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November 2000 Issue

Wrestling with Synagogue

By Rob Dixter

For the past 27 years I have attended synagogue during the holidays. With the passing of the High Holidays earlier this fall, I thought I would examine why I still found myself sitting in the pews listening to the Rabbi comment about how I sinned enough over the past year to kill a small mule.

I grew up in a Jewish community, (stop picturing Fiddler on the Roof), so most of my friends were Jewish. Synagogue, like puberty, was simply a thing that was done. But because of the Jewish calendar you never quite knew when it would happen. We all went to synagogue on the High Holidays, in fact we would look forward to seeing each other at synagogue so we could sneak out during the sermon and talk about girls and their cooties (I was in the fifth grade).

As I grew older the day became a true holiday, which meant it was time to sleep in. I also stopped slipping out during the sermon and tried to absorb the words of wisdom that were spoken by the Rabbi. Sometimes I would take the sermon home with me and ponder what the Rabbi had said.

Maybe I am a member of the MTV generation and need instant gratification, but to have to sit around in a suit for four hours and be lectured on what I did wrong (I swear I never stoned anybody!), on a Saturday no less, is a harsh punishment.

When I moved away from home I met a lot of new Jewish people who were not at all observant. They knew the holiday existed but did not attend synagogue or partake in the traditions of the holiday. The mere mention of attending synagogue on a Saturday would illicit laughter the likes of which I haven't heard since OJ pleaded not guilty. Back home I would attend synagogue on the occasional Saturday, but once I moved away it became an idea that became as popular as grunge music is now.

I started to look for a synagogue to join for the high holidays. My cousin and I took part in an auxiliary service at a synagogue here in New York. The service was nothing like what I was used to. The tunes were different, the Rabbi was different, and I actually found the entire service more taxing than my service back home.

Synagogue was getting worse and worse. I wasn't asking for a DJ, a dunking booth, or even the Kotel, but synagogue needed improving. It needed something exciting. I started to consider giving up synagogue.

The best parts of the holidays for me were always gathering with my family, having a big dinner, and every now and then playing Twister. Synagogue was always the depressing part of the holiday, and somehow it always reminded me that I needed to do laundry.

One day I started wondering: Do I go to synagogue out of fear? What would happen if I gave up synagogue all together?

Plenty of other people I knew didn't go to synagogue and nothing bad happened to them, except the occasional parking ticket. But I pictured a huge hand coming out of the sky and either tickling me incessantly or giving me a huge wet willy. These things only really happened in Monty Python movies. Didn't they?

I didn't want to take the chance of a horrible event befalling me if I didn't go to synagogue. (I admit my mental process is a little backwards--It also took me five years to realize Donny and Marie were siblings and not married.)

As I continued wrestling with these serious issues, it dawned on me that I should probably be thinking about why I DO go to synagogue as opposed to why I didn't want to. The reason I didn't want to go was pretty simple; I find the entire service more boring than Regis' monochromatic wardrobe.

So why do I go? I go because I was raised by my parents (who also taught me how to use cutlery, look both ways when you cross the street, and properly use beer bongs), to attend synagogue on the holidays.

It has been a tradition that my parents carried on from their parents, and their parents' parents. There are traditions I love about the holidays--the whole family gathering for dinner, and the big meal, and the friends flying in from out of town.

I guess going to synagogue is just another tradition that I don't enjoy as much. But tradition is just that, tradition, and why break with it? So next year in synagogue, I'll probably be there in the front row with a smile. Well, maybe not the front row, and I could be fast asleep, but I will be there.

Rob Dixter is a freelance writer in New York City. And he's a very serious guy.

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