Two weeks ago I moved into a woodsy community near Dexter Lake, only 12 miles from Temple Beth Israel. I meant to go to service last Shabbat, but was feeling awkward and shy. Last night I put my Kol Haneshamah and Torah into my car and headed that direction, but suddenly decided I was underdressed so I went to Borders instead! After leaving the bookstore, I went home, said a little prayer over wine I’d bought just for that occasion (my first service), blessed my dogs to be like Ephraim and Manasseh and felt ashamed of myself. So this morning I went to Torah Study in the library before the Shabbat morning service. I arrived ten minutes late, thought about turning around, but decided to go in quietly and sit off to the side. Rabbi Yitzhak motioned me to the table, where there was an empty seat. I blushed, got up and seated myself between two men. Within a few moments, though, I was following along and commenting. I am frequently intellectually competent and socially INcompetent within the same few moments.
Our weekly Torah portion included a passage that I found shocking when I first read it, Numbers 20:12. Moses had led the Israelites faithfully and well through four decades, during which there had been many hardships. Miriam had just died. Although it appears Moses and Aaron did not have a chance to grieve, the people berated them for bringing them to this wretched place, with no water, grain, figs, vines or pomegranates. God commands Moses and Aaron to assemble the community and with rod in hand, order a rock to bring forth water. Moses, apparently at wit’s end, speaks in anger to his people and strikes the rock twice. Water gushes forth. So little was said here; I wonder if Moses perhaps was angry with God, too – for it was God who told him to bring the people out of Egypt. The greatest test of faith, in my opinion, comes with the death of a loved one. Apparently Moses failed the test. Aaron did not correct him. God tells them he will not allow them into the promised land.
At my first reading, I closed the Torah, indignant for Moses. But reading on, I realized that Moses was old and was being granted the honor of training his successor, Joshua. Moses’ life was not immediately snuffed by a “jealous God”. It was simply time to relinquish leadership.
Rabbi said this passage dealt with ego – Moses, held up to us as the greatest of Jews, the one chosen for Revelation at Mount Sinai, ultimately had human emotions that brought his downfall. We are to honor God, not play God.
When class was over, we stood and the man to my left, Zachary, introduced himself. Then, going down the stairs to service, Susan introduced herself. I sat off to the side again, and Rabbi came over to introduce himself and to say I should keep in mind that a much smaller congregation came to Saturday morning services. I answered perhaps that was what I needed since I had been feeling too scared to come. Rabbi started to tell me which liturgical book they would be using, I showed him mine and we realized together I had brought the wrong one: the one in my car, Shabbat EVE! Doh! Fortunately, there were many of the correct books available.
Moments later, Susan invited me to sit near her, which was a blessing to both of us. Her voice, clearly articulated and sweet, helped me participate during communal song, since I do not know Hebrew. I could tell it pleased her to be able to do this kindness for me. Later it became apparent that if I had come Friday night instead of Saturday morning, the congregation would have been one person short of a minyan and she would have been unable to say kaddish for her deceased mother.
I also stood to say kaddish, the prayer that does not mention dying, but is traditionally said in honor and remembrance of the dead. It is an affirmation of belief in and devotion to God, chanted or sung aloud by the community, drawing us close to each other. I was thinking of my father, and realized part way through that only those who had lost a loved one within the last year were supposed to stand. I heard Susan’s voice waver; I put my hand on her back. When we sat, we whispered briefly about our losses, tears in our eyes. I apologized for standing when my loss was over three years ago; she said that I could stand whenever I felt the need.
For those who have never been to a Jewish service, it is a communal affair. Although the rabbi leads, he does not preach. Under his direction, we sing, read aloud and have moments of silent prayer. He chooses members of the congregation to help with devotional duties and rituals. It is clear that those chosen feel honored. I was stunned and delighted to see David, still dressed in his leathers from his morning ride, chosen to carry the Torah scroll in a procession around the room so we may touch our prayerbooks and shawls to it and kiss them. Clearly I could have come last night in my khaki pants and blouse that looked somewhat dressy until you realized the fabric, like a vinyl tablecloth, could be wiped clean (I am now a professional caregiver).
When we rose and gathered around the scroll, we read and sang from one book, then changed to another and I found myself on the wrong page in the wrong book. Zachary noticed and motioned that I could read along with him.
Unthinking, I placed my stack of holy books on the floor next to me. Susan swept them up and put them on a chair. Oops.
Afterwards, we blessed little cups of wine and grape juice, washed our hands and wrists and shared challah. I had been afraid of the moment the challah was offered to me; refusing it due to celiac disease seemed like turning away a Godly ritual. So much ritual in Judaism revolves around food, so much of it wheat based! But no one pressed me and the moment I’d been dreading was quickly over. We talked among ourselves; by the time I left I had met nearly all and was feeling good.
Rabbi Yitzhak said I had come to the right service. He was right. I will be back next Saturday morning!
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