The Sephardic Jew Next Door: Amos the Gabbai

Many years ago, when my son Ilan was applying to Shalhevet High School in Los Angeles, he was asked to write an essay describing his “Jewish role model.” The genre known as “role model essays” typically involves a famous person whose status is well known by people all over the world. Ilan’s original choice was Maimonides, but upon further thought, he changed course. “It’s always the big figures who get all the credit,” said Ilan. “Everyone knows about Maimonides. What about the unknown people who keep Judaism alive? There are so many people out there that nobody has ever heard of, but without them, Judaism would have been gone a long time ago.”

I asked Ilan if he had such a person in mind. 

Here is what he wrote:

 

One of the greatest men you’ve never heard of…

Role models are often famous people. My role model is a quiet, unknown, elderly person. His name is Amos. He is the Gabbai at the famous Yochanan Ben Zakkai Sephardic synagogue in the Old City of Jerusalem. For as long as I can remember, my father and I have always gone there for minyan when in Jerusalem. Without fail, Amos is present every morning, before everyone else, which is incredible, because Yochanan Ben Zakkai is a netz ha’chamah minyan. The service begins at least 40 minutes before sunrise. Amos opens the synagogue, turns on the lights, prepares the Siddurim and Sifrei Torah, makes sure someone leads services, and assigns aliyot. He then prepares the table for Daf Yomi with volumes of Gemara, tea and biscuits. Watching Amos inspired me to become the Gabbai at my school’s minyan. Now that I have the same responsibilities as Amos, I respect him even more. When I become frustrated in my position as Gabbai, I remember that despite his grueling early morning routine, Amos always has a smile on his face, even giving candy to all of the kids. More than the famous leaders who get lots of publicity, I think it is the quiet people like Amos, with his day-to-day dedication to Judaism, who continue to keep the Jewish people alive.

I share Ilan’s reflections this week, because Parashat Tetzaveh introduces the commandment that became the symbol of daily continuity for Judaism and the Jewish people: prayer.

 

As the details for the construction of the Mishkan– Judaism’s first house of worship – come to a close, the Torah describes how to build the Mizbeah (altar), the centerpiece for worship in the Mishkan’s sanctuary. The Torah then commands the Korban Tamid (The Continual Daily Sacrifice), which was offered twice a day in the Mishkan (and later in the Temple in Jerusalem).

 

After the destruction of the Temple, this Mitzvah continued, except we changed the form from sacrifice to prayer. For close to 2000 years, this Mitzvah of daily prayer has continued uninterrupted in the form of daily Shaharit (morning) and Minha (afternoon) prayers services (Arvit – the evening service, was added later). 

 

More than anything else in the Jewish world, daily minyanim have been the rock solid constant in Jewish life. No matter the community, the geographic locale, or the circumstances, Jews have attended minyan everyday – morning, afternoon and night.

 

Who makes these minyanim run smoothly? Ilan’s role model “Amos the Gabbai,” and thousands of other unsung heroes like him of the Jewish world. These heroes don’t sit around discussing Jewish continuity on panels or in articles; instead, they wake up to it, act upon it and sustain it, “day by day, continually,” as per the Torah’s commandment.

 

I think Ilan had it right. Amos the Gabbai represents a 2000-year-old chain of uninterrupted Jewish continuity that has been far more consistent than anything else in the Jewish world. 

 

For the Sephardic world, Amos has sustained daily, Shabbat and holiday prayers in Jerusalem’s most iconic Sephardic synagogue. He never wrote any great books of Jewish philosophy, halakha or history, he doesn’t cook or bake Sephardic recipes and he doesn’t speak a word of Ladino or Judeo-Arabic. All he’s done, very quietly, is make sure that a historic Sephardic synagogue remains true to its authentic Sephardic prayers, customs and and tunes.

 

That’s a real Sephardic role model. 

 

When I am in Jerusalem and I stay at the Sephardic Educational Center in the Old City, just ten steps from the Yohanan Ben Zakkai synagogue, Amos the Gabbai becomes my “Sephardic role model next door.” Who is yours?

 

Shabbat Shalom

 

 

 

 

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