendition of God Save the Queen in Hebrew. I wondered whether they would sing the Hatikva in English, but given the atmosphere of the event, Mr Blair could have been mistaken into thinking that “Lihiyot Am Chofshi B’artzenu” (To be a free people in our country) was referring to England.

But even the best planned events occasionally have their blips. Only a keen ear would have noticed that when the choir sang Aleinu, they followed the Sephardi liturgy that includes a line about the gentiles, removed from the Ashkenazi siddur years ago – “For they bow to vanity and emptiness and pray to a god which helps not.” Now that’s not cricket.

Being a Member of a Secret Society

Some men have the freemasons, others have poker buddies or rugby teams. I have weekday shul.

Being a regular weekday shul-goer is like being a member of an exclusive men’s club. We have a meeting place, a shared uniform and a common objective. And there are usually just men.

The only difference between weekday shul and the freemasons is that in the freemasons, most lodge members know the other’s names and occasionally talk to one another. Members of the weekday shul club know each other’s faces, a bit about each other’s laning and davening skills, but not very much else.

When we weekday shul-goers pass each other on the street, we give each a knowing nod and then carry on with whatever we’re doing. The nod speaks louder than words. It says ‘Hello fellow shul-goer. I may not know your name but I respect you because you are also as crazy as me in getting up in the morning at 6am to go to selichot. Have a good day.’ The weekday shul-goer’s nod is our secret handshake.

The shul-goers’ mutual respect is strongest on the street. But when we’re at shul, that respect isn’t always so important. Two days ago, I witnessed a classic weekday shul encounter at my regular Mincha service in the Global Park Office shul. At 3pm, a few workers from each of the companies slip away for their ‘cigarette break’ and spend 15 minutes together in the privacy of the bomb shelter. There are Sephardim and Ashkenazim; Chassidim and ‘normal folk’. There might be hundreds of workers in the block, but I swear, I could meet any other the 30 Global Park shul-goers, anywhere in the world and would give them ‘the nod’.

As we got to the end of the Amida, the Lubavitcher leading the service, attempted to skip the Tachanun prayer, and move straight to Kaddish.
‘What are you doing?!”, yelled a Moroccan.
“It’s Pesach Sheini tomorrow,” replied the Lubbie.
“But we say Tachanun on Erev Pesach Sheini”.
“But I don’t, and I’m in charge today!”
Cue all the others, and a huge argument erupted, verging on a mass brawl… all over whether to skip a prayer (that we all hate) on the day before the Pascal Offering would have been offered in the Temple times, if we had been impure a month earlier on.

I quietly gave ‘the nod’ to one of my colleagues and we slipped out.