Friday, October 8, 2021
At the Temple, Part 2
Olin Johannassen
PREFACE: This is the second part of a reflection I first published on Saturday, September 18, which recounted some of my recent experience working as a technical facilitator at Temple Israel Portsmouth for their High Holidays services. That previous reflection can be found by visiting this link: http://www.stjohnsnh.org/sjc-blog/2021/9/18/daily-reflection
I’ve been thinking about how to pick up my story again, now that some time has passed, and I find that I haven’t really taken much time to consider just what it all has meant to me: all the time spent, and observations made, and connections built through my experience of working those five services at Temple Israel Portsmouth (TIP).
Of course, there are the sort of obvious things; the fact that I felt so welcomed by all who I had the pleasure to meet, and those who came to me with curiosity to learn what exactly I was doing (some expressed a sort of amazement with how the technical elements could be employed to make the services feel very smooth, much to my appreciative ears!). The warmth and friendliness and gratitude with which I was met on all of my visits to TIP. The willingness and ability to be patient, and give me grace in moments of confusion or haste, particularly when I prematurely muted a woman who was reading, from home, the story of Jonah and the whale during one of the Yom Kippur services, and I did not turn the page to see that the reading continued past what I saw on that first page — oops!
All of these are really wonderful things, and they will be with me for years to come, of that I’m sure. But I think for me, as I sit here and contemplate quietly about the deeper message, I think it’s tough to nail down just one centralizing tenet or concept. I think the deeper message is coming to me as we look ahead to this long weekend, this previously, and perhaps commonly-known “Columbus Day Weekend,” but now more acceptably and honorably called “Indigenous People’s Day Weekend.” I think maybe this is where all this gets sewn together in my heart and mind because we are not always sure what it means to reconcile the bitter parts of our past, and we can surely count on the fact that it’s going to feel uncomfortable, pretty much no matter what. I’m not here to preach to you on why it’s not called Columbus Day any more, but if you want to read more about that, there is a fantastic article from the Smithsonian Magazine that you can read on your own (see note number 1 at bottom).
During most of the services I attended, there was a sort of predictability for someone who is accustomed to a liturgy-based worship experience. There are elements which are spoken or chanted only by the Rabbi or the Cantor, there are elements which are spoken or chanted responsively between the Rabbi and the Congregation. There were passages from the Mahzor and the Torah which were read or chanted by individuals from the Congregation, and there were prayers chanted by either/both Rabbi/Cantor, or responsively between them and the Congregation. There was a sermon given by Rabba Kaya at almost all the services, and even a musical selection that was performed beautifully by a quartet led by Rabba Kaya, and which featured her son, Kochava the Cantor, and another young woman.
Being that my role was as a technical facilitator to assist with bringing the sanctuary experience home to worshipers on Zoom, as well as bringing at-home Zoom participants into the sanctuary, there were very few moments when I got to sit back and really soak up the experience of witnessing and participating in a Jewish worship service, but one of the pieces I spoke about briefly in my previous reflection really sticks out, and I think you’ll find it worthwhile to learn about as well. I will also bring in some pieces of a few different sermons of Rabba Kaya.
from my previous installment:
“Last night, driving home after the final Yom Kippur service, I couldn’t get the melodies out of my head. The Kedushah, the Avinu Malkeinu, and so many more. Their singing has burrowed deep into my conscious in a really special way.”
I forwarded a copy of my previous reflection to Rabba Kaya Stern-Kaufman, and when she replied to my email, she said to me “The melodies are meant to do that burrowing, bringing us back and forward through time through special modes for different nodes of the year. I too still have them living in me, days later…”
A few clarifying points here, in case you don’t have a degree in music, or a dictionary nearby (see notes, numbers 2 and 3 at bottom).
When I read that reply from Rabba Kaya, it struck me that the concept of participating in, or experiencing something that can both connect and tether one to the past while also bringing one into the present moment (really into an almost altered state of being where you are no longer concerned with whatever was happening in your life in the moments leading up to when you set foot in the sanctuary, and what awaits you when you finish the worship service and return to the world-at-large), and also pre-connects you to the generations who will come after you, and will stand in those pews, and sing those ancient melodies, and will then become re-anchored to the shared and collective past of this people.
I wonder about all this, and please realize that, although I’m no expert in the liturgical music tradition of the Episcopalian/Anglican Church, I think in this case perhaps that’s less important in this case - it’s not the point. From where I sit near the eve of Indigenous People’s Day, and hear me that I’m a week removed from my second all-day-Saturday Zoom session on Dismantling Racism, this time not a primer on the heavy work on how to understand and dismantle systemic racism within our society, but more specifically on a special curriculum that is offered for church youth through the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, and the Absalom Jones Center for Racial Healing; and I’m thinking bigger - not about ancient melodies of our church traditions (or not so ancient, though 1982 was almost 40 years ago now), rather about the idea that there are other things, deeper things; things residing in the parts of our identity as a church body, things that we can choose to hold onto, to plant, to sow, and other things that we can set down, leave behind, and jettison to the past. When I think about the good and strong roots we want to put down that will allow the generations who will come after us to become re-anchored to us, to our shared and collective past as a church, I am forced to ask some big questions:
What will be the future legacy of St. John’s Episcopal Church, Portsmouth? How do we being to write that story now? What will be our part in doing the important work of caring for each other, of loving our neighbors no matter what, of Welcoming All In The Name of Christ, of discovering the areas where we struggle individually and collectively to reconcile our relationship with oppression and/or hatred, and atoning for those sins? As we approach the eve of Indigenous People’s Day, and as we continue to read stories about issues of racism and horrific police violence against Blacks in America, of more discoveries of Indigenous Canadian children’s bodies being unearthed from shameful mass graves beneath the sites of former “Residential Schools,” there isn’t a moment we can waste fighting over any of it. There are deep issues that are embedded into the very fabric of this nation, and they cannot be swept under the rug.
Rabba Kaya, in her sermon from the Yitzkor service (see note number 4 below), part of the High Holiday, Yom Kippur (the Jewish Day of Atonement), reminds us that “Our actions matter. And beneath our actions lies our awareness. Today, Yom Kippur is our time to reach for and find our better selves, to expand our awareness of who we are and who we can become.” I think that although I’ve lifted this short quotation out of a much larger context, it does easily relate to the bigger idea of our awareness, and how our awareness influences our actions, and what awareness we must bring to bear as we consider who we are, and who we can become; both as individuals, and as the body of SJC. I don’t wish for this to be about borrowing wisdom from our Jewish brothers and sisters, but rather an important reminder, and an identifying marker in time that when we come right down to it, the guidance or answers we all seek on social awareness, transcendent love, radical kindness, racial reconciliation, and post-traumatic healing are tenets that are universally held in the souls of all humans, and that we only need to look intently in each others eyes and listen with open hearts, and bear witness to each others stories without fear or the need to respond, and work at the practice of showing each other that respect that we ourselves crave.
Rabba Kaya, in another one of her Yom Kippur sermons, says “We do indeed have choices. Each of us has a story and how we tell our stories is always a choice. What will be the story of this past year? And how will we shape the story of 5782?” (see note number 5 below)
I ask the same question of our faith community here at SJC: What will our story be, and how will we tell it?
More to come another day.
With love for all,
Olin
NOTES:
2. Mode: In music, the word “mode” is somewhat interchangeable with the word “scale,” and refers to the specific set of musical notes or pitches which make up that scale, from which one can then construct and compose melodies.
3. Node: In her statement above, Rabba Kaya refers to “different nodes” of the year, which I interpret to mean when a transition point is articulated, when we move from one season or phase into another - the nodal point being where those events flow from one into the next, where they intersect.
4. Yitzkor translates to “May God Remember,” and is pronounced “YIZZ-kur.” This part of the service was accompanied by a special booklet, called the “Memorial Book of Remembrance,” with the names of all those family and friends who had passed, either in the previous year, or at any point before. The booklet was compiled and edited by members of the Yitzkor committee, all members of the congregation.
5. The year 5782 has just begun on the Jewish calendar, and Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, was celebrated on September 7th, 2021.