Discovering Communities During Rosh Hashanah

Community. We talk so much about it: the meaning of community; why it is needed; what it means to belong to a community; what we get from community and what we offer; the obligation of a community to its members and, conversely, the obligations of its members.

The first day of this year’s Rosh Hashanah provided some answers. Even as my husband, Eli, and I sat at home in front of a computer screen, an iPad screen and a phone screen, all at the same time, even as I was still in my robe and slippers and it was noon, and even as our family was in many different places separated by the rules of the pandemic, we felt community.

How else and under what other circumstances could we have participated in five different Rosh Hashanah morning services? How could we have heard as many rabbis and cantors? How could we have entered as many synagogues and sanctuaries? How could we have listened to and sung along with so many melodies – traditional, contemporary, Sephardic and Ashkenazi? When else might we have connected with so many of the places and traditions that cover the trajectory of our lives ‒ all in the space of two hours on this Shabbat/Rosh Hashanah morning?

At first, it seemed a little sacrilegious to be surfing services. Shouldn’t we have settled down and connected to the essence of the holy day and avoided the urge to be in perpetual motion physically, mentally and spiritually? How could we have not disengaged from technology as much as possible in order to experience the true meaning of the day?

On the other hand, how could we resist checking into services in the synagogues that spanned the years of our lives, given they all were available at the click of a mouse? We checked into Wilshire Boulevard Temple and Sephardic Temple-Tifereth Israel, hearing cantors Gurney and Peicott at one, and Cantor Mizrahi at the other – in the majestic setting of one and the traditional Sephardic setting with the bimah in the center of the other.

We breathed in the indoor and outdoor splendor of Stephen Wise Temple on Mulholland and felt the emotion of Cantor Nathan Lam as he stood beside his granddaughter, singing a sweet duet. We were able to kvell as our daughter Ellen Sugerman led the Torah in the Round service with Rabbi Nicole Guzick at Sinai Temple, still amazed by our daughter’s command and expertise, and feeling the thrill in our hearts that never lessens year after year. And then, for the first time ever, we clicked into our niece Rabbi Laurie Coskey’s service that she conducted from her living room in San Diego.

This was a singular event that could have been possible only against the backdrop of a lifetime of Jewish experience and engagement. The virtual doors were open because we have been walking in and out of the real ones for decades.

We thought back to all the years of complicated decision-making around the holidays. Which service should we attend – the late one or the early one? Should we try to fit dinner in before, or wait until after? Would it be better to choose what is most convenient for us, or should we try to work our choices around the availability and preferences of the other family members? Would we successfully navigate time and traffic and find a decent parking space when we get to the service we finally decided on?

But this year, it was different.

Because we’ve engaged over time with the purpose and people of many different synagogue communities, this year, we entered their virtual doors with familiar ease and comfort. They shared many commonalities: the prayers, the melodies, the order of service, the ritual. But each of them also displayed its unique personality, and we felt at home with all of them. From simplicity to grandeur, folksy to formal, indoors or out, pre-recorded and live, accompanied by organ, piano or guitar, we had plenty of space to contain all of it.

In our study at home, it appeared we could have it all. The morning’s experience was like looking at a spreadsheet of our community engagement with multiple columns and rows ‒places, people, years ‒ with each column ending with a subtotal; the bottom line showing a grand total of all of the component parts. But spreadsheets, as useful as they may be for providing data that reflect, inform and possibly predict, don’t reveal the essence of the elements that animate one’s life. There are no columns that record measures of love and friendship, values and actions, aspirations and accomplishments, pleasures and passions, companionship and experiences. These are the things that infuse life with meaning; these are the things we bring to community; these are the things we take away from it.

So this year’s observance was unique. It will go down as a memorable Rosh Hashanah. It was fulfilling. We found meaning and satisfaction in new and unprecedented ways. We were struck with amazement at the opportunity for virtual participation afforded us by the wonders of technology. We were glad to enjoy a panoramic view of what usually is a very localized experience. But, in the vernacular of the day, let me be clear: This was a singular event that could have been possible only against the backdrop of a lifetime of Jewish experience and engagement. The virtual doors were open because we have been walking in and out of the real ones for decades. We have been privileged to benefit from leadership and guidance, learning and inspiration, and comfort and fellowship in each of our synagogue communities. We, in turn, have fulfilled in a variety of ways the obligations that come with belonging.

But even on this wondrous day, something big was missing. I recall someone telling me that the answer to “You can’t have it all” is “Yes, you can. You just can’t have it all at once.” And so, while this year’s Rosh Hashanah gave us an aerial view of our communal totality, next year, we’ll be okay with not having it all at once. We’ll look forward to showing up – somewhere. We’ll look forward to seeing people off screen. We’ll look forward to looking into faces and hearing real voices – in real time. We’ll look forward to reaching into the aisle to touch the Torah as it is carried around whatever sanctuary we are in. We’ll look forward to the pleasure of seeing people we haven’t seen since the last time and wishing them a good year. We’ll be grateful for all the communities we could join to observe the holiday, and we’ll be grateful to actually be wherever we land on that particular day. Virtual living is a precious alternative to the real thing when that’s all that is available, but next year, we want to be in the room, and not the Zoom, where it happens. We want to be in community.

Rochelle Ginsburg is a former assistant principal of Hawthorne School, retired principal of Stephen Wise School, and a current member of the Board of Overseers of Hebrew Union College. She also is an educational consultant, Great Books facilitator and mentor.