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| Orthodox Priest leading the liturgy |
In last night’s drash I mentioned a Catholic Priest whom I befriended
during whilst at the Air Force Academy.
And about how I got to see the scandal of Priests sexually abusing
children, and the Church covering it up, through his eyes. The next year, a Greek Orthodox Priest arrived
to our staff. Orthodox Priests are even
rarer than Rabbis in the multi-faith Us Air Force chaplaincy. Father Stefan Close was the first Orthodox
Priest I’d ever worked with.
Every year at the Academy,
soon after the start of the academic year, the faith groups represented in the
chapel staff conducted retreats for the first year cadets. I struggled to put together a meaningful
retreat for my few Jewish first years. Smaller
religious groups didn’t even bother. But
one year, Father Stefan and I came up with the idea of collaborating in putting
together a joint Jewish-Orthodox Christian retreat. By the time the plans had firmed upwere
complete, the Buddhist cadets rounded out the group. During the weekend of the retreat, each group
shared something from its practices with the entire group. We Jews shared the Friday evening table
blessings, and the Havdallah ceremony.
The Buddhists shared a ‘walking meditation.’ And the Eastern Orthodox shared the Sunday
morning liturgy and Eucharist. The rest
of the weekend was spent hiking, sharing kitchen duties, watching movies and
playing games. It was definitely a
success.
Seeing the Orthodox
liturgy in an intimate setting was eye-opening for me. I’d attended a few of their services before. But I’d never before noticed, how they are
designed to appeal to all five senses.
Sight: the display of icons on
the church’s iconostasis. Sound: the melodic chanting of the liturgy and the
Gospel. Smell: the wafting of fragrant incense. Taste:
the placing of the Eucharist on the tongue. Touch:
every object is there for the tactile experience.
The Eastern Orthodox,
in creating a sensory worship experience, imitated the ancient Jews. This week’s Torah reading, Ki Tissa, could
have served as the instruction manual for creating this experience. It details the specifications for the oil and
incense. It points to the importance of
filling all the senses with clues to the presence of Hashem. This, in order to cast out impure and
less-than-edifying thoughts when the congregation’s thoughts needed to be
directed heavenward.
If we Jews were
first privy to the concept of the total sensory experience of worship, why have
we dropped it along the way? Compared to
Orthodox – or any ‘high church’ – worship, our Jewish services can seem rather
utilitarian. For the most part, we don’t
build ornate temples that are showplaces of religious architecture. And we don’t go in for iconography, statuary,
or even much for stained glass. Or
thundering music. When any of the above are
incorporated into a Jewish service, most Jews deride it as ‘churchy,’
inauthentic, imitating the goyim.
In many Jews minds –
and I’ll admit that I’m not completely exempt – the most authentic shule is
one that is utilitarian. I’m talking
about the small schtieblach one finds peppered throughout the Jewish
world. Utilitarian furnishings. The only ornate objects are the Ark, its parochet,
or curtain, and the mappah, or covering for the reading table. And of course, the dressings for the Torah
scroll itself. Apart from these things,
any tendency to beautify the synagogue is often dismissed as un-Jewish. And sounds?
Most traditional Jewish services today are rather cacophonous. One is unlikely to hear worshippers chanting
together or in the same key, much less hear a thundering organ! And fragrant?
Nothing doing, except perhaps for the overdose of cologne on the old man
to your right! And taste? Nix.
(But have you ever tasted the Christian Eucharist anyway? Nothing to fill a foodie’s dreams!)
So where and why did we Jews lose sight of the
notion that worship should be a total sensory experience? I’ll give you a three-part answer.
First, the
synagogue, the house of prayer and study, coexisted with the ancient Temple. So the shule was not a replacement for
the pageantry commanded and detailed in the Torah. It was a supplement. With the Temple’s destruction in the year 70 CE,
the synagogue and its rituals did become a substitute for Hashem’s
magnificent sanctuary on Mount Zion. But
the Rabbis deliberately kept it austere, lest we not fail to pine for the
Temple and pray for its re-establishment.
Second, the Jewish
experience since the Second Destruction, has been one of exile and insecurity. We have gotten away from the custom of
building edifices, because of the essential impermanence of life wherever our
exile has taken us. Whenever we have built
magnificent synagogues, it has been only to have them destroyed as our fortunes
changed in that particular place. So,
circumstances have taught us to express our desire for beauty in a limited way,
crafting a few lovely objects that could be moved from place to place when the
need arose.
Third and finally…it
is not our shules that aught to serve as the substitute for the ancient
place where we met Hashem. Rather, it is
our homes. Typically, we Jews
expend much effort on creating in our homes, a small sanctuary where all the
senses are fed and satisfied. Most Jews’
earliest memories of Shabbat beauty, for example, do not centre around what
they experienced in synagogue. Rather,
what they experienced at home. The aroma
of the challah baking, or of the Shabbat dinner – the most sumptuous meal of
the week – cooking. The sight of the
table set splendidly ffor the family and whatever guests would be present. The singing at the table, or the listening to
uplifting music afterward. Our recent ancestors
created a world where, once every week, the beauty and holiness of G-d’s house
would infuse our houses. Because
of this emphasis, we never expended too much effort on the synagogue. Because in reality, it is the home – not
the synagogue – which is the real successor of the Temple. Until the Messiah comes and re-establishes the
latter, anyway! Shabbat shalom.
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