Notes from a three-day chag
Sep. 11th, 2010 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rhuOverall, a great holiday.
I love the new sanctuary. (For those who don't know, our synagogue has spent the last year doubling the size of our building.) It's a very inspiring place.
Being shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader) in the new space is interesting. I got a real feeling of mima'amakim keraticha Adonai -- "From out of the depths I call unto you, O God" (Ps.) The way the space works, the shatz is facing a podium that extends above him to act as a podium for someone standing on the front bimah giving a dvar Torah or other speech, and looking up you not only see that above you but the beautiful and awe-inspiring --- and very large --- aron kodesh. Behind you is the railing for the raised central bimah. And unlike in the two prayer spaces in our old building, you really can't see anyone if you look to your side. So at some level you feel "sent forward" from the community, dwarfed by the world and forced to send your prayers UP. At first this was intimidating, but once I realized what was going on in my mind I was able to channel it into a deeper inspiration and a kavannah, a motivation for my prayers, that I think helped to make them more effective.
Acoustically, I like how the new space feels, both as a participant and as a leader. Shofar blowing the first day was amazing; the baal tekiyah made the whole room ring.
First day, I was struck by "kerachem av al banim" -- "as a father has mercy on his son, may You have mercy on us." (And here I'm using the gender-specific translation on purpose.) It's not just a petition to God --- it was a reminder to me to be a little more tolerant of the frustrating behavior that Tani was exhibiting. He was actually quite exemplary for a nine-year-old who was being asked to sit through a long service and pay attention, I just wanted him to be a smidge better -- by which I mean a little faster to switch context from the book he had brought to read back into the service when we got to, say, shofar blowing -- and that was unreasonable of me. Thank you to the ancient paitan who wrote those lines just to give me a gentle nudge when I needed it.
But the kids' machzorim that we made together did what I'd hoped -- they knew where we were in the service; they got to play "listen for the keywords that we highlighted last week"; and they were already emotionally invested in the service.
I was shaliach tzibbur for three services on Rosh Hashanah: Pesukei d'Zimrah both days (first day in the old shul; second day in the new shul) and Minchah on the first day (combined in the new shul). PDZ first day went ok, although there were some details I missed. Minchah went very well; although it took me a little longer than I wanted to transition from the weekday pentatonic for Amidah into the High Holy Day mode, several the people whose opinions I value came up to me afterwards to thank me for correctly starting in weekday; I was able to give credit to Cantor Scott Sokol whose class I was privileged to take twelve years ago. PdZ second morning I nailed, and I noticed while I was doing it a few places where by emphasizing words and verses that usually sail by in the flow, I could even make PdZ into a Rosh Hashanah specific experience --- basically embellishing the word melech, sovereign, every time it came by in some form or another. That was a completely spontaneous ad lib, but it felt right and it was great to feel sufficiently "in the mode" that I could do that.
On the other hand, I clearly need to work harder at regaining that basic sense of total confidence that I once had. I'm second-guessing myself a little too much up there.
I made myself a little mini-machzor for PdZ, because (1) my preferred machzor, the Koren, doesn't have all the additional stuff at the beginning that we do in the United States (like Shir Ha-Yichud), and (2) unlike on Shabbat and Yom Tov, where the nusach has a single motif, on the Days of Awe the nusach has four distinct phrases, and I always find that trying to parcel them out on the fly for the ending of each Psalm leads to a few cases where I either run out of notes or run out of words. So I pre-analyzed each Psalm and figured out where each of the four musical phrases would go, and typeset the Psalm so that the last one or two or three verses (however many were needed to fit) were broken into four indented lines. Good plan, but I messed up the production so the left 1/8" of the left-hand pages fell into the unprintable area of my printer, and I didn't notice until I was up there using it and missing the last two letters of many lines. Fortunately, I had brought up my real machzor as well, and was able to switch between the two.
It was great to have had![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hatam_soferet's essay in response to my question about oseh ha-shalom because I was able to feel confident in my use of the oseh hashalom chatimah and oseh shalom bimromav in the kaddish. Thanks again!
Second morning, Tani was sick. Alissa is now old enough, though, to walk to shul alone, so (a) Heather was able to get word to me, and (b) Alissa was able to hear shofar and have the shul experience. Later that afternoon, I took out my shofar (which I have barely ever used) and coaxed a halachically acceptable set of thirty blasts out of it for Heather and Tani.
Second day, the tokeia had an interesting style. For the tekiyah gedolah, he played a scale (using the 7th through 11th overtones --- I had to look that up). A neat trick and display of technical prowess, and a nice demonstration of the overtone series, but it left me cold. That's not the traditional way to blow, and it seemed to draw attention to the person blowing rather than to the message of the shofar --- Hey, you slumbering sinner, Wake up! This is not a drill!
My traditional desserts came out very well. I was quite pleased. My new trick (starting off pre-baking the crust and macerating the fruit) did exactly what I wanted, making both a crispier crust and juicier filling. Meals in general were a delight -- we had guests for three of the six meals, and all the food came out great, not just my desserts.
This morning I was gabbai sheini and it was a little challenging; it was a teenager reading and I tried to give him as much benefit of the doubt as possible. Again, a few people whose opinions I value came up to me afterward to compliment me -- in particular, I caught a subtle "b'har" that should have been "bahar" -- so I felt good about that. One interesting point was that the kid read the word "Eloahhhh" as "Elohhha" -- that is, he correctly aspirated the heh-mappiq but didn't move the patach to the genuvah position. I decided that (1) anyone in the congregation who would know that this was wrong would have heard the clearly pronounced heh-mappiq, so for those people it didn't change the meaning; and (2) there would be no way to correct the korei without giving him a thirty-second-long grammar lesson, and in this case to simply feed him the correct pronunciation would confuse him and rattle him. So I let it slide, and no one in the room trumped me, and someone else explained it to him after the reading but before I could. So, good.
I've been giving a lot of thought over the last few days to the question of how the Ten Days brings forgiveness -- by which I mean I'm pondering the question of the theological mechanism by which we become forgiven. I will, without vowing, write a separate essay on this later this weekend. In particular, I was struck by some of the piyyutim (paraliturgical poetry) and commentaries and the internal tension between the "everything is at stake" mode of, say, Untane Tokef, and the "God promises that all will be forgiven" mode of some of the other piyyutim. As I said, more on that in another day or two, I hope.
I'm sure I'll think of more later. But for now, off the top of my head, that was my Rosh ha-Shanah/Shabbat.
I love the new sanctuary. (For those who don't know, our synagogue has spent the last year doubling the size of our building.) It's a very inspiring place.
Being shaliach tzibbur (prayer leader) in the new space is interesting. I got a real feeling of mima'amakim keraticha Adonai -- "From out of the depths I call unto you, O God" (Ps.) The way the space works, the shatz is facing a podium that extends above him to act as a podium for someone standing on the front bimah giving a dvar Torah or other speech, and looking up you not only see that above you but the beautiful and awe-inspiring --- and very large --- aron kodesh. Behind you is the railing for the raised central bimah. And unlike in the two prayer spaces in our old building, you really can't see anyone if you look to your side. So at some level you feel "sent forward" from the community, dwarfed by the world and forced to send your prayers UP. At first this was intimidating, but once I realized what was going on in my mind I was able to channel it into a deeper inspiration and a kavannah, a motivation for my prayers, that I think helped to make them more effective.
Acoustically, I like how the new space feels, both as a participant and as a leader. Shofar blowing the first day was amazing; the baal tekiyah made the whole room ring.
First day, I was struck by "kerachem av al banim" -- "as a father has mercy on his son, may You have mercy on us." (And here I'm using the gender-specific translation on purpose.) It's not just a petition to God --- it was a reminder to me to be a little more tolerant of the frustrating behavior that Tani was exhibiting. He was actually quite exemplary for a nine-year-old who was being asked to sit through a long service and pay attention, I just wanted him to be a smidge better -- by which I mean a little faster to switch context from the book he had brought to read back into the service when we got to, say, shofar blowing -- and that was unreasonable of me. Thank you to the ancient paitan who wrote those lines just to give me a gentle nudge when I needed it.
But the kids' machzorim that we made together did what I'd hoped -- they knew where we were in the service; they got to play "listen for the keywords that we highlighted last week"; and they were already emotionally invested in the service.
I was shaliach tzibbur for three services on Rosh Hashanah: Pesukei d'Zimrah both days (first day in the old shul; second day in the new shul) and Minchah on the first day (combined in the new shul). PDZ first day went ok, although there were some details I missed. Minchah went very well; although it took me a little longer than I wanted to transition from the weekday pentatonic for Amidah into the High Holy Day mode, several the people whose opinions I value came up to me afterwards to thank me for correctly starting in weekday; I was able to give credit to Cantor Scott Sokol whose class I was privileged to take twelve years ago. PdZ second morning I nailed, and I noticed while I was doing it a few places where by emphasizing words and verses that usually sail by in the flow, I could even make PdZ into a Rosh Hashanah specific experience --- basically embellishing the word melech, sovereign, every time it came by in some form or another. That was a completely spontaneous ad lib, but it felt right and it was great to feel sufficiently "in the mode" that I could do that.
On the other hand, I clearly need to work harder at regaining that basic sense of total confidence that I once had. I'm second-guessing myself a little too much up there.
I made myself a little mini-machzor for PdZ, because (1) my preferred machzor, the Koren, doesn't have all the additional stuff at the beginning that we do in the United States (like Shir Ha-Yichud), and (2) unlike on Shabbat and Yom Tov, where the nusach has a single motif, on the Days of Awe the nusach has four distinct phrases, and I always find that trying to parcel them out on the fly for the ending of each Psalm leads to a few cases where I either run out of notes or run out of words. So I pre-analyzed each Psalm and figured out where each of the four musical phrases would go, and typeset the Psalm so that the last one or two or three verses (however many were needed to fit) were broken into four indented lines. Good plan, but I messed up the production so the left 1/8" of the left-hand pages fell into the unprintable area of my printer, and I didn't notice until I was up there using it and missing the last two letters of many lines. Fortunately, I had brought up my real machzor as well, and was able to switch between the two.
It was great to have had
hatam_soferet's essay in response to my question about oseh ha-shalom because I was able to feel confident in my use of the oseh hashalom chatimah and oseh shalom bimromav in the kaddish. Thanks again!Second morning, Tani was sick. Alissa is now old enough, though, to walk to shul alone, so (a) Heather was able to get word to me, and (b) Alissa was able to hear shofar and have the shul experience. Later that afternoon, I took out my shofar (which I have barely ever used) and coaxed a halachically acceptable set of thirty blasts out of it for Heather and Tani.
Second day, the tokeia had an interesting style. For the tekiyah gedolah, he played a scale (using the 7th through 11th overtones --- I had to look that up). A neat trick and display of technical prowess, and a nice demonstration of the overtone series, but it left me cold. That's not the traditional way to blow, and it seemed to draw attention to the person blowing rather than to the message of the shofar --- Hey, you slumbering sinner, Wake up! This is not a drill!
My traditional desserts came out very well. I was quite pleased. My new trick (starting off pre-baking the crust and macerating the fruit) did exactly what I wanted, making both a crispier crust and juicier filling. Meals in general were a delight -- we had guests for three of the six meals, and all the food came out great, not just my desserts.
This morning I was gabbai sheini and it was a little challenging; it was a teenager reading and I tried to give him as much benefit of the doubt as possible. Again, a few people whose opinions I value came up to me afterward to compliment me -- in particular, I caught a subtle "b'har" that should have been "bahar" -- so I felt good about that. One interesting point was that the kid read the word "Eloahhhh" as "Elohhha" -- that is, he correctly aspirated the heh-mappiq but didn't move the patach to the genuvah position. I decided that (1) anyone in the congregation who would know that this was wrong would have heard the clearly pronounced heh-mappiq, so for those people it didn't change the meaning; and (2) there would be no way to correct the korei without giving him a thirty-second-long grammar lesson, and in this case to simply feed him the correct pronunciation would confuse him and rattle him. So I let it slide, and no one in the room trumped me, and someone else explained it to him after the reading but before I could. So, good.
I've been giving a lot of thought over the last few days to the question of how the Ten Days brings forgiveness -- by which I mean I'm pondering the question of the theological mechanism by which we become forgiven. I will, without vowing, write a separate essay on this later this weekend. In particular, I was struck by some of the piyyutim (paraliturgical poetry) and commentaries and the internal tension between the "everything is at stake" mode of, say, Untane Tokef, and the "God promises that all will be forgiven" mode of some of the other piyyutim. As I said, more on that in another day or two, I hope.
I'm sure I'll think of more later. But for now, off the top of my head, that was my Rosh ha-Shanah/Shabbat.