Going to Shul Weekdays and Shabbos

Shul Attendance (For Men and Women) Is All About Training

by AVI BILLET

I have seen a theme in the blogosphere over the last few days: the following blog posts are presented in (what I think is) their chronological order – all addressing "Why Women Don't Go To Shul." Some of these are a "view from Israel," while some were penned in the United States.

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/not-exactly-a-seat-of-honor/

http://choppingwood.blogspot.co.il/2013/04/the-embarrasment-that-is-womens-section.html

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/scroll-up/

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/why-women-dont-go-to-shul/

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/dont-blame-women-for-not-going-to-shul/

Rabbi Fink (last of the five) compared what he believes to be the reasons men go to shul with reasons why women might as well – and he clarified for me on Facebook that he is mostly speaking about on Shabbos. It is certainly true that some people go out of a sense of obligation, and some go for social reasons – seeing friends, schmoozing, drinking, the Kiddush, etc.

In this contribution to the subject (which alludes to points made in all of the posts linked above), our focus will distinguish between weekdays and Shabbos in hopes of finding an answer to the conundrum.

Weekdays

            

Weekday attendance boils down to one's training and one's M.O. as an adult. Men may "know" they have an obligation to pray three times a day, but it is only those that I classify as "shul guys" who actually make the regular effort. Conflicts come up (timing, work, kids, business-travel, etc), a person can't always make it. But the shul-guy's heart is in shul. And he is there often.

            

I would bet that those who are shul-guys have been going to shul since they were children, davening in a minyan in school, and dragged or brought to mincha-maariv regularly. And when they were off from school, their parents had them go to shul as well. Not just on Shabbos and Yom Tov, but Chol Hamoed, Sundays, legal holidays and winter and summer vacations. If their families went on trips – skiing, Disney, etc., they made an effort to either create or find a minyan.

            

The fact remains that though shuls are quite active in the morning and evening hours of every weekday, the primary attendees are men. Every now and then a young woman, recently back from Israel perhaps, will appear in shul. Sometimes a woman saying kaddish for a yarzeit will make an appearance, or a woman saying kaddish for her parent might be a regular attendee. But these are uncommon.

            

More often the women's section, during the week, is either empty or occupied by (male) latecomers or Yeshiva guys. [This is very wrong behavior because it further makes women feel unwelcome. Shuls that are aware of this put up signs saying "Please reserve the women's section for women."]

            

That women don't show up is partially because of the excuses – and they are all legitimate: women do not have the "obligation," those who are mothers have other responsibilities, and there is not really a social element to the weekday davening.* This does not explain why women who are looking to have a minyan experience, who are not mothers of young children and do not have other responsibilities do not come to shul. There isn't a "welcoming" atmosphere to anyone on the weekday because of the fast pace of a workday: those who come during the week are usually interested in davening, yes, but in getting through it as expeditiously as possible – no wasting time, do your business, and move on with your day.

Shabbos

There are two kinds of shuls: the kind in which women feel comfortable, and the kind in which they do not. Certainly some shuls make a bigger deal out of the women's section and put more efforts into making it a respectable space for tefillah. And some completely neglect the space.

To be honest, I hear both sides. A majority of the women I see coming to shul come for the final hour of the Shabbos morning davening. For those who come from the beginning, they certainly deserve a welcoming space. But for those who only come for the 1 hour per week, I completely understand why a shul would not budget for the space (though this is likely more of an issue in Israel than in the US where shuls do take the women's section into consideration, particularly when constructing a new facility).

There are also many reasons women would not come to shul. Some are communal (shul doesn't care, I don't like the shul atmosphere, women are left out of the service, I don't like the way they have the mechitza, etc); some are openly personal (no child care, too much talking, too much shushing, etc); some are intimately personal (a widow or divorcee feels out of place or lonely, anger with God, someone said something once, etc.); to some women, davening may be a meaningless gesture, or something they prefer to do at home. Where any shul can address the issue, the shul should do its best to correct the problem. Unfortunately, blaming a shul for any individual's private and very personal problems with the shul enters into the realm of "unfair."

In the shuls I have worked and prayed, women come on Shabbos morning. Some to pray, some to talk. Some come early and daven. Some come a little later and daven. Some come late and listen to the sermon or talk during davening or in the hallway. I find a special irony in cases where women wish to kiss the Torah and then talk during the Torah reading (men too, by the way). Not that all do this, but it becomes a question of what are our priorities – an external gesture which turns out to be meaningless (if one talks during the reading), or an internalization of the Torah words which are publicly read? Seems to me the latter should be the priority.

The excuse that women do not have a participatory role in shul is, in my opinion, just an excuse. In a shul that has 100 men and 100 women, about 14 men have a role. Let's assume for a moment that the rabbi doesn't count. 2 Gabbaim, 3 baalei tefillah (unless there is a cantor), 1 Torah reader and 8 aliyahs. 86% of the men have the same role as the women, and yet they come all the same. Their role is to worry about their own tefillah, participate in whatever singing and communal responses, and make their best effort to get close to God.

I know a number of women who are "shul-women" and "tefillah-women." They view both experiences as very important in their lives, they daven every day, and they go to shul on Shabbos where they are content with their role as an actively participating member of the tzibbur – who answers to brachot, kaddish, kedusha, and joins in communal singing. They never need to play the speaking role of chazzan or person getting an aliyah (which many men shy away from as well) and can go about their business without anyone being the wiser – because davening is not about a show. It is about a personal experience.

They probably did not have the same training as the "shul-guys" (bottom line: attendance in shul is largely related to one's having been trained to be a shul person), and they more likely came to their shul-person status through either positive Shabbos experiences growing up, or on account of their own religious and soul-searching in formative years.

When people make shul about everything else (can I lead Kabbalat Shabbat, will I get to carry the Torah, or kiss the Torah, does the shul even make an effort to make me feel comfortable, whether it provides childcare, a hashkamah minyan for one spouse so the other can go later), they have many causes to complain about the roles they do not have, and how annoying shul is. 

But when people understand what the purpose of the shul experience is supposed to be it can be rewarding no matter the circumstances, if the attitude a person brings to shul is one that says, "I am here to have the experience I am looking for. It is up to me to create it."

After all - אמ אין אני לי מי לי

* There is no "social element" to any davening. You are either speaking to God, you are silent, or you are speaking to a person. When conversing with a person, you are not davening.

A Prayer Lesson from the Parah

Parshat Chukat


by Rabbi Avi Billet
When it comes to discussions about the Parah Adumah (red heifer), many look to its symbolism or try to find a message in the concept of a "chok" – which is typically defined as a "mitzvah without a reason." [Though I wrote about this being a Chok with a Reason for Parshat Parah this year.]  Some focus on the unique quality of how the Parah Adumah mixture was metaher temeim and metameh tehorim (purified those who were impure, and made the pure (the one doing the sprinkling) impure).

 In chassidic annals the general approach to this and other symbols is to find moral teachings and ethical lessons that adherents can adapt to their lifestyles.

With regard to the metameh tehorim (etc) idea, the Baal Shem Tov was asked about the paradox that comes with this mitzvah. "If every mitzvah can teach us something about how to serve God, please explain where parah adumah - which turns a person who is already tahor (pure) to be tameh (impure) - fits in. It seems to be working backwards, bringing someone further from the spiritual purity that is the best state in which to serve God. How does it bring one closer to God?"

 The Baal Shem Tov equated this quality [bringing a reverse status on an individual] with the middot of Gayvah (haughtiness) and Anavah (humility).  For a person who is distant from observance of mitzvot and a commitment to serving God, it is good for him to have a little more 'haughtiness' about his capabilities. Instead of saying, "Who am I that I could even conceive that my prayer has any clout, or that there's any hope for me to turn around from my habits?" - that person should have much more confidence. Education or background is unrelated to one's ability to connect with the Almighty.

 On the other hand, a person who feels very strong in one's commitment and dedication to God could use more than a dose of humility in a personal reminder that "You still haven't 'arrived,' and you always need a lot more work before you reach 'that' level."

Many people who are committed to Tefillah and are regular participants in tefillah – whether with a minyan or on an individual basis – get it. The Tehillim groups get it. Those who even take the "Shir Hamaalot" added to the end of davening (in many shuls) seriously, also get it.

Those who ask a Rabbi or a Rebbe to pray for them, but who do not pray for themselves, do not get it. Those who rely on the "power of others," and do not give credit to their own strengths, their own abilities, their own sincerity, do not get it. One does not need to be an observant Jew to feel close to God, to feel dedicated to God, to have a relationship with God. Or even to "influence" God.


One of the greatest models of prayer in the Bible is Chana (Samuel I, Chapters 1-2). According to the Talmud she was a prophetess – though the prophesy which is attributed to her are her prayers. But she was not a rabbi, and she did not serve anyone else, or pray on anyone's behalf other than for herself. Other than being the mother of the prophet Shmuel, her fame is on account of her prayers, and that's it. 


Some people certainly feel God never hears them or responds to their prayers. And there are some people who absolutely feel that God is always listening and they "know" that their prayers have been heard, received, and "now it's in God's hands." 


The message of the Baal Shem Tov is so important because we need to find relevance to our lives in mitzvot that we cannot practice today. There is a tremendous void in a Jewish existence which does not include the Temple in Jerusalem, which will not be rebuilt until the Messianic Era is upon us. When in practice, the Parah Adumah had a profound significance, and played a very important role in the lives of those wishing to visit the Temple. 


The Baal Shem Tov teaches us that the quality of the Parah Adumah is a model for all. Those who seem to have every right to feel haughty and high and mighty about their connection to God need to be reminded that they have much to work on. 


And those who feel that a connection can not be found with God because they are too far away from Him or have too much getting in the way of such a relationship need to take a long look in the mirror and realize that that relationship is not exclusive to anyone. It is there for the taking for those who are ready to grab it.


The Baal Shem Tov's answer is that the paradox is what makes life interesting. There isn't a black or a white – because when it comes to the Red Heifer ritual, "what's black is white and what's white is black," so to speak. But every person must realize that arriving at the opposite extreme of where one currently finds oneself [ie in that the humble needs to exert more confidence, and the very confident needs to find doses of humility] might be the ticket to a more fulfilling relationship with God.

Prayer's Purpose

Parshat Vayera

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The prophet Malachi presents a scenario when God-fearing people present their goodness to God, in contrast to the wicked who felt it was worthless to serve God. "At that time, the God-fearing people spoke to one another. God listened and heard, and a scroll of remembrance was written at His command concerning those who fear God and those who meditate on His Name." (Malachi 3:16)

            

Oddly enough, though the prophet records that a conversation took place, he does not record the conversation.

            

The Talmud (Brachot 6a) uses this passage as a foundation for the idea that two people who sit and share words of Torah merit to have the Divine Shechinah in their midst. The Gemara asks the question, "Why does the verse add the seemingly superfluous phrase regarding those who 'meditate on His name'? Is it not enough to speak of those who fear God?" The answer is offered by Rav Ashi who declares the teaching that "If a person thought to do a mitzvah and was prevented from doing so, he is given credit for having done the mitzvah."

In his "Darash Moshe", Rabbi Moshe Feinstein uses the background of these texts to ask why God found the need to tell Avraham about S'dom. Even if He knew Avraham would pray, He also knew that Avraham's prayer would have no effect. S'dom was doomed, and not even Avraham could save it. True, his nephew Lot could be saved in Avraham's merit, but this was apparently going to happen even without Avraham's intervention.

           

Rav Moshe answers that God wanted Avraham's prayers anyway. Avraham's prayers were powerful and needed to be brought to the earth for a purpose – a purpose and design other than to save the doomed city. In other words, Avraham thought to do a good deed, and even though it didn't work out, he received credit anyway.

            

To bring a similar example from the Talmud (Sanhedrin 44b), we are told that when Avraham prayed near the city of Ai (Bereshit 12:8), his prayers did nothing at the time, but prevented Yehoshua's army from being routed in the Battle of Ai (Yehoshua 7:5) around 465 years later.

This is one element of prayer that is beyond all of us. We simply do not know what our prayers do, what merit they serve to advocate for in our world.

When Nachshon Wachsman z"l, the Israeli soldier kidnapped and killed in 1994 (his yarzeit was this past Monday, 11/7, 10 Cheshvan), his family taught a very powerful lesson regarding prayer. "God always listens, but sometimes His answer is 'No.'" In essence, prayers are needed, but we don't always merit to see what purpose our prayers serve.

            

A few years ago, I was informed of a project taken on by a shul in New Jersey. Different members of the community wrote essays about what prayer means to them, and shared them with the membership. Though seemingly obvious, it turns out that every person brings their own personal experiences into how they view, understand, and relate to the act of "tefillah" – prayer.

            

A colleague shared one of the essays with me, in which the mother of a child-diagnosed-with-cancer had some very poignant insights. She said, "You don't know what prayer is until you find out your child will not outlive you." Most helpful, she said, was when a person who had gone through a similar trial confided in her saying, "There are times when you will be angry at God. You will not be able to pray. Don't worry. The rest of us will be praying for you."

            

These are powerful thoughts. It's not just that every individual has the ability to move mountains. It's that we are all in this together, looking out for one another, making a prayer-contribution because somewhere, somehow, it helps all of us. Perhaps in ways we could not even consider or imagine.

            

Let us make a commitment to consider that as much as the specific words we say may or may not be important, it is the fact that we prayed that is highly significant. Let us remember that not every day is the best of days – we don't always feel right, and we don't always feel it – but others are praying for us. And, of course, sometimes God's answer is "No."

            

Most of all, let us remind ourselves regularly that we're all in this together. If Avraham could pray, even though in the back of his mind he may have known that S'dom was doomed, how much moreso can we pray when we merely think things are grim and hopeless? Those we pray for are millions of times better than the people of S'dom. And we never have any right to think things are hopeless.

            

And in the event that our prayers seem to go unanswered, if we can only imagine that our prayers helped (or will help) someone, somewhere, in a way unbeknownst to us, our tefillah experiences will be exponentially more powerful and carry meaning beyond our wildest imagination!