they be due to the impact of bureaucracy upon belief? The depths of personal belief or the lack of personal belief? The superficiality invading everyday living?
People – as individuals and as parts of groups.
It is Shavuoth (Pentecost) and I’m back at the Kotel (Western Wall) again. It is part of the remnant of the biblical Temple first built by King Solomon about three thousand years ago, then destroyed by the Assyrians and rebuilt again about a hundred years later, only to be destroyed again by the Romans just over two thousand years ago. It is my “Kotel Shule” (synagogue). Actually, it is the second day of Shavuoth for me, as well as for many others like me,6 but an ordinary weekday for Israelis (and, of course, also for people who are not religiously observant). There are many people praying at the Kotel and others just visiting or passing by for a look or a photo experience.
6
People living outside the Land of Israel celebrate two days instead of one, in each of the major festivals.
Every week, on Mondays and Thursdays, we take out a Torah scroll during the morning prayer (Shacharit) and read an excerpt of the weekly Torah portion (Parshah). On Shavuoth, as on all festivals, we read from two Torah scrolls.
Shavuoth is one of the three “pilgrimage festivals” prescribed in our Torah. It has no specific date, unlike Pesach (Passover) and Succoth (Tabernacles) whose dates are specified; rather, it is celebrated on the 50th day after the start of Pesach (7 weeks x 7 days, plus 1). It is the time of the giving (and our receiving) of the Torah at Mount Sinai after the Exodus of the Children of Israel from Egypt, on their way to the Land of Israel.
During the First and Second Temple eras, many of the people of Israel did indeed make a foot pilgrimage to Jerusalem three times every year to celebrate our festivals. They brought along their offerings and were blessed by the priests.
So here I am, standing at the site of our Holy Temple, which is also Mount Moriah, the place where Abraham, Isaac and Jacob stood and so much of our history took place.
There is a beautiful hum all around me; not an intrusive kind of noise but the warm and happy sound of my people. There are a number of different minyanim7 taking place all around me: Ultra-Orthodox, Modern-Orthodox, Chassidim, Sephardim, Ashkenazim, bar mitzvahs. I hear Moroccan, Yemenite, Eastern and Western European, British, French, American, Iraqi and Israeli accents and different prayer versions, each at a different stage of the Morning Prayer service – all in Hebrew, although some sound more Yiddish while others sound more oriental. It is easy to pick the Anglo-Saxon and American accents.
7 Prayer quorums – at least ten males above the age of 13. According to Jewish law, every male over 13 is supposed to pray three times a day: morning, afternoon and evening (Shacharit, Mincha and Ma’ariv), preferably within a minyan. Women are generally exempt from time-related laws due to their duties and routines, but are free to pray according to their own choices.
I look around and see a group of Ethiopian Jews next to some modern-looking people who are obviously not religiously observant; young and old people, traditionally dressed people and very pious-looking people, a proud American grandfather arranging a small private space for a family celebration – each and every person with their own, unique expression. Some people are standing close to the wall, gripping the stones and crying. People with their eyes closed are asking for solutions to their problems. Some of the people are praying in unison, while others are praying by themselves. People dreaming; people in a haze; people with a gaze; people watching other people.
Beggars who collect charity give festival greetings to those people who, like myself, are unable to carry money because they celebrate an additional day, then move on to their next target.
I like to pray on my own; I become absorbed in prayer and am oblivious to my surroundings, yet I feel part of a wider group. I am part of a minyan – not only the minyan of those around me but also the minyan of my people – as I connect to our religious and cultural heritage. It is a historical combination with a spiritual bond.
A bar mitzvah procession of Indian Jews passes by me and I wish them a mazal tov. A Torah scroll is being carried and, as is the custom, I point the fringes of my prayer shawl (tzitzit) towards it and then kiss them.
I hear the high-pitched sounds of rejoicing from Oriental Jewish women on the other side of the partition (mechitzah) separating the men from the women, as another bar mitzvah boy completes his public Torah reading. I turn in their direction and smile. I am both tearful and happy seeing their joy. I hear Kaddish8 recited nearby and I respond in the appropriate manner as I include myself among those who recite it, according to tradition.
8 A liturgical prayer recited at specified points during each of the three daily services; also Mourner’s Kaddish used during mourning.
Keddushah9 is being recited next to me. I close my eyes and respond to these holy phrases. I am crying warm tears. As the Priestly Blessing is heard, I place my tallith (prayer shawl) over my head and close my eyes as I respond with my “Amen – ken yehi ratzon” (so may it be) to each of the three verses of this blessing. I feel my tears again. I feel serene and blessed. I breathe the sweet air and feel alive and healthy. I feel clean in a spiritually holy kind of way.
9 A section of the daily prayer which is recited only in a minyan.
My own morning prayer continues. I hear my voice singing these ageless and beautiful poetic phrases. I turn the pages of my prayer book. I am praying together with my people, in just the same way as our people have prayed for centuries upon centuries – to the One and only G-d – the G-d who created the world – my G-d – our G-d, King of our entire world.
5767 and 2007. Four thousand years of difference and four thousand years of similarity.
We have a tradition and a culture which has absorbed so much from the multicultural world around us throughout history – and yet we have retained our own unique collective identity.
This now brings me to an interesting kind of a tension: the individual and the group; praying as an individual and praying together with a minyan.
Obviously there can be many differing experiences. We are human; we are not supposed to be robotic. It can be difficult to feel one’s spirituality during prayer or meditation when group dynamics are at play. Yet, our individual prayers, as part of a group, are preferred over our prayers in isolation.
It is the golden middle path, without compromising Jewish law but with compromise towards our fellow human beings. There is a time for solitude and personal meditation, just as there is a time for being an active participant in community.
This, then, is the free spirit of personal belief within a communal framework containing bureaucracy. Both dimensions form an important component of existence and of continuity.
People are much more strongly influenced by example than by words. People do or don’t do what they experience others doing. It is the “do-whatI-do” rather than “do-as-I-say” syndrome. We have the ability to synthesise the two and to juggle with both according to the environment we happen to be experiencing at a particular time.
They are a mixed multitude – my people – the Jewish people. We have been continuously and repetitively oppressed, persecuted, exiled and dispersed into every corner of the world and yet, we remain alive, creative and productive and unified by our religion. Why?
Every group which is on a positive growth path increases in numbers and then becomes a community. Every community requires leadership and organisation as well as institutions which are designed to serve the community.