Me in the Minyan? Prayer & Baseball

In my wanderings and travels I always like to peruse people's bookshelves - perhaps a lost art with the trending rise of kindles and e-books.  I recently came across Pray Ball! The Spiritual Insights of a Jewish Sports Fan by Rabbi James Gordon and it sparked my interest in others ways to approach the teaching of tefilla.  He describes his creative outreach approach to managing his synagogues demand to preserve the daily minyan: the Take Me Out to the Minyan incentive program.

In the first chapter, Gordon makes his ideological connection between davening and baseball:

Many parallels exist between a minyan and baseball. Each activity demands a basic number of participants. According to the American League, which follows the Designated Hitter's rule, ten players are needed. A minyan requires a minimum of ten Jewish men. In both baseball and a minyan, each participant individually plays an important role. However, to be effective in either activity, all participants mus participate as a group and give their maximum "team effort".  Similar to praying (davening) and playing baseball, the more spirited the group, usually the more successful the group. Finally, in a best-of-both worlds scenario, minyan and baseball become one and the same when - as in Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore and the New York's Shea Stadium - there is, I have heard, a daily minyan during the seventh inning stretch in one of the concession room

The book is filled more with general Jewish wisdom mixed with his affection for sports (especially Chicago teams) than tips for tefilla, but I think Gordon's opening points touches on the core issues that is often neglected to be discussed/emphasized to young people - the present tension between the individual needs/desires and the group. He cites God's assurance to Abraham in Genesis (to be numerous as "stars of the heaven" and "the sand on the seashore") and the movie Field of Dreams to drive home this point. He concludes with the following:

Our Sages teach that these two analogies are symbolic of the importance of individuality as wells our connection to the community.  Like the stars, we as individuals must strive to succeed and shine bright. Like the sand on the seashore, we must be cohesive and work together as a community. 

The importance of striving to be like stars and sand is extremely applicable to both baseball and davening.  When we play baseball, a sport played sometimes on sand and at times under the stars, it is important for each individual to try his hardest to achieve greatness as both a hitter and fielder.  It is even more critical  however, for him to bond with his teammates in order to become a team player. Ultimately  this is the only way to succeed.   

When we pray, as individuals, we must each focus and daven with all our might. However, our Sages still teach us that the highest level of prayers is achieved only when we gather together as community with a minyan. 

Prayers Have Been Cancelled

The following email was sent to a shul during Hurricane Sandy:

Dear Community,
In light of the deteriorating situation resulting from "Sandy", and based upon the directives issued by local authorities for people to stay home this evening and thereby protect themselves from the teeth of the storm, in my capacity as Posek for our community, I have instructed the shul to cancel tonight's Maariv service. Pikuach Nefesh is a consideration that allows even for Shabbat violation in order to preserve life so that future Shabbatot can be properly observed. It stands to reason that Tefilla B'Tzibbur, even when one has the obligation to say Kaddish, should be governed by a similar consideration. What is of paramount importance is that everyone stay safe and current conditions constitute a real danger to life and limb. May we all get through the next few days so that we can once again resume our normal lives and serve HaShem as we are meant to.

There are two main arguments about the source of the commandment to daven.  One argument links us back to the patriarchs who each is credited with establishing a tefilla - the other approach connects to the practical worship of the Beit HaMikdash, the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.  While I am more inspired and perhaps persuaded that the Avot started the davening project, I think that the formulated worship, ritualized practices with codes and dogmas are more powerfully connected to the historical experience of the Temple.  One of the key concepts underlying this service was the tamid offering, that it was perpetually brought regardless of the weather or political conditions, and reflected the community's ideals much more than the individual's personality or situation.

I think that the above email reflects the spirit of davening even if it reflects an interruption of the community's service to Hashem. It also serves as a good reminder that form and function are the ideal combination for a tefilla.  Wishing everyone the best of weather and a speedy return to normal life to those effected by the storm. 

Who is to Blame?

Please read this Jewcy.com article by Devora Meyers Shuls Out for Rosh Hashana.

There is much to this piece, in its honest expression of a common experience for many shul goers, regardless of the style of synagogue they attend.  But while I like Meyers' question, "So what’s the difference between the intellectual discussion that excites me and the prayers that bore me to distraction?" I think her answer is meek.

Let me be clear that I think her answer is correct for her, argued well, and again I add the adjective honest; However, I am starkly reminded of Harold Kushner approach, "What's lacking in you?"

Are we now so self absorbed that we have to always have it our way and that we cannot strive for a communal forum? (do not mistake this as quest for an objective or uniform religious forum).  I get the frustration for prayer in general but for the 3-timers (those that come only three times a year: 2 for Rosh Hashana and once for Yom Kippur) can we justify the opt out?  Great, your bored, the service is long and its not your style - what else can the institutions, teachers, leaders and rabbis do to engage those that don't want what's being served in most tefillot...... It is a good question to ask for every classroom teacher - how do we help nurture not only individuals, but help those individuals share and join into a community of learners and shearers?

I want to end with a quote from Rav Kook from Ein Eyah:

In order to lead human beings on the path of continual improvement, G-d implanted within the human soul the incessant drive to always seek more..."

Here's hoping you have a positive shul experience this week.  

Blessings For Not Making Me A .....

One of the most fascinating aspects of tefilla for me is the simultaneous tensions between past and present, tradition and change, structure and passion, and the individual vs. the community.  I am reminded of this struggle each morning when I arrive in the siddur at birkot ha'shachar, the morning blessings that begin with a thank you for not making me a non-Jew, a slave, or a woman.

Yehuda Mirsky published last March a brief scholarly review of "The Three Blessings".  I encourage you all to read it and share what and why you say what you say in the morning.  The history of these blessings are complex and cloudy but I think reflects the agency to which people adopt, adapt or resist change in their tefillot.

Moving Davening off your Checklist

In a recent bookjed review of We're Missing the Point: What's Wrong with the Orthodox Jewish Community and How to Fix It by Gidon Rothstein, Franics Nataf writes:

In We’re Missing the Point, Rothstein correctly tells us that much of the Orthodox community has lost its way. Echoing A. J. Heschel's castigation of our community as pan-halachic, he writes that by becoming "checklisters and ritualists," we not only miss the forest from the trees but are not even able to differentiate between big trees and small trees. His answer is to try to identify a blueprint of the goals of Judaism and explain how various mitzvot connect with these goals. As he writes in his introduction, such an agenda should be obvious and to this reader it was. Yet I am reminded of the introduction of Messilat Yesharim which says the same and yet became a classic for much the same reason one would like to see the current work become a classic – because people often ignore the obvious.

I would go one step further and suggest that many of the fights that are raging between various sectors of Orthodoxy would be less divisive if halacha was viewed contextually as Rothstein suggests. By this, I mean that the community would do well to understand more overtly that we should not see our aim as doing a particular mitzvah per se, but rather achieving the goal it – as part of a larger system – is supposed to accomplish. Were that the case, Orthodox feminists would likely feel less desperate to legitimate women’s participation in all sorts of mitzvot that remain controversial. At the same time, more conservative elements would likely get less hot under the collar if certain communities struck a certain halachic position that allowed such participation.

I haven't read the original work by Rothstein, but I think that Nataf's comments must cause us pause about the trending over ritualization of our teffilot. I once heard it said that the conservative streams of Judaism overly emphasize structure and lack a proper teaching of the spirit while the liberal streams overly emphasize the spirit but lack the proper teaching of structure - how can we practice, teach and maintain this balance?  This is at the top of my checklist!

Guest Post: The Amidah Project

This post is originally from Chicago Carless, a blog by Michael Doyle, address many important issues for tefilla educators.

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For the past few months, my Reform synagogue has done something most Reform synagogues don’t: we’ve stood and recited a partially silent Amidah, Judaism’s sizeable central prayer. You find the Amidah–which means “standing” in Hebrew, because you stand when you say it–in every Jewish service, whether shacharit (the morning service), mincha (afternoon), or maariv (evening.) Tradition suggests most if not all of the Amidah is recited silently, and most Orthodox and Conservative congregations follow suit.

Yet even with the traditionalizing trend of the past three decades, many Reform congregations pray an abbreviated form of the Amidah, always out loud, and often seated for the prayer’s latter parts. Meaningful passages in Hebrew are often skipped in favor of English intepretations or, simply, left out entirely.

Aside from a few seconds for “silent prayer,” there isn’t often the same opportunity our Orthodox and Conservative brethren have to really be alone with your heartfelt intention.  In fact, a typical Reform Amidah can be far from heartfelt. It’s hard to really go deep with your tradition’s central prayer when your denomination seems afraid of it’s deepest parts.

When we decided to test out a partially silent Amidah (we still chant the first three, long blessings out loud), several people pushed back. Some were afraid they wouldn’t understand the “new” parts in Hebrew. (We use Mishkan T’Filah, Reform’s latest, fully translated and transliterated prayerbook.) Some were afraid they wouldn't know how long to stand or when to sit down. (We sit when we’re individually done.) Some said they’d miss formerly chanted or sung parts. Overall those who pushed back were afraid that they’d miss, essentially, meaning.

What we’ve found is instructive. Some people still want the “old way” back. And, frankly, I would prefer our newly silent Amidah to be one arrow in an overall quiver of ways to approach the Amidah–including our “old way.” Especially in Reform, there’s no reason to leave anybody out. (And I happen to feel quite touched when our cantor sings R’tzei.)

But overall, people seem to like our newly silent Amidah. Why? Because in those long, pungently silent minutes of silent prayer, we are finally (and in Reform, for once) rendered alone–with our thoughts, with our prayer, with our tradition. The experience has knocked many of us out, initially rendering some of us to tears. And that outcome was totally unexpected. Wonderful. Incredible. A blessing. But unexpected.

Maybe that’s how far as Reform Jews we’ve let ourselves become removed from the meaning behind the words we pray–no matter what language we choose to pray in. But the meaning is there if we just listen for it. For some in my congregation, taking ourselves off of our liturgical autopilot for a little while was enough to start to sense why we say the Amidah in the first place. The prayer is truly an emotional journey if you let it be.

I don’t blame any Reform Jew for feeling disconnected from an Amidah recited silently in Hebrew. It just hasn’t been our practice, and not a lot of us talk about our prayer experience publicly. So I will. Over the next few weeks I intend to post a series of blog entries that lay out the Reform versions of core Jewish prayers, beginning with the Amidah (both the Shabbat and weekday versions), in Hebrew transliteration and English translation, accompanied by my thoughts on my emotional experience during each specific blessing or rubric of the liturgy. (Perhaps with video, as well.) After all, I definitely feel an almost exhausting emotional journey during the Amidah. It’s a feeling worth sharing–and most of all, describing. As you may have guessed from the title of this post, I’m calling my new series “The Amidah Project.”

We can’t all be Debbie Friedman, z”l, able to find the most miraculous meanings in seemingly hidden Hebrew corners of the liturgy and set them to catchy modern music. But we can all pause, and read, and listen, and then write and talk about our experience. I invite all of my Jewish readers to do just that. Open your nearest siddur–on Shabbat, the one covered in dust in your closet, or online. Find a part where you always tune out. This time, though, tune in. Read it slowly. Sit with it. Consider what those words might really mean–from Deity, to you. You might come up with nothing. But you might come up hearing that still, small voice.

The basis for our entire tradition.

This post is part of my Amidah Project series–an attempt to examine my personal experience of the core prayers of the normative Reform Jewish liturgy. For more, please browse my Amidah Project archive.

UN-Original Words of Comfort

Presently I am researching a class that I will be giving on Tisha B'Av on the topic of personal vs. national loss. A kind reader of the blog, with this knowledge, sent to me the following text from Baruch Feldstern (on the faculty of Machon Pardes).  I wanted to share this powerful piece in part because I think it identifies the modern's struggle with ritualized prayer.  Let me know your thoughts:
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Last September, a friend sent me an e-mail to say that she was sitting in the congregation of her new synagogue on Rosh Hashana when the rabbi illustrated a point in his sermon with "a story that I heard from my teacher, BaruchFeldstern," some thirty years ago. I am not sure where he went from there, but already there are two important messages here for those of you entering the field of education: you never know who among your students is paying attention; and neither you nor they can be sure which casual remark that may or may not resonate at the moment, may become relevant and significant at the right time and place many years later.

But I want to focus on the story itself that this rabbi remembered. It concerned an occasion that had an impact on me - both at the time and in retrospect.

I was at a shiva where the bereaved was one of my teachers, and nearly the whole Jewish Theological Seminary faculty was present, including the esteemed Abraham Joshua Heschel. For those who have not read any of his works, let me explain that the most prosaic of Heschel's paragraphs blossoms with poetry; the spiritual strength of his Hasidic origins lifts the heaviest of his ideas to heavenly spheres. When Heschel was about to leave the shiva, he approached the mourner and I thought to myself - now Heschel, who is so articulate and profound and full of pathos, will surely say something original and deeply meaningful. When he stood face to face with the bereaved and merely recited the customary (Ashkenazi) expression, HaMakom yenahem otkha b'tokh sh'ar aveilei Tziyon Viy'rushalayim - May the Ever-present comfort you among the rest of the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem - I was deeply disappointed. What a let-down; what a lost opportunity.

Later, after more reflection, it seemed to me that it had actually been an illustration of the genius of Jewish tradition. Often, no words are adequate - even for a Heschel - to alleviate the mourner's grief, and the traditionally sanctioned formulation reduces the distress of the comforter's departure. Like so much ritual, often denigrated as mindless rote (Heschel himself warned of the dangers of what he called "religious behaviorism"), such traditions enable us to deal with tension-fraught occasions where our own instincts, imagination and creativity leave us speechless and helpless. In a sense, the formulaic words of the consolation blessing are like a hug in words; but whereas a hug, beyond saying, "I care," is infinitely open to interpretation, the prescribed formula ensures that the brief exchange will express not only the comforter's feelings but also the tradition's interpretation of the occasion to mourner, comforter and observer alike. In this case the message includes affirmations that (1) comfort comes from God, (2) as profound as the grief in this room is, we are still part of a larger community, (3) which has its own tragedies, and (4) among them is the national tragedy of destruction and displacement. As a result of this one-line farewell, whenever a Jew exited a house of mourning during the past 2000 years, s/he was prompted to express the national dimension of our mourning: Jerusalem is in ruins and we are in exile.

This evocation of the tragedy of the entire people was intended in no way to deny the real suffering of the bereaved. Rather, it aimed, on one level, to prompt mourners to contextualize their own loss, to remind them that they were not alone and that, just as the Jewish people had found a way to continue living despite catastrophic loss, so will they.

At the same time, it reminded all who counted themselves as members of the Jewish people that one component of the destiny to which they aspired was the restoration of national existence, a sentiment that found expression not only in a house of mourning but on every joyous occasion and, in fact, repeatedly in the daily liturgy. These prayers continue to give voice to an age-old longing for a home, proclaiming the Jews' own "right of return."

Your discussion about the defined structure of the discourse, with all the traditional layers of meaning from individual grief to the historical destruction and displacement resonates very deeply with me. The prescribed forms and stages of mourning/grieving are profound and comforting. They help define the very essence of what being Jewish means to me. Even when we are beyond words, there are words to sustain us, as part of a wider community.

Any Takers for a Shiva Minyan?

What does it mean when your shul sends out the following email?

A member of our congregation is unfortunately sitting shiva for his parent.  It has been brought to our attention that he has not been able to get a minyan all week. 

Please, whether you know him or not, and if you are able to - please help him make a minyan tonight or tomorrow morning. 

A community is hard to establish and even harder to maintain.  In light of my recent post asking about minyan times and when the entire congregation gathers together as one - this recent email had me thinking about a reciprocal problem: how to best to garner commitments from people to sustain each and every minyan!

My father was a person who was adamant about supporting and sustaining a daily minyan and I remember once, when I was on recess in afternoon Hebrew School, leaving the basketball game at the request of the shul beadle to help make a minyan.  I could hear my father willing me out of my free time exercise to go help those that wanted to say kaddish; I think this says a lot about the value of community and the sacrifice of individuals for that cause.

One of the essential questions that drives this blog is how one can evaluate the success of teaching tefilla and I have struggled to share and offer qualitative resources.  Two instruments to measure 'success' is counting who shows up or whether the prayer happens on a regular basis.  If it is a school minyan, does the tefilla start on time or is it delayed because of stragglers?  Or despite the enthusiasm, can you celebrate that the tefilla has happened each day of the school year?

Regardless if these are your instruments to evaluate, sending out the above email to your congregation is a poor indicator of tefilla values.  Either there is a lack of attention to sustain a minyan under more extreme circumstances or there is a significant lack of kindness extended to those out of your immediate circle of friendship.   

The Debate over Bringing Kids to Shul

This blog is an outlet for educators to discuss and explore approaches and resources on tefilla. As I write from an educator's perspective, a lot of what I share involves approaches of students and children to davening.  There is a sincere need to have a conversation about children in shul as they pose a tremendous educational opportunity and danger to the unique environment for daveners.

Tonight, in doing some research, I have come across a lot of websites dealing with adult approaches to children in davening.  I have shared before on this topic and just reread "In The King's Presence" Teaching for Tefillah: A Communal Responsibility by Dr. Wallace Greene and once again fascinated by the different approaches parents have to bringing kids to shul.  But this article, published last year in The Yeshiva World News site, takes the cake.

Titled, "Why I am going to let my kids run around shul", this article elicited 60 responses that run the gamut, that is the gamut for YWN readers.  My personal favorite line is "Judaism (and life) is about trying your best. If you can't do something perfectly, you do it imperfectly." Nonetheless I thought this article was worth sharing because there really is no single 'Best Practice' when it comes to what age and when to bring your kid to shul and really comes down to a subjective calculation on your child's personality and mood, the atmosphere of the synagogue, and the educational opportunity that is present.

What is your synagogue's policy on children in shul?

Shul Options

I have ripped this following list from a large US shul to demonstrate how one (orthodox) shul offers many options for their congregants.  I have tried to protect the name of the shul.  Let me know if you notice any trends that I miss:

Shabbat Services 

Main Sanctuary 9:00AM - This service is the cornerstone of the shul.  The Rabbi’s weekly sermons address timely and timeless issues and speak to the congregants’ relationships with one another and with Hashem. Our Cantor leads the service with melodies and songs that never fail to inspire. 

Hashkama Minyan 7:45AM - This early minyan meets on Shabbat morning. With a close-knit feel, this minyan features a 15 minute shiur taught in conjunction with a hot Kiddush immediately following davening. It is an ideal service for early risers, spouses who want to help acclimate their children to Shabbat morning groups and people looking for a spirited Shabbat morning mini shiur. 

Young Leadership Minyan 9:30AM - This weekly Shabbat morning minyan is the nucleus of the Young Leadership Committee’s social and religious programming. The minyan features a sermon each week followed by a Kiddush which provides a wonderful venue for young community leaders to interact after services every week. 

Carlebach Minyan - This monthly Friday night service meets every Shabbat Mevarchim. Led by our Cantor, this minyan uses the tunes of Shlomo Carlebach to inspire us and transform our Friday night experience. 

Beginners Service 9:30AM - A Saturday morning service designed for people who know little or nothing about Jewish prayer. The Beginners Service is an anxiety free, “no Hebrew-necessary, user friendly” prayer experience that will keep you looking forward to Saturday mornings. Service is followed by Kiddush, refreshments and socializing. 

Sunday and Weekday Services 

On Sundays and legal holidays, Shacharit is held 8:30AM. On weekday mornings, Shacharit is at 7:00AM and 8:00AM. 

Minchah and Maariv - follow the schedule on the calendar. 

Women’s Tehillim 7:15PM - Join us every other Monday evening as we recite the entire Book of Tehillim (Psalms) for those who need our spiritual support and for the safety and well-being of our brothers and sisters in Israel. We divide the Psalms among all members present so that we may articulate a meaningful and complete prayer as a group.

First of all I observe that there are options for early rises and late comers, old and young, beginners and advanced, and those that like to sing and those that want to get it over as soon as possible.

Next, notice that food (no surprise) is a key ingredient to the communal tefilla experience.

Finally, when is everyone together in the same room?  There is a halachik concept of ברוב עם הדרת מלך - "in the great multitude the king's glory is enhanced" - which proposes that it is better for amass more people for a religious experience.  When does this community really get together - to daven or even just to socialize?

Is the Synagogue a Relic?

The following is an article taken from the The Jewish Daily Forward's Blog section, published March 23rd 2012 by Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz (newly minted on the top 50 Rabbis list).  Titled "Is the Synagogue a Relic", Yanklowitz eloquently raises many serious questions about how to transmit the skill of davening to our students.
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Many Jews today claim that they are “spiritual not religious,” that organized religion is not relevant, or that they would rather spend their free time alone than with others. Those who attend synagogue weekly often reserve the service, especially the sermon, for a special naptime. Others prefer a 20–person basement setting for a quick prayer service rather than a formal, large gathering at shul. Around two-thirds of Americans claim to be members of a house of worship, which is more than 25% higher than Jewish synagogue membership. Is the synagogue becoming extinct? If so, should we seek to prevent extinction?

At its worst, synagogue is rife with factionalism and small-mindedness, a place to mumble irrelevant words and snooze during an out of touch sermon, and later nosh on stale chips at kiddush while discussing the stock market and the latest gossip. Synagogues spend their limited funds on plaques, high-end scotch and a new social hall rather than on adequately paying staff and investing in learning programs. Congregants drive $50,000 cars but request assistance on the membership dues. The experience is predictable, tedious and boring. It resembles a business transaction, where one has paid membership dues for the right to services, more than a sacred obligation. The staff and board do not lead with Jewish values but act as management as if the congregation was just another business venture. The ritual is empty and the action is either inadequate or nonexistent.

Leading such a congregation is virtually impossible. The rabbi is required to perform four full-time jobs, take 3 am phone calls, act as the scapegoat for all failures, and also please each congregant while handling critiques with a smile. Congregants are forthcoming with complaints, but few volunteer when they can watch the football game on television. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel observed: “The modern temple suffers from a severe cold. The services are prim, the voice is dry, the temple is clean and tidy… no one will cry, the words are stillborn.”

Some see patterns of dysfunction. Professor James Kugel identified three kinds of harmful synagogues: the 1) “Ceremonial Hall Synagogue,” 2) “Nostalgia Center,” and 3) “Davening Club.” In the Ceremonial Hall, the congregants neither care to participate nor learn about what is really going on; they just wish to be an entertained audience. Mimicking a Broadway show, shul becomes entertainment, and the rabbi and cantor get a score for their performance. At the Nostalgia Center, the rabbi is often the youngest one present, and Judaism is about sitting where one’s grandfather sat, saying kaddish, and telling old Yiddish jokes. Everything is wrong but nothing should be changed. The congregation’s traditions and customs trump shared values, meaning, connection, and opportunities for growth. At the Davening Club, there is a false semblance of prayer intensity, but it more closely resembles a mumble-festival, without any real spiritual uplift.

On the other hand, at its best, shul can be a transformative spiritual experience. Eager congregants roll up their sleeves to build the community, providing an open, relevant experience for all. Prayer centers can be welcoming, participatory, and collaborative. Most importantly, a strong synagogue is driven by shared values and a sense of mission and purpose. Congregants look inside the walls of the prayer community for intimate connection and reciprocal comfort, and look outside for opportunities to reach out and give back. Peter Steinke, author of “Healthy Congregations,” explains that congregations need to move from being clergy-focused to mission-focused. Rather than relying upon clergy to inspire and entertain the congregation, everyone is involved in a system of involvement, encouragement and teaching.

A healthy congregation takes effort to build. A diverse population attends shul for very different reasons: children, singles, empty nesters, intermarried families, etc. Each population must be honored and be given a seat at the table. Too often, the elderly members of the congregation complain that there are not enough young people at the congregation to “keep the tradition alive”; to improve, they must be willing to adapt the experience to invite a new audience.

For the synagogue to survive and be relevant in the 21st century, congregants must seek authentic prayer experiences, enrichment through learning, and a contribution to community building. One does not just show up when convenient, but to support others consistently. Do not sit back and blame a poor prayer experience on the rabbi. If you find yourself unable to achieve meaningful prayer, learning, and volunteer experiences, consider changing shuls (and search within yourself). The heart must actually be open if one wishes to be inspired. But do not quit the synagogue enterprise — it has survived thousands of years for a reason.

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Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz is the founder and president of Uri L’Tzedek. His book, “Jewish Ethics & Social Justice: A Guide for the 21st Century,” is now available.

The State of Tefilla

In a few short weeks, the President of the United States will give his annual State of the Union address to a joint session of Congress.  It is speech to reflect on the past and speak to policy visions for the upcoming year.

In this spirit, I wanted to hear from some educators regarding the State of Tefilla in schools:

• Is tefilla strong in your school?  
• Has there been growth in tefilla?
• Was there a major challenge that was overcome this past year?
• Was there a tragedy to an individual or the community that influenced the tefillot of your school?
• Was there joyous celebration, like Gilad Shalit's release, that led to singing songs of praise and happy tefillot?
• What was the high point of tefilla and was the low point?
• What is the state of tefilla to the larger community? 
• Would people stand and clap at the end of your speech?

No doubt the president, in his speech, makes some honest assessments of events, many rhetorical statements, and spins a yearn to show the country in the best light.  Please feel free to share your experiences.  

Also, for those of you on twitter, please feel free to follow the blog for the latest updates and resources @davenspot. 

Fasting, Praying, or Protesting

One of my personal critiques of my Jewish experience was that I felt I had inherited (or was educated towards) an immature impression of Judaism. This covered my conceptualization of Gd (long beard sitting on a throne) through to the purpose and need for substantive ritual in modern life. I finally was able to realize during college - after many conversations and scores of books read - that my conceptualization of Judaism was extremely adolescent and perhaps, before I judge Judaism and my people and perhaps check out, I should learn more to see if I really had experienced the whole gamut of information and perspectives.

Here is just a small anecdote about the extent of my immaturity. My family were regulars at a traditional Conservative Synagogue almost every Shabbat morning. After years of going to Junior Congregation and to the main minyan I really thought the purpose of public Torah reading was to catch the mistakes of the reader. Really! Who understood what was being read aloud and thus deduced that the point of everyone being quiet was to insure that the audience could catch a mistake (or in better terms, to make sure the mesoret was kept accurate week in and week out). Only years later, with a grasp of Hebrew and the fundamentals of community practices, did I learn the greater nuances and appreciation. [More on this theme later but not miss my message: the goal of an educator is to give students the ability and skills to mature into their own Jewish identities and to function and Menschlikim Adults.]

So too with fasting - I remember many a Yom Kippur listening to friends frustrated with the fasting ritual and choosing to opt out under the logic of, "I only think about food, and never about repenting!" Today is the minor fast of the 17th of Tammuz and rather then argue about whether young people should be taught how to focus on the meaningfulness of giving up food for a day (not even 24 hours), I overheard a few conversation speaking about the effect the fast is supposed to have not just on the individual, but on the communal level. Some argued for protesting government policies or injustices happening in other parts of the world and even raising awareness to issues within individual Jewish communities. Communal introspection is important and is sometimes lost in the greater talk about what is happening during the prayers of the day. As daveners, there is a lot of opportunity for personal hesbon nefesh (personal introspection) - but one of the special aspects of the 3 Weeks is that this is a time of soul-searching of the collective and I fear we have lost an element of this self-community-critique. If students are only thinking of their belly on Tisha B'Av then the teachers have not prepared them or challenged them for a communal sense of mourning and suffering and no wonder they are bored during kinot or mincha.

As for the goal of this blog, communities need to take step back and evaluate in which course their tefilot are heading and what could arouse more kavanah (concentration), rachamim (mercy), or kedusha (kedusha/holiness). The Chagim of Rosh Hashanah thru Yom Kippur are likened as the 'playoffs of praying' and need a lot of preparation so that participants are in the atmosphere and have all the tools to play. This metaphor is appropriate because the fundamentals of a championship caliber team are set in training camp, the pre-season, and the everyday playing of the game. How can a minyan recalibrate and make the need adjustments to reach their goals?