Tefillah Deltas

Once upon a time, there was a Jewish carpenter.  No, not that Jewish carpenter.  Anyway, this Jew had an unusual goal.  He wanted to be the first to circumvent the globe in a paddle boat.  I’m not sure how he settled on a paddle boat – maybe he thought a jet ski would be lame.  Whatever.  In any event, he set off one fine Lag Baomer morning, and was never heard from again.

Or so it was assumed.  Many years later, a sophisticated spy satellite located a previously uncharted island in the middle of goodness knows where.  The island was mostly covered by trees, but it did appear to have several structures built up in some clearings.

This was big news.  An international team of surveyors was assembled, dispatched, and arrived at the island.  To their great surprise, they found our Jew.

He explained that sometime after he set off in his paddle boat, he got caught in a huge storm, thrown into the water, swallowed by a big fish, and regurgitated onto this heavily treed unpopulated island.

Fortunately, he did have these mad carpentry skills, and he went straight to work. First, he built himself a nice shelter, then a city hall, a firehouse, a police station, a library, a museum, a pet store, a house of ill repute, a shul, and then finally, a second shul.

The surveyors were duly impressed, but they asked him: “Why did you build a second shul?”

To which he answered: “Are you kidding?  I’d never go to that other shul.”

That’s an old joke, of course.  I’ve always felt some consternation about Orthodox Jews who proudly boast that they would never ever step foot in a shul with mixed seating, or a woman rabbi, or triennial reading, or whatever else.  Years ago, I discussed this with a very nice Orthodox woman, and she explained how the Orthodox could be very picky about which Orthodox shul they would attend.  That was probably the first time I heard about every Jew having two shuls:  the one he goes to, and the one he would never go to.

I’ve never been able to grok that.  I love going to different shuls.  I always take away some interesting experience, whether from the people I see, the opinions expressed, the melodies I hear, or the differences in the liturgy.

I’ve assembled quite a variety of siddurim in my old age, and it’s bewildering to thumb through them all, trying to get a handle on all the similarities and differences.  It’s a challenge just to deal with the morning blessings.  All of them – Ashkenazic, Sephardic, Chassidic, Conservative, and Reform – start off with the bird prayer.  And where would we be without our preindustrial alarm clocks?  So far, we’re off to a pretty good start.  Each has the identical Hebrew for this first blessing.  Oddly, the English translations vary somewhat.  Some talk about the bird or the rooster being able to distinguish day and night – which is probably more accurate.  In others, it’s our hearts, our minds, or just plain us that does the distinguishing.  I’d like to attribute this oddity to ChatGPT or Siri, but the timing doesn’t quite work out.

After this, Conservative and Reform siddurim give praise for being made in the Almighty’s image, albeit in slightly different Hebrew.  The Orthodox all praise the Almighty for not being made a gentile.  Looking back on many centuries of persecution, one might be forgiven for thinking that there are in fact certain benefits to being a gentile. One of my Sephardic siddurim points out we are grateful for having 613 commandments, and not just the paltry Noahide Seven that obligate the gentiles.

The Conservative and Reform siddurim then give praise for being made part of Israel, and this in identical Hebrew.  At this point Orthodox men praise the Almighty for not being made a woman, while Orthodox women must be satisfied with being made according to the Almighty’s will.  Sounds like a booby prize to me.

This was once explained to me in a manner not that different from the not-a-gentile benediction.  Just as there are obligations a Jew has that a gentile does not, there are obligations that a man has that a woman does not.  What with all that housekeeping, childbearing, and childrearing, women are exempted from a whole slew of time dependent mitzvot.  So, fine.  Still sounds like a booby prize to me.

The remainder of the morning blessings are pretty much the same across my many siddurim.  The order varies, as do some of the English translations.  The commonalities seem to outweigh the variations.

But let’s get back to that woman business.  Who are we kidding?  It is a man’s world.  What with wage disparities, tampon taxes, abandonment, and all sorts of gender inequities, who would choose to be a woman?

Not quite 400 years ago, a new form of Jewish prayer called Tkhines came into existence in eastern Europe.  These were Yiddish prayers written largely by women and for women.  Although these prayers have fallen into disuse, it’s easy to see why they had such appeal for the women of the time. These were heartfelt words that gave women a formidable vocabulary to bring sacredness to all parts of their lives.  And these did not require the education from which women were typically excluded.

Some Tkhines focused on the tasks involved keeping a Jewish household, such as baking challah and lighting candles.  There were Tkhines to be said every day, as well as Tkhines dedicated to each day of the week.  These seem reminiscent of the Psalms but were far more personal in nature.  There were Tkhines to be said at grave sites, Tkhines to be said at the mikva, and Tkhines to be said in hopes of a successful pregnancy.  Certainly, most of the Tkhines focused on the health and well-being of the women’s families.

And patriarchy being what it is, the Tkhines were sprinkled with calls to properly serve husbands.  Perhaps these were inserted by male editors at the publishing houses.

I got my Judaism from my parents.  They did quite a few things to teach me who I was and where I came from.  And they sent me to Hebrew school, which I really hated.  Sure, I learned to read Hebrew well, as anyone who has heard my beautiful, soulful chanting will readily attest.  And I picked up many things about our history and traditions.  But the teachers, who were mostly Orthodox at our Conservative shul, were horrible and mean.  And so were my classmates.  It is stunning how cruel children can be.  And the girls were worse than the boys.  After I became a Bar Mitzvah, I was not inclined to step foot in shul again.

I certainly did not stop being a Jew.  I joined B’nai Brith Youth, avoided pork, marched for Soviet Jewry, followed news of Israel obsessively, and read tons and tons of translated Yiddish.  But shul, well, not so much.

I started going back to shul after my son was born.  I could hardly tell him to go to Hebrew school while I stay home and watch television. He probably hated it as much as I did, except that his favorite teacher was the only Orthodox one at the Conservative shul.  Go figure.

When I first started attending services again, I was surprised to see that the siddur had the option of reciting the Amida with the matriarchs.  As it turned out, the rabbi at the shul, who was remarkably egalitarian in this thinking, would not permit the use of the matriarchs.  If I remember correctly, he would have been happy to add an insertion dealing with the ladies, but changing the opening lines was out of his comfort zone.  After all, when the Almighty spoke to Moses from the burning bush, He only mentioned the patriarchs.  Since my Hebrew skills had atrophied after the years of disuse, I was happy to have a few words less to say.  If I thought about it at all, it was a gratifying way to stick my finger in the eyes of the mean girls I remembered from my youth.

At some point, I changed my mind about this.  When I went on sightseeing trips to other Conservative shuls, the matriarchs were included, and the ceilings did not collapse.  And despite the claims of this or that rabbi to have a direct line back to Mount Sinai, it’s clear to me now that there have always been changes in our tradition.  Some stick, and some don’t.  As they say in the Reconstructionist movement, “The past gets a vote, but not a veto.”

A few years ago, I met a Conservative rabbi, and she took this a step further by including Bilhah and Zilpah.  And I approve!  I’ve thought about doing this myself, but I’m conflicted.  We’ll just have to wait to see what happens the next time I’m tapped to lead the repetition.

Of course, the Reform movement included the matriarchs before the Conservative movement did, and good for them!  There is one thing I don’t quite understand.  While we refer to the Almighty as “Sarah’s guardian”, the Reform siddur “Mishkan T’filah” uses “Sarah’s helper”.  I’m not sure what to make of this.  Perhaps some editorial committee just couldn’t bring itself to copy the Reform liturgy?

The Reform siddur also slaps “v’imahot” right after “avot”, while the Conservative siddurs all seem to relegate the matriarchs to an optional parenthetic.  I don’t like either of those, but I’ll stick a pin in that for now.

The text of the Amida in the Reform siddur also substitutes “redemption” for “redeemer” as well as “who gives life to all” for “who gives life to the dead”.  The Reform movement got its start during the Emancipation in Europe, and I believe those changes relate to the move always from a belief in the “end of days”.  I’ll need to dig a little deeper and get back to you.

The most recent siddur produced by the Conservative movement – Lev Shalem – has several alternatives that omit references to sacrifices.  Even though I don’t expect to see a revival of the sacrificial cult in my lifetime and would probably be disinclined to participate if I had the chance, I still stick with the traditional text.  And most of the Mishna I’ve seen in Conservative siddurs do not focus on sacrifices at all.

So, I was totally blown away the first time I sat through a Sephardic service.  We’re talking about buckets and buckets of offerings dealing with the ins and outs of sacrifices, incense, and just about every detail of the Temple service.  When the Messiah shows up, these guys will be ready.

And nobody prays like Sephardim.  It was a joy to participate, although I really couldn’t keep up.  You should all have this on your bucket list.  Quick word to the wise when it comes to the Kaddish, though.  You don’t say “b’rich hu” – rather, you wait for the leader to say “b’rich hu” and then respond by saying "amen”.

One of the finest things about the Sephardic service is when you get to the Aleinu.  Since our cousins spent generations under Moslem rather than Christian jurisdiction, their siddurs were not censored to remove that line that the Church thought was disrespectful to some Jewish carpenter.  And I don’t mean the Jewish carpenter with the paddle boat that I mentioned above, but the Jewish carpenter you all thought I was talking about before I clarified.  We should certainly reincorporate that into our own services.

I can’t find the reference right now, but I once read something wonderful about the “Modim de-Rabbanan”.  That’s the shorter Modim we’re supposed to recite quietly during the repetition while the leader recites the main Modim.  It seems that one of our sages was given four different prayers, and he liked them all.  Since he couldn’t decide, he took a piece of each, and combined them into what we have now.

Which is what I guess I’ve been trying to do with all my different siddurim.  Still working on it.

We’ve recently discussed the Heretic’s prayer.  Wiser minds than mine certainly have wiser things to say about it.  But when I pray about humbling the arrogant, I focus mostly on myself.  I need to be knocked down a peg or two.

So, do I have a point?  You should know me better than that. Now, go and study.