My Little Shul – Part 2
Read Part One here.
My last post about my little shul was a litany of criticisms, all valid and true, about Chabad-Lubavitch in particular and the black-hat world in general. I ended that post with the question: if I feel that way about them, how can I affiliate with them? I am now going to address that question.
Why did I join a Chabad shul? I joined because it was easy. It’s daunting joining a synagogue, I don’t care who you are. A shul, a synagogue, is more than just a place of worship. At its best it is a close-knit community of like-minded individuals who choose to express their faith and values through and with each other. It’s a great thing to be a part of, like an extended family, like a tribe. But like any tribe, if you’re not a member you’re an outsider, and you remain an outsider until you prove yourself. Sometimes you never do. When I came back to Judaism, all I wanted was get closer to God through my faith. I really didn’t want to deal with the pressure of joining and fitting in to a synagogue.
No worries like that at Chabad. Like most Chabad shuls, mine was so desperate for people you can count on for a minyan that as soon as I walked in I was a pillar of the community. [Disclaimer: I realize that what I just said is not true for most of the people involved with this blog. I am not insensitive to this; I feel you, I feel for you. I’m just relating one Jew’s experience.] Few questions were asked. When I told my Rabbi I was happily married to a church-going Catholic girl, he looked at me for two beats then invited us both to Friday-night dinner at his house.
So that’s why I joined. Why do I stay? There are many reasons, but a major one is that I really like the community. As Orthodox shuls go it is unique. And though I have no way of knowing for sure, I really believe, without exaggeration, that my little shul is as diverse as any you’re likely to find in North America or anywhere else.
Regardless of the kind of shul you go to, whether hard-line Haredi, or suburban Conservative, or egalitarian/socialist/trans-gender/vegan, regardless of the shul you go to, for the most part you’re going to be around people just like you. It’s only natural. Not so my little shul. My little shul is a lovely pastiche of disparate elements from everywhere in the world.
First and foremost, we are a very international bunch. I’d say a fifth of the core members are Soviet immigrants and their children. We have a large contingent of French and French Moroccans (I don’t understand a word; I just love to hear them talk). We also have a number of Israelis, all of them Sephardic. And we have members from other European countries, Germany and England come most quickly to mind. The largest portion of the congregation is American, but we probably make up less than half the core membership.
In terms of religious practice it is a very mixed bag. Some are lax in their observance, others are frum. Most fall somewhere in between. Actually, I think the general level of observance would please your average Conservative Rabbi: halachically sound yet not over-the-top rigid and crazy. Sure, keep the Sabbath. But what do you mean I can’t turn on a light or carry things around?
Economically we skew about the same as Reform or Conservative congregations. We have the usual contingent of doctors and lawyers, business people and corporate types. We have working folks, people with salaries or who work on commission in sales. We also have some who are struggling to get by. This being Los Angeles, we have a number of people associated with the movie and television business, no stars, but producers and actors and production people. When they get together they talk a lot about their deals.
We have a significant number of gay members who play active roles in the life of the community, and how many Orthodox shuls can say that? Most were brought up in Orthodox or Conservative homes and had strong attachments to Judaism and Israel as children. Growing up gay estranged them from the faith, and that estrangement left a painful hole that my little shul helps fill.
And how does the Rabbi deal with this diversity? He says that he can only judge people as they come in the door. What they do outside the door he doesn’t know and has no control over. So he accepts people as they are, for who they are, as he sees them come in the door. I think of my rabbi as the Baal Chesed, the Master of Kindness, and he’s another big reason I stay in my little shul. I’ll leave that for another post.
Hi Yankel,
Once again, another great post. I think you captured really well both the attitude most Chabad folks have about outreach, and why so many people feel put off by joining many Reform and Conservative synagogues. Chabad (and Breslov, and “open” Orthodoxy, in my experience) do such a wonderful job of engaging Jews because they are Jews, with a depth of warmth and love that is tangible. For most of them, this also extends to non-Orthodox converts, even if they can’t be counted in a minyan. That open and welcoming projection is what they all do so well, and the non-O world does, often, so poorly. I’ve noticed it is not all that different in smaller, indie or just-barely-affiliated shuls - the big difference is in the enormous, flashy, suburban mega-shuls with 1500 families. But anyway….
Great post, and I look forward to reading the next one about your Rav!
kol tuv,
Yair
Sorry for the delay in commenting on this post I really wanted to get to it sooner but I just got sidetracked with other things.
Yankel
I agree with Yair great post.
One thing that came to mind while reading it was how you are so right about the demographic similarities between members at your shul and the average Reform or Conservative synagogue. It’s funny because people (or at least I) usually think of Chabad shul’s as Orthodox places filled with black hats and serious by the book observance. Now that might be the case in Crown Heights but it certainly isn’t that your shul. In fact when I talk to people who were involved in organizing stuff there (as in other members not the rabbi and his wife or chabadnik helpers) I hear about how apathetic most of the community is. How they’re really hard to get out to events. I suppose this is no different than any other shul in Los Angeles. What do you think? If there is a difference than what is it? Do you think it’s where less committed Jews wind up because there are lower expectations, in terms of fees or observance? Maybe lower expectations isn’t the right word. Maybe I should call it higher tolerance of of delinquency? LOL.
Anyhow, I’d love to know what you think and I’m really looking forward to the next installment of this series.
Avi:
Sorry it took so long to get to your question.
First I’d take issue with your use of the word “apathetic.” I don’t think my shul is, for the most part, any more or less apathetic than any other non-Orthodox (and for all I know, Orthodox) shul in Los Angeles or anywhere else. Black-hat Chabadniks are true believers, but the members of my shul for the most part are not black-hat Chabadniks. If they didn’t affiliate with this shul they might not have affiliated anywhere at all, or would have gone the Conservative or Reform route for the sake of the kids.
The thing that attracted me, and I think this is true of a lot of others, is the pleasure of being in a traditional Jewish environment, complete with traditional prayer service, but with very few of the demands made upon one in terms of belief and observance that you’d get in more traditional shuls.
I think a lot of the Russians are attracted to Chabad because in the Soviet era Jewish observance was almost totally quashed. It was an act of rebellion, and a real risk, trying to be a Jew in the Soviet Union in even the most minimal way. Consequently, Jewish education was almost non-existent. All they had was a desire to be Jews, born partly out of hatred of the the system, and old stories and photos from their grandparents’ time. Once they came to America and had a chance to live as Jews, many chose a place that matched those stories and photos. But they are no more engaged Jewishly than your average member of a suburban Conservative synagogue. To a lesser extent I think this is also true of the other Europeans who attend. Chabad is the closest shul to what they’re used to that is easily accessible to them.
But I think most people go because they are attracted to the service, to the atmosphere, and because it is cheap and easy to avail yourself of both. There are no set dues and, as far as I know, people give as much or as little as they feel. (This is kind of a mystery to me. I’m sure there are regulars who don’t contribute anything; how the Rabbi deals with them I have no idea.)
They run a Jewish Sunday school that is fairly well attended, again, because it is easy and cheap. You don’t have to be a member of the shul to enroll your kid, and the education is fairly inexpensive compared to most other places. Chabad is more interested in bringing people into the fold than in having them follow a specific program. More than once I’ve seen Jewish mothers from mixed marriages bring in their thirteen year old sons to be bar mitzvahed. The kids never had a lesson, never been to shul, and the mother never even thought about Judaism seriously until the kid was about to turn thirteen. That’s when it hit them that if the kid didn’t go through this initiation now, he might be lost as Jew forever. Well, Chabad fixes that easily. A Chabad bar mitzvah in these circumstances consists merely of the kid being called up to the Torah on Shabbas to say the barucha. That’s it, that’s all, say the barucha and wham! you are a man. Reform leaders have denounced this practice and maybe they’re right. But isn’t it better to have it done that way than not at all?
Anyway, to sum up, my shul is a Chabad “outreach” shul. By definition, they are seeking the unaffiliated and trying to bring them in. As such, most of the members of my shul are no better educated Jewishly, or initially engaged Jewishly, than your average Conservative or Reform synagogue. Many people come because at a certain point they felt the need to re-engage; they stay for the atmosphere, or the prayer service, or the community, or the Rabbi, and because they can have access to all that with very few demands, financial or spiritual, being made on them. So in that way, my Chabad shul is little different from any other shul. It is what it has to be, a reflection of the state of Judaism in America today. And that state is not necessarily bad.
You know, the first time I visited my local Chabad house (ok, not quite the local one, but just a little further - we have a few in the Denver area) I was _floored_ by people driving to shul on Shabbes! To an orthodox shul no less! I, being Noachide, discretely parked a few blocks away and walked, but people were driving up to the front of the building and walking right on in! I was amazed that the Rabbi didn’t have a problem with this (I’m sure he would prefer people didn’t drive, but at least some people, like myself, don’t live within walking distance, so how are you gonna get a minyan?). I can’t attend every week due to helping take care of my son, but when I can I try to go there as I feel it’s a very accepting environment, but one that also encourages one to become more observant in a non-judgmental way.
I guess I always wrote off the Orthodox shuls as “too observant for this little goy to attend”, but I was pleasantly surprised at Chabad.
Hey Yankel thanks for the reply and the insights. I think your last paragraph sums things up nicely .
Chris, yup i think the distinctions about observance are sometimes way overblown. But having said that, I’m not sure Chabad outreach shuls are the most accurate representations of the orthodox world.