On a recent Friday night I, a Conservative Jew and rabbi, had occasion to daven at Central Synagogue in Manhattan, a large Reform congregation housed in a stunning Moorish building. Arriving a few minutes after 6 p.m., I had trouble finding an empty place to sit. To my surprise, 500 people of all ages were already seated, with prayer books open, singing and keeping time with their feet. Three rabbis and two cantors were leading the service, with instrumental accompaniment. The cantors alternated between Friday-night traditional chanting (nusach) and contemporary melodies. Also surprising to me, we recited almost all the prayers in Hebrew, with only a few interspersed English readings. Following Kabbalat Shabbat and Ma’ariv (the two main parts of the service), there was
an abbreviated Torah service — even though it was not Saturday morning. The way it began startled me. Two of the rabbis each took a Torah scroll from the ark and headed separately down the long aisles. (The third rabbi was off leading a “mishpahah” service for the kids.) As they passed, they chatted with congregants. This happens in most synagogues but never have I seen the procession take so long, perhaps 10 minutes. Rather than stand silently waiting for their turn to kiss the Torah, people began talking to each other. So I, too, entered into conversation with the young man next to me, also there by himself, and, as it turns out, a Friday-night regular. I suddenly realized that this gap in the service was part of the plan: by taking so long to bring the Torah around, the rabbis were encouraging us to talk to each other, to form a community. No one was going to be able to come by herself, sit through the service, and leave without speaking to anyone else. Formality was out; warmth was in. Right before the Mourner’s Kaddish, the rabbi mentioned with sorrow the recent passing of two Orthodox rabbis and read the names of American soldiers killed in action in Iraq. I was deeply moved by these pluralistic and patriotic statements. The entire service took 70 minutes. It touched the heart, mind and soul. I danced my way home. Was I jealous of this Reform congregation? Very much so. As I look to Orthodoxy on the right and Reform on the left, I see vitality. People are streaming into synagogues — either because they feel obligated or motivated to do so. Adherence to halacha works for Orthodoxy, and freedom to rethink liturgy works for Reform. Both approaches are keeping Jews Jewish and that is what matters. So what is the message for Jews in the middle? What can Conservative Judaism, which lies between the two poles, offer to people? Unlike Reform, we won’t shorten prayers or introduce musical instruments. It is against halacha to do so and we, as a movement, accept halacha as binding. But the majority of our members don’t, and our shuls, it is painful to point out, are growing more and more empty. It is also troubling that many of our young people who are serious about prayer find the typical Conservative service boring. They opt out and form their own minyanim to meet their Jewish needs. I don’t have an easy response to these challenges. But here is one suggestion: In the coming year, Conservative rabbis and laypeople should visit at least 10 synagogues other than their own, some Orthodox, some Reform, and some independent minyanim. We should see what works elsewhere and then try to adapt successful strategies to our own communities. This may be only a small step but, as the rabbis teach, even if we are not obligated to finish the job, we are duty-bound to begin. n Rabbi Judith Hauptman is a professor of Talmud at the Jewish Theological Seminary.
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