Shopping for a Synagogue

By Jodi Werner

At my bat mitzvah, my rabbi praised me in front of my family and friends. He had watched me davening on the pulpit and was impressed by my ability to follow along with the service. Ever since starting Hebrew School eight years earlier, I had watched the boys learn to blow the shofar, read directly from the torah, and carefully wrap taffilin around their arms and foreheads. Following along with the service seemed easy in comparison to these other things. When I came of age, I began to wonder if that was all there was to the prayer experience and to synagogues in general for me as a woman in a Conservadox (conservative and orthodox) temple. Though I was eager to participate, I was withheld from the service by my sex and the very traditions I followed.

When I moved to Boston this past September to pursue a graduate degree, I decided it was time to find my match -- a synagogue of my choosing -- one that would encourage my participation.

My ideal temple would allow me to have an aliyah, dress the torah, and even read from it if I was so inclined. (Just getting close enough to touch a torah gives me the chills because of all the years I have been denied it.) One would think finding an egalitarian congregation would be easy enough, especially in a city like Boston where there are many Jews and, likewise, many synagogues.

About a month ago, I attended Shabbat services at a Reform temple just outside of Boston, confident that there I would find the egalitarian environment I was looking for. I enjoyed the female Rabbi, how she related the parisha to women's experiences, and how she called women to the torah for aliyahs. But the congregation applauded during the service and an organ played in the background, which, as a traditional Jew, I considered to be sacrilegious and reminiscent of a church. I began to realize that although I despised being excluded from the Conservadox service, I did not wish to abandon all of its traditions.

This past shabbat, I went to a temple labeled by some as modern orthodox and by others as simply egalitarian. A co-ed service was held downstairs in the children's playroom, and a traditional, all-male service was held upstairs in the main sanctuary. The egalitarian service was intimate, with praise and criticism given throughout. I was invited to dress the torah, and several members of the small congregation approached me with friendly greetings. The songs mainly followed the traditional tunes I was used to, but the environment was unconventional to the point of being distracting.

Sitting in the children's playroom, I felt displaced. An arc mere feet away from hanging paper cut-outs? Grown-ups sitting on children's chairs? The setting seemed to mock the holiness of the service. At first it was difficult for me to take the prayers seriously. Then I remembered creative services out in the woods at summer camp retreats during my high school membership in B'nai B'rith Girls (BBG). We stood on wooden logs as we prayed and acted out skits at the lakeside. These services were unconventional, but probably the most spiritual ones I have ever attended. Though a playroom can hardly compare to the beauty of the woods, I realized that I was too harsh about the playroom factor, and needed to rethink my initial impression.

With my new perception, I noticed how parents were carrying their small children on their hips up to the torah to have an aliyah. Children were in the room as the adults prayed, learning firsthand that the torah and Judaism were important to their parents. In fact, they saw that praying was so natural an occurrence on Saturday mornings, that it occurred in their playroom. There was something holistic about this. Even though I did not consider it my ideal environment for prayer, I had a newfound respect for the service.

This experience made me question what I was looking for aesthetically in a temple. Ideally, it would be the service itself that matters, regardless if it takes place in a barn or on the sidewalk. But I believe there is something to be said about ambiance. When I enter a glorious temple, a place of sheer beauty, I am forced to remember that there are things bigger than myself. (I am, I admit, somewhat self-absorbed. I still search for self-understanding and spend a large amount of time pondering my own workings. Therefore, I could use a good shaking out of my mono-orbital world once in a while.) My ideal temple, then, would incorporate a majestic environment, one with wood and stained glass, while incorporating a natural feel, perhaps with sky roofs and glass walls. (Hey, if I'm going to dream, I may as well go all the way.)

I admit that I am asking a lot of the synagogue I search for: an egalitarian approach to prayer, a majestic, spiritually inspiring setting, and the feeling that prayer is natural and comfortable. I have not found it yet, but I am getting closer. Along the way, I am learning more about what I want from Judaism and the environment in which I wish to begin giving back.

Jodi Werner is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Emerson College.