Rabbi Mishael Zion | Text and the City | Yom Kippur 2014
It was Yom Kippur morning, and my father
dragged my sister and I out of bed on a hike across Jerusalem, to learn how to
pray. In the basement of an old home in a poor neighborhood, we met a band of
Shlomo-Carlebach-infused, Simon-and Garfunkel singing, Hasidic-hand-clapping, irreverent-yet-trembling
prayer leaders. Twenty five years later, I am still trying to understand the
magic of the prayer that erupted in that damp basement.After the intense summer the Jewish people have had, and with the world quickly unraveling around us, Yom Kippur will carry an even larger weight than usual this year. There is simply so much to pray for.
Unfortunately the opportunity for real prayer will probably pass most of us by. For too long Jewish prayer in America has been a spectator sport - Jews sitting in alienating pews, expensive tickets in hand, being lectured on politics or continuity, their souls untapped. No wonder generations have lost interest in the institution of davennen – the Yiddish term for heart-felt, soul-wrenching, raw, prayer.
Yet a new generation has been reclaiming the spiritual value of Yom Kippur. Communities across the country are reinventing, rejuvenating,
and rediscovering the sweetness of this intense day. Prayer has become an
option again. Indeed, the 25-hour atonement marathon which will commence this
Friday night should be seen an intense urban retreat, an annual immersion in
the experience of prayer, a source of nourishment for a year of spiritual
practice.
Inspired by this renaissance, I want to offer a typology
of four kinds of prayer leaders. Like all typologies, it is stereotypical and
inexact. Moreover, these archetypes are rooted in the old world of Jewish
prayer – a male world. As we reinvent Jewish prayer for a new generation, these
archetypes can inform us in mapping out this most delicate of tasks.
Of
Four Prayer Leaders does the tradition speak: The Cantor, the Technician, the
Emissary, and the Baal Tefillah.
The Chazzan: Kol Nidrei
For many American Jews, the Cantor (or, Chazzan) is the
only kind of prayer leader they’ve ever met. In their Cantorial Golden Age Jews
– devout and otherwise - flocked to the sanctuaries to hear the best Cantors
pour out their baritones before the Lord. Folk music and Shlmo Carlebach’s
guitar have eroded the shine of the Cantorial cap. Yet even today there are
certain prayers that demand a Chazzan - and first among them is Kol Nidrei. Those vows simply will not be absolved without hitting
the right operatic note.
What is the key to the Cantor’s charm? Having a beautiful
voice, an open heart and a musical ear are all important, but they are only the
means to an end – connecting the community to something larger than themselves.
Through the power of music the cantor allows his community to transcend space
and time, connect prayer communities across countries and generations,
unmediated. The Chazzan’s toolbox consists of those hard and fast traditional
tunes –the Ashkenazi “nusach” or the Judeo-Arabic “makam”. Through them the individual
is transported into that a-morphic mythic vortex called “the Jewish people,”
all singing the same tunes. That is why we seek out cantors for Kol Nidrei –
the inter-generational inter-spatial connection is the only way to face our
broken vows.
In the mouth of the giften cantor, “nusach” can also serve
to connect a person to themselves. Like an old friend who can tell you just how
much you’ve changed, the nusach acts like a mirror. In the gap between the
unchanging tune and the constantly changing human, the work of Teshuva -is born.
The Tefillah Technician: Shacharit
Yom Kippur morning. The fast lies ahead in all its length,
hundreds of pages of prayers awaiting us. Enter the Tefillah Technician – a
well known prayer leading type in Orthodox synagogues. Rabbinic texts call him
“one who passes in front of the Ark” (“over lifnei ha-teyva”). The
Tefillah Technician does exactly that – he passes so that the Tefillah, too,
can pass. He provides a crucial service to a community in need of offering up their
daily prayer.
The Tefillah Technician is no cynic. He takes his cues
from the Priests, whose crowning achievement were the permanent sacrifices offered
up each sunrise and sunset in the Temple. It is in remembrance of these
sacrifices - known as Tmidim, constants - that daily prayer was shaped.
It is this constancy which the Tefillah Technician is loyal to. Musical skill
and performance art are of no import. A non-chalant yet exact performance of
the ritual is needed, as prescribed and performed in the ancient annals of prayer.
A polar opposite of the Chazzan, the Tefillah Technician shares with his
musical counterpart the concept of prayer as a spectator sport: all the crowd
is asked to do is say “Amen”.
The
Emissary: Mussaf
High noon. An anxious hush spreads through the sanctuary as a member of the community approaches to lead the
Mussaf service. It opens with a unique prayer, “Hineni heAni”, in which
the leader asks for permission – from Community and Creator – to represent his people
in prayer. The Shaliach Tzibur, literally “the emissary of the
community”, is in the house. Jewish law requires of the prayer leader to be
40+, to have some grey hairs, to have children and a “need at home”. In other
words – someone who has “skin in the game”. The Emissary must understand the
complexity of life and of his community – she cannot be a hired hand. Here what
matters is not tune or technicality, but connection to the community, true
representation, knowing what burdens the people and bringing it before the Lord.
The Emissary’s true expertise, however, is in bringing the
prayer fittingly to the community she serves. She knows what tune they
expect for “Unetaneh Tokef”, when to open their hearts with a song and when to deploy
super-sonic-speed. Constantly in his sights is a fear of “Tircha deTzibura”,
becoming a burden on the community – and he deftly navigates the long services
so that he never becomes one. The emissary parses and plans the services so
that they follow the emotional arc of a community in prayer, delivering them
safely to the “shores of forgiveness” (as poet Leah Goldberg once put it).
The Baal Tefillah: Neillah
As the sun begins to set on Yom Kippur, and the gates of
prayer begin their slow return to lockdown mode, a fourth type of prayer leader
stands up. The most introverted of the pack, neither Nusach grandiosity nor communal
connection are foremost on his mind. The Baal Tefillah, literally “owner of
prayer” is a person defined through and through by prayer. Alone, through the
sheer prowess of her petition, she will climb up to the Heavens and hold the
gates open until all the community’s prayers make their way in. His face hidden
behind a prayer shawl - even as he represents the community, he hides from them
– the Baal Tefillah is wrapped with his Creator like Moses on the mountain. His
prayer is personal, and yet – like good literature – manages to reach everyone,
including them in his own story. And when the gates of prayer are locked, he turns
to the gates of tears, which never shut. His prayers spread like wings and
carry the whole community to stand before the Seat of Compassion.
As we approach the prayers of Yom Kippur, these four types
remind us that prayer can be so much more than a spectator sport. That prayer
can be transformative (although it doesn’t always have to be), and that is not
a great voice that makes a true prayer leader, but a connection to the
community, to the traditional tunes, to the task at hand, or to one’s own self.
These four archetypes of prayer are extremes – but somewhere on this matrix
every leader can find their path. Each service and the role it requires; every
community and the leaders they seek; each prayer-leader according to their
skills and spiritual attainment. As we bring prayer back to its rightful – and
delicate – place in our lives, may those who lead us become versed in these paths
of old, carving out a “new song” for us all.
