An Upside to Closed Synagogues?

We all miss attending synagogue.  We miss the services, the cantor, the rabbi, and the Kiddush.  So much of Judaism is enhanced by our encounters with family, friends, and even strangers.  We need people!  No one would ever voluntarily forbid such interaction or close the synagogue.

Except maybe Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch.

If I had the power I would provisionally close all synagogues for a hundred years.  Do not tremble at the thought of it, Jewish heart.  What would happen?  Jews and Jewesses without synagogues, desiring to remain such, would be forced to concentrate on a Jewish life and a Jewish Home.  The Jewish officials connected with the synagogue would have to look to the only opportunity now open to them – to teach young and old how to live a Jewish life and how to build a Jewish home.  All synagogues closed by Jewish hands would constitute the strongest protest against the abandonment of the Torah in home and life. (Quoted in the “Introduction by Translator” to Horeb, “The Classification of the Mitzvoth,” p.1xix)

Rabbi Hirsch never acted on this impulse.  His radical suggestion was meant to highlight the need for Jews to be able to lead meaningful Jewish lives on their own.  Yes, we need a shul and the scaffolding of Jewish communal institutions.  We need the mohel and the shochet and the sofer.  We should, nevertheless, not ignore the very real responsibility we have to know how to observe and celebrate meaningful Judaism on our own.

We certainly have had such opportunities these past months.  Many people made Pesach for the first time in their lives.  We have transformed living rooms into miniature synagogues and dining room tables into Batei Midrash (study halls).  We’ve ushered in the new month with out own versions of Birchat HaChodesh and had the chance to read the Haftarah without worrying about being corrected.  We miss shul and interacting with others, but we have been able to demonstrate to all – especially our children – that we can create joyous Judaism ourselves.

The only way we can make Judaism for ourselves is to study Torah. Torah is the fuel that drives the engine of our Jewish living.  We have the benefit of teachers, rabbis, shuls, and schools to provide us with Torah.  In the end, though, it’s up to us.

Torah, literally, makes the world go round.

Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, the primary disciple of the Vilan Gaon, taught (Nefesh HaChaim 4:11) that, “without a doubt whatsoever,” if there would be a moment in which Torah would not be studied somewhere in the world, the world would revert to nothingness. 

In order to make sure this would not happen, in the Volozhin Yeshiva, they ensured that someone was on call to study Torah 24 hours a day every single day.  When Yom Kippur ended, someone would stay behind to study while everyone else ate, and he would only eat when the next person on call came back.

For those less mystically inclined, the lack of Jewish learning is held up as a major factor in the weakening of Jewish identity and participation.  Noted Jewish historian Jack Wertheimer, in his book, The New American Judaism, identifies the lack of education as a primary reason behind the shrinking of the non-Orthodox denominations.  Without Jewish knowledge anchoring one’s Jewish commitment, there is less of a reason to participate in organized Jewish life.  On a different part of the Jewish spectrum, Ambassador David Friedman addressed this subject yesterday.  He described Jewish illiteracy as the greatest threat to the Jewish community and asked “How many of us are fluent in Judaism?”

We need Torah!

I think that this Shavuot is the perfect time to internalize this message.  We can’t go to shul.  We can’t socialize. We can’t even participate in any form of communal Torah study.  It’s all up to us.  I feel encouraged to stay up all night this Shavuot even more so than usual, and I encourage you to try and do the same.  There are so many resources online that can be printed up to study. 

Our studying Torah is not only a necessary ingredient in our own Jewish living.  It is also a terrific example for our children and families.

There's a fabulous story about this picture taken at a soccer match between Israel and Glasgow in November 2018.  As the television cameras scanned the crowd, viewers caught sight of a rabbi, wrapped up against the cold in a thick coat and scarf, reading a book!  

The rabbi is Rabbi Zev Leff, the American born rabbi of Moshav Mattityahu in Israel.  He was in Scotland visiting his children, and he took his grandchildren to the football game.  Rabbi Leff did not have any interest in attending the game, especially not in a cold Scottish winter.  He went because, as his daughter explained in an interview, he wanted to spend time with his grandchildren, participating in something that is important to them.  What did his grandchildren see was important to the rabbi while he accompanied them?  Torah.

It is a marvelous lesson of being responsive and present for our loved ones, and it also highlights that we need to show our children what matters to us if we want it to matter to them.  It’s another reason to study Torah this Shavuot.  Since we’re all home together, our families will see that it is important.

Otherwise, it withers.

One afternoon in Jerusalem, a rabbi was on his way to the synagogue for the afternoon prayers when somebody called out from a doorway asking him to complete a minyan in a house of mourning.  He gladly agreed to pray with the mourners, and, upon entering the apartment, he was surprised to observe that although it was full of Jewish books, the mourners themselves did not appear to be religiously observant.

After the minyan had concluded, the rabbi took out a Mishnah Berurah to examine it, and he noticed that its margins were full of astute insights and comments.  He inquired about the owner of the books, and one of the mourners replied that they all belonged to his father.  The rabbi probed further, asking whether any of the other family members used the books.  The son responded that although his father had been a very pious and learned Jew, none of his children had followed in his ways.  He explained that when his father came home each night, he would lock himself in his study and spend hours poring over his beloved tomes.  However, because his Torah study only occurred behind closed doors, his children never observed him learning and therefore did not absorb his passion for Torah and Judaism.

We need to learn Torah to make our own Judaism relevant, and we need to learn in a way that our children will, likewise, appreciate the critical need of Torah in their lives.

I hope we get back to shul soon.  While we’re home this Shavuot, let us double down on our commitment to studying Torah – for ourselves and also for our children and families.