Are Today's Sephardic Synagogues Spiritually Attractive?

Beyond the magnificent architectural plans laid out in Parashat Terumah for building Judaism’s first-ever house of worship - the Mishkan– the deeper question we ask is how we turn that architectural structure into a meaningful place worthy of being called a “House of God.” The term Mishkan means “dwelling place,” and if our houses of worship are indeed meant to be places where “God dwells,” what are the architectural plans for the interior of our Mishkan?

During the last “pre-Covid” annual Sephardic Educational Center (SEC) Shavuot Retreat in Palm Springs, we held a town hall discussion as part of our Erev Shavuot study program. Titled What's Wrong with Organized Religion, and How Can We Fix It?” we spent the evening discussing the state of affairs in our local Sephardic synagogues. Our audience was all young Sephardic families who are active in various Sephardic synagogues in Los Angeles. Some serve on boards and committees, many attend Shabbat services on a regular or semi-regular basis, and all have kids who, in one way or the other, are connected to these synagogues. The common denominators here were age group (all young families) and a very strong commitment to Sephardic synagogues and Sephardic Judaism.

As in any diverse audience, the comments varied. Some said, “I wish the synagogues focused more on our kids,” others felt that the rabbi’s sermons “did not reflect current issues.” Some felt it was “too much about the rabbi and hazzan and not enough about the community.” Some liked the “warmth and intimacy” of their Sephardic synagogues, and others said “I can’t say why, but it just feels like home.” The provocative amongst the group said, “I feel like I get more spirituality from my yoga teacher than from my rabbi,” or “Sephardic rabbis are backwards and out of touch with the modern world.” When the teenagers were asked to chime in, some felt the synagogue was “a turnoff,” others said “I don’t really love it, but as Jews, going to synagogue is part of what we have to do, so we do it.” Many of the teens said, “I wish our Shabbat services were as fun and meaningful as the services we have on these SEC Shabbatonim and retreats.”

Reflecting back on that evening brings to mind these powerful words I read many years ago:

 

     “The modern synagogue suffers from a severe cold. Our services are conducted with pomp and precision. Everything is present: decorum, voice and ceremony. But one thing is missing: life. Our motto is monotony. The fire has gone out of our worship. It is cold, stiff, and dead. True, things are happening, but not with prayer, rather with the administration of synagogues. Buildings are growing, but worship and prayer are decaying.”

Spoken in 1953 by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, these words continue to describe many of our synagogues, including in the Sephardic community. 

 

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveichik also offered an interesting perspective on this issue. In a personal reflection on prayer written in 1964, Rabbi Soloveichik said:

 

 “Judaism has always grasped prayer as a ‘worship of the heart,’ a heart overflowing with desire of the divine, full of yearning and wonder and dissonance. I imagine a Kol Nidrei night in the Beit Midrash of the Baal Shem Tov or the Tanya z”l. They did not use music, choirs or glorified tunes and pompous song. They certainly had no carpeted platforms, flowers or rabbis trained in elocution and etiquette. Form was totally lacking, but for that reason there blazed upward a storm of faith, a tremendous love and desire for the Creator. The worshippers must have all swayed like trees in a forest swept by a hurricane.”

Neither Heschel’s biting critique or Soloveichik’s pensive reflections were born out of experiences from Sephardic synagogues, because neither walked in Sephardic circles nor prayed in Sephardic synagogues. However, much of what they said can ring clear to many Sephardic congregants today (myself and my family included). Their words reflect many of our questions for our Sephardic synagogues today:  where’s the fire and passion, why are so many Sephardic services so boring, dry and void of spirit, and why has strict adherence to formality and decorum taken over what should be a “service of the heart?”

 

Sephardic synagogues have such great potential. The Sephardic cantorial traditions (known as Maqqam) offer some of the most beautiful, inspirational and uplifting tunes for the prayers and Torah readings. When a good Sephardic Hazzan knows the Maqqam and feels it in his soul, his voice can light up any synagogue, filling the sanctuary’s seats and the worshipper’s hearts. 

Many Sephardim feel this passion most potently once a year, during a section of the Yom Kippur services which, in Ashkenazi synagogues, is typically somber: Selihot (the penitentiary prayers where we admit to our errant ways and ask for God’s forgiveness). Both Heschel and Soloveichik would delight in the uplifting spiritual energy, joy and passion felt in Sephardic synagogues during the chanting of Selihot. It’s not somber at all, but fun, upbeat and deeply spiritual. My kids love and look forward to Yom Kippur just for these tunes. Hashem Melech, Anenu and Hatanu L’fanekha can energize the sanctuary like no other prayers. The challenge of Sephardic synagogues is to create that same energy every Shabbat. 

Sephardic rabbis can offer unique angles on Jewish life that many of their Ashkenazi colleagues cannot, simply because Sephardic rabbis are typically not part of the Ashkenazi denominational world. This brings potentially refreshing perspectives on halakhic issues, communal challenges and global concerns. If some Sephardic rabbis were to simply “globalize” their sermonic messages to the point where their young congregants felt that the rabbi actually “has something important to say to me on what’s happening in the world,” perhaps the teens would start filling the seats.

Having quoted two Ashkenazi thinkers on this issue, I will conclude on a Sephardic note, with the wise and sage words of Rav Bension Meir Hai Uziel, z”l, the illustrious Rishon L’Sion and Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel (passed away in 1953).

In a beautiful essay on the ideas and values of Shabbat, Rav Uziel lays out a vision for what makes an ideal synagogue experience. He breaks it down to two main ingredients: 

The communal sanctity of Shabbat is expressed in two forms: sacred gatherings and sacred studies.

 

In other words, gatherings that reflect sanctity, and gatherings rooted in sacred studies, are the key ingredients to a spiritually uplifting experience in synagogue on Shabbat. Rav Uziel explains:

 

     Sacred gatherings on Shabbat are expressions of peace (hence “Shabbat Shalom” as a greeting on Shabbat), and every individual is called upon to adapt peaceful ways within his/her community. Our synagogues become spiritual venues by virtue of our own peaceful behavior. “Where is God found,” ask our Sages? Only in a place where peace and brotherly love are prevalent. In such places, one finds people clinging to God, growing closer to God, and being elevated to new spiritual heights.

 

In order for a synagogue to be a spiritual place where we can find God, it is the responsibility of the rabbi – the “spiritual leader” – the hazzan (who leads us in the spiritual act of prayer), and all community members, to come to the synagogue and – through their behavior – create a sacred spiritual environment for the community.

As to sacred studies, Rav Uziel explains:

 

       Our sages taught: “Moshe established a ruling that Jewish communities must read from the Torah in public on Shabbat, holidays and Rosh Hodesh.” What is the nature of this public Torah reading? This public Torah reading must be accompanied by a public sermon whose purpose is to teach, explain and offer deep insights into the Torah reading, so that everyone will become enlightened by the Torah’s teachings. 

The public Torah reading on Shabbat is not an endless parade of aliyot, honors or memorials, nor is it a cash register for donations. The Torah reading is meant to offer a framework of study, where the congregants can read and then listen to explanations of God’s sacred words, offering them enlightening moral lessons that inspire them towards a better life.

 

Since Sepharadim are so connected to their foods and love recipes, let me frame all of this into a recipe: 

 

Ingredients for a successful Sephardic synagogue on Shabbat:

--Peaceful behavior that inspires a spiritual environment

--Torah study that teaches, enlightens and inspires the congregants

 

Add to this mixture a talented hazzan whose knowledge and love of the Sephardic melodies inspires joyous and meaningful worship, and a rabbi who inspires thinking, relevant discussions, peaceful behavior, intellect and learning. To reduce the fat and carbs, cut down the number of aliyot, replace those calories instead with a delicious Sephardic Kiddush (those fat and carbs are so much better!).

 

These are the ingredients. Let’s start cooking up a Sephardic storm.

 

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rabbi Samuel Vital: Truth, Justice and the Spirituality of Civil Law

Should Rabbis get involved in financial matters within a community? Isn't a rabbi better off dealing with strictly "spiritual and religious" subjects? This week's Torah portion - Parashat Mishpatim  - challenges the simplistic thinking that limits the definition of "religious and spiritual" to ritual laws and prayers. 

“And these are the rules (Mishpatim) that you shall set before them.” With this opening verse from Parashat Mishpatim, God begins to legislate the detailed version of the Torah’s system of civil legislation. The word Mishpatim refers to civil laws and ordinances, and by making these laws the first set of legislation following the Aseret Hadibrot (Ten Commandments or Utterances) at Mount Sinai, God sends a very powerful message about how the Jewish people should go about building a truly “religious community.” 

Most people looking to create a “religious community” would begin by building a house of worship. In the Torah, God sees things differently. As the Jewish people are in the initial stages of building their own religious community, civil laws governing relationships between people (Bein Adam L’Havero) are legislated before the laws on building the Mishkan (Tabernacle). Batei Din (civil courts) come before the Mishkan, and Dayanim (judges) precede Kohanim (Priests).  

Parashat Mishpatim deals in matters that don’t seem “religious or spiritual” to most people -- personal injury, damages due to negligence, paying employees on time, borrowing items or lending money, to name just a few – but these actually form the core of how the Torah envisions the definition and governance of a Jewish religious society. The Torah recognizes and understands human nature - that it’s much easier to behave “religiously” within the comfortable confines of a synagogue. The true challenge is maintaining that religiosity beyond the confines of a “religious house of worship.”

So it was, in the 17th Century in Damascus, when a brilliant young rabbi named Samuel Vital (son of the famous Kabbalist Rabbi Haim Vital) was challenged with a financial issue in his community.

There was a custom in Damascus that for the purposes of tax assessment, the properties of the wealthy were evaluated up to 3000 grushim (the currency at that time), thereby creating a situation that any properties or financial holdings above 3000 grushim were tax exempt. In modern terms: a tax ceiling.

The rationale behind this was the fear that if they collected taxes on the wealthy beyond this amount, then the wealthy would hide their properties and financial holdings. This was the accepted system for many years. 

It came a time that there were less wealthy families in the community, and the tax burden became greater – on the state, on the middle class and on the poor – and there remained only 3-4 affluent families. The middle class and poor (who were the majority of the residents) requested to annul the tax ceiling, favoring instead that the wealthy should pay taxes on all of their holdings. The wealthy responded by saying that this was the custom of the community for many years, and that they had no intention of making any such changes, and that “if the community became poorer, that’s their tough luck, but they should not bear the burden.”

Rav Vital contemplated whether to get involved in this situation: 

“Why should I get involved? Does it not say in Pirkei Avot that he who shuns the office of judge rids himself of enmity, theft, and false swearing? If I do remove myself from this situation, then the community will be destroyed through disputes that nobody will be able to prevent. On the other hand, if I speak up, I will acquire for myself enemies. But - in the spirit of representing the truth, which I am supposed to do as a rabbi - if I do speak out on the truth, even if it won’t please those who will be bound to a new ruling, I will ultimately be upholding the honor of the rabbinic position, for we – as rabbis – are emissaries of God, and I will prevent the impression that the law is being inflexibly upheld simply for the sake of upholding the law and favoring the wealthy, without any accounting for mercy towards the needy."

Rabbi Vital initially concluded that the original custom should be upheld and cannot be changed unless the entire community – including the wealthy – agree together to change it. This, he says, is the “principal of the halakha.” But...

“However,” he said, "that applies and is nice when we are speaking about a 'custom' who, from its very beginnings, was a proper custom. But when we are speaking about a custom that, from its very origins, was designed in a way to create financial losses upon the poor and downtrodden, would such a custom find favor in God’s eyes? Would God view favorably a custom that takes a middle class person who has only 100 grushim in savings, and from that he must sustain his family plus also pay taxes on the entire amount of his holdings, while a wealthy person, blessed by God with 10,000 grushim from which he eats, holds lavish parties and continues to amass savings, yet only pays on 3000 grushim, and is exempt from paying on the rest? The rich get richer, while the poor continue in the path of poverty? This is the trait of Sodom!"

Rabbi Vital's courage to speak out in the name of halakhic truth is an example for all generations of rabbis and leaders. It's not always popular to speak the truth, especially when that truth becomes an "inconvenient truth" for those who are accustomed to violate the law. 

Rabbi Vital, and Parashat Mishpatim, remind us that "Spirituality and Religiosity" begin by following civil law - in the street, in the workplace and in business. It was precisely the violation of those laws that - in the spirit of Rabbi Vital's words - the prophet Isaiah referred to the residents of Jerusalem as 'Officers of Sodom" (Isaiah 1:10) just before the destruction of Jerusalem. Our communities do not ever want to be associated with immoral practices that reduce us to the selfish ways of Sodom. We know where that led.

Parashat Mishpatim does not deal with prayer or rituals, but it is arguably the Torah's greatest statement on spirituality and religiosity, beautifully captured by one teaching in Pirkei Avot:

The world is sustained through three elements: Din (law), Emet (truth) and Shalom (peace). 

If we want peace in our communities, we must be willing to uphold the law and speak the truth - even when it's inconvenient to do so. 

Shabbat Shalom