September 15, 2010

Under a banner of balloons arranged as a rainbow flag, Juval Porat, 32, stands on the bimah at Beth Chayim Chadashim (BCC) on a warm June evening. In front of a packed sanctuary, Rabbi Lisa Edwards presents him for the first time as the Reform synagogue’s new cantor.

Over the past few years, Porat has become something of an international celebrity in the world of Judaism. He is the first cantor trained in Germany since the Holocaust, and many Jews view his accomplishment as a symbol of the future of the German Jewish community.

But rather than embrace his new role, Porat responds to questions about the attention as if it weren’t happening at all.

“I never made a decision to become the first German-trained cantor,” he said in an interview following the installation. “It just happened to me. Why should it be controversial?”

Born in Israel, Porat spent his childhood shuttling between his country of origin and Berlin, Germany. His parents instilled in him a strong Jewish identity and sent him to yeshiva. After graduating, he went to school to become an architect.

But an early passion for music led him to pursue singing in his free time, and it was then that he discovered his true path: Jewish music.

“The impulse to become a professional cantor didn’t come out of nowhere,” he said. “I started working as a cantorial soloist, and seven years later, I asked myself, ‘Why shouldn’t I do this professionally?’ ”

At that time, there were no professional cantorial training programs in Germany. Rather than travel out of the country, Porat approached the leadership at Abraham Geiger College, a rabbinic seminary in Potsdam, and helped to develop — and ultimately graduate from — a cantorial studies program.

Shortly after his graduation from Abraham Geiger, Porat met Bruce Maxwell, BCC’s president, through a friend in Berlin. The two hit it off, and Maxwell suggested that Porat try for the position left open after BCC’s longtime cantor, Fran Chalin, retired in 2007.

At Maxwell’s request, Porat sent MP3s containing his music to the synagogue’s leadership and arranged for an interview via Skype. At 2 p.m. Los Angeles time — midnight in Berlin — he logged in and auditioned for the BCC staff and board members.

“We heard Juval’s voice, and it felt comfortable to us,” Edwards said. “It was a combination of gentleness and power; we wanted to hear more immediately.”

Porat then traveled to Los Angeles to help lead High Holy Days services in 2008. He did as well in person as he had online, and by July 2009 he was on a plane to Los Angeles to begin his new job.

To some, Porat is such a perfect fit for the synagogue, his meeting with Maxwell seems almost fated.

“Some people think someone else had a hand in it,” said Edwards. Now, following his installation, Porat is beginning to settle into American life.

Meanwhile, those around him are realizing that his accomplishment represents not just a new page in German Judaism, but in American Judaism as well.

“[Juval] can help us dissolve the prejudices we do have about Germany, as someone who was very comfortable living as a Jew in Berlin — which is so surprising,” Edwards said.

But Porat also brings with him a certain level of honesty — despite having felt comfortable growing up as a Jew in Berlin, he can still recall a time when the events of World War II were at the forefront of his mind.

“I had my Holocaust phase, where I dealt very intensely with the entire theme,” he said. “I remember very consciously closing the door to it, but it’s not locked — it’s open on every Holocaust Memorial Day.”

That Porat should find himself at BCC is also notable — the Pico-Robertson district synagogue has been known for its groundbreaking role as one of the first LGBT synagogues to be accepted into the Reform movement.

And with that history, Edwards is perhaps better able to understand why Porat downplays his sudden role as an international Jewish leader.

“I think when you’re a trailblazer, you don’t realize it,” she said. “Like GLBT rights. We didn’t set out to be pioneers; we didn’t set out to be activists. We wanted to be something we weren’t allowed to be. I think it was the same for him.”

In the meantime, Porat is primarily concerned with adjusting to his new surroundings. His first few months in Los Angeles, he said, were difficult and led to a few months of significant depression. “I was really confronted with my dark side,” he said. “It was a tough time.”

But now, as he adjusts to everything — from the American manner of speaking and dressing to the necessity of having a car — he’s beginning to feel more at home.

Porat has signed on for three years at BCC, and while he and the congregation’s leadership have not discussed what will happen when that three years is up, Edwards has high hopes for what the young cantor will go on to do.

“He’s such a wonderful example of what could be,” she said. “Can someone who’s living in L.A. effect change in Germany? I like to think he can.”

I cannot say that I have ever rejected God. There were some years in which I was not interested, and that, perhaps, is the greatest rejection of all (much more than hostility or lack of faith). But then the world seemed too small, too confined, far too senseless without Him; to me, He is the all-embracing, all-encompassing being, the great Mystery, the transcending reality that is above, beyond and behind all that exists.

It is also true that God plays hide-and-seek with us; He hides and I must seek Him so that I can cry triumphantly: “I’ve found Him!” This rediscovery happens throughout a lifetime. There are always periods when there is a feeling of distance, almost of alienation — even if one observes the formalities of ritual and formal prayer; yet these times are followed by a renewed finding, a new love.

How can one characterize God? Whatever we say is going to be both right and wrong. All the good, beautiful and sweet things in this world are actually His attributes and every day, nay, every moment, we see Him differently. What is the color of a bubble of water? That depends upon the angle from which I look at it; and when I gaze at it long enough, I shall see in it all the colors and hues: great, mighty, compassionate, gracious, awesome, un-understandable — but forever extremely close to me.

It seems to me that every human being, not just religious (or exceptionally holy) people, experiences such moments of grace — these are moments when one feels the great Presence, how God is close, nearby. This feeling is actually a lot more frequent than people think, but we cannot always identify it. Some people get this feeling from seeing or feeling any kind of sublimity. Others may just suddenly experience, without any prior preparation or knowledge, the bliss and security of this closeness.

God is not just the originator of the universe — an entity that gave the universe an initial momentum and then left it. I believe that creation is an ongoing process; the world is being created anew each and every day, each and every instant. The world’s existence is the result of God’s constant presence within it, and there is no life and no reality without that constant Presence — at any given moment in time, in every single particle of matter.

I also believe that God supervises the smallest details and every single individual: His Providence and interest are not confined to human beings but include every created thing. And just as He is the ruler of the great galaxies, just as He is in charge of the great eras, so, too, He is present and oversees every movement that every human being makes, and also every flying bird, every fish in the water, every skipping grasshopper, every leaf drifting in the wind, every wisp of smoke coming out of a chimney — God watches over all these things and cares about them.

Thus, God has a plan for each and every human being and every single creature. But I cannot know what His plan is for me. Every now and then, I ask Him (and sometimes receive an answer, either directly or indirectly): What am I supposed to do now according to the plan? Have I done what You wanted me to do or have I erred and misunderstood You?

At the same time, no matter whether we acknowledge it or not, each of us has a personal relationship with God. My relationship is always personal and private; precisely because He is so infinite and unlimited, He relates personally and specifically to me. It always is a one-to-one relationship, when I am by myself as well as when I am in a crowd; somehow we are always alone together.

That is why prayer, no matter the form, is so important. Prayer is always a conversation with God. It is the way we relate feelings, fears or aspirations, or make requests. There is also prayer for one’s community, for one’s own nation or for the world as a whole. And prayer can also be a different sort of conversation: an urge to say thank you, to say, “How good it is that You are there.”

We pray to God; in some ways, He answers us with decisions about our fates. Every person’s private reckoning, either for the good or for the bad, is far too complex, and no one is able to appraise oneself properly, let alone appraise others. Every year, there is a time of judgment (on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and also later) in which one’s fate for the coming year is generally determined.

But these judgments are not absolutely decisive. Judgment and verdict are according to man’s state at that particular moment in time. When one makes a dramatic change in life, either for better or for worse, one’s verdict changes accordingly. The “book” in which God “writes and seals” judgments is, in a way, like word-processing on a computer: on any day, at any time, it is possible to change, delete and rewrite.

More than that — we can appeal. Human beings have the right (perhaps also the duty) to converse with God, to ask things from Him and also to complain to Him, to claim: “You’re not right.” It is the same right that a child has to cry and to say, “Why do other kids get more?” A human being is entitled to complain. God wants us to be honest with Him. But still and all, He cannot be judged.

On Nov. 7, to honor the completion of Rabbi Steinsaltz’s 45-volume translation and commentary, all are invited to join a day of global learning. For more information, visit this story at jewishjournal.com.

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz has spent nearly five decades translating the Talmud into modern languages.  On Nov. 7, to honor the completion of his 45-volume translation and commentary, all are invited to join a day of global learning. For more information, visit www.TheGlobalDay.com.