The Sephardic Experience Weekend of February 3-5 2006
The Sephardic Experience and “BJ”
Weekend of February 3 – 5, 2006
This could be considered my “Sephardic Weekend.” I went to services on Saturday morning at the historic Spanish Portugese Synagogue, the oldest synagogue in the United States. It is steeped in tradition, and evokes the feeling of the proud Sephardic community that was the first to settle in the United States in 1654 as well as echoes of the colonial period.
There were so many interesting traditions it is hard to know where to begin. For one, many of the men wore hats, and everyone who had an aliyah wore a hat, even the little children who came up to undress the torah. The gabbayim, as well as the presiding lay leader wear top hats and tails, with a vest. It is most impressive and gives a majestic aura to the service. The torah is lifted and “Zot HaTorah: This is the Torah given by God to Moses…” is chanted prior to the reading of the torah rather than afterwards, as is the custom in Ashkenazic synagogues. The procession to take the torah out of the ark and to return it is very formal, with the cantor, rabbis, gabbayim and synagogue president methodically proceeding from the center bima across a vast open space toward the ark, as they take one step at a time, and drag the other leg in a very deliberate measured motion. (Mikveh Israel of Philadelphia, also founded in the colonial period by refugees whose origins go back to the escape from the Spanish Inquisition proceed in the same manner.) When they get to the ark, the yad is formally taken out and presented to the torah reader by the gabbay. There also is a lot of bowing. As a means of showing respect, and reflecting the formality of the tradition, those coming up for an aliyah bow towards the rabbi as well as the torah reader before and after the aliyah, and it is reciprocated. I found the experience to be a fascinating one, and they told me I should come back for the Friday night service, which is also supposed to be lovely.
On Saturday and Sunday evening I went to see two different films at the Sephardic Film Festival. The one on Saturday night was called “Secret Passage” and tells the story of two sisters who escape the Inquisition in Spain and arrive in Vienna, as a temporary post, as they seek to make their way to Istanbul where the long arm of the Inquisition will not be able to reach them, and where they will be able to live freely as Jews and not just in secret. I find this period of history to be extremely compelling and interesting, and am constantly drawn to it. I marvel at how people sought to preserve their identity as Jews in the face of such cruelty and oppression. How could they maintain their faith and not give it up, knowing that if it was discovered that while outwardly living as Catholics, they secretly practiced Judaism? What lessons are there that we can learn from their extraordinary sacrifice?
The other film was a documentary, “The Forgotten Refugees” about the plight of the Jews in Arab lands. The movie makes the point that there when we speak about the refugees of the Middle East, there are two sets of refugees, not one. One population was left to squalor among abject poverty, despite unlimited resources provided by oil wealth, while the other was taken in by the tiny state of Israel. The movie tells the fascinating history and of the contributions of Jews in Arab lands, conveying the complexity of the relationship – which sometimes was positive, and yet at others was filled with fear and terror that rage could be unleashed at any moment.
Friday evening I attended services at B’nai Jeshurun, the synagogue on the Upper West Side that pioneered the concept that others have attempted with varying degrees of success to replicate. The service has a great deal of participatory singing, most of it the melodies of Shlomo Carlebach, accompanied by musical instrumentation. During Lecha Dodi, people danced around the synagogue. Much of the music is beautiful. Some of the people who attend seem as if they just stepped out of a time machine from the 1960’s. A few of the worshippers appear to be in a trance as they dance and sway to the melody of the music of the congregation. They are part of the community, yet as they are caught up in their own motions, they are clearly in their own world. While not wishing to be judgmental at all, as I look upon them, I cannot help but wonder while this is clearly a spiritual experience for them, how Jewish of an experience it is, and how it fits into the greater continuum of Jewish history and peoplehood.
Weekend of February 3 – 5, 2006
This could be considered my “Sephardic Weekend.” I went to services on Saturday morning at the historic Spanish Portugese Synagogue, the oldest synagogue in the United States. It is steeped in tradition, and evokes the feeling of the proud Sephardic community that was the first to settle in the United States in 1654 as well as echoes of the colonial period.
There were so many interesting traditions it is hard to know where to begin. For one, many of the men wore hats, and everyone who had an aliyah wore a hat, even the little children who came up to undress the torah. The gabbayim, as well as the presiding lay leader wear top hats and tails, with a vest. It is most impressive and gives a majestic aura to the service. The torah is lifted and “Zot HaTorah: This is the Torah given by God to Moses…” is chanted prior to the reading of the torah rather than afterwards, as is the custom in Ashkenazic synagogues. The procession to take the torah out of the ark and to return it is very formal, with the cantor, rabbis, gabbayim and synagogue president methodically proceeding from the center bima across a vast open space toward the ark, as they take one step at a time, and drag the other leg in a very deliberate measured motion. (Mikveh Israel of Philadelphia, also founded in the colonial period by refugees whose origins go back to the escape from the Spanish Inquisition proceed in the same manner.) When they get to the ark, the yad is formally taken out and presented to the torah reader by the gabbay. There also is a lot of bowing. As a means of showing respect, and reflecting the formality of the tradition, those coming up for an aliyah bow towards the rabbi as well as the torah reader before and after the aliyah, and it is reciprocated. I found the experience to be a fascinating one, and they told me I should come back for the Friday night service, which is also supposed to be lovely.
On Saturday and Sunday evening I went to see two different films at the Sephardic Film Festival. The one on Saturday night was called “Secret Passage” and tells the story of two sisters who escape the Inquisition in Spain and arrive in Vienna, as a temporary post, as they seek to make their way to Istanbul where the long arm of the Inquisition will not be able to reach them, and where they will be able to live freely as Jews and not just in secret. I find this period of history to be extremely compelling and interesting, and am constantly drawn to it. I marvel at how people sought to preserve their identity as Jews in the face of such cruelty and oppression. How could they maintain their faith and not give it up, knowing that if it was discovered that while outwardly living as Catholics, they secretly practiced Judaism? What lessons are there that we can learn from their extraordinary sacrifice?
The other film was a documentary, “The Forgotten Refugees” about the plight of the Jews in Arab lands. The movie makes the point that there when we speak about the refugees of the Middle East, there are two sets of refugees, not one. One population was left to squalor among abject poverty, despite unlimited resources provided by oil wealth, while the other was taken in by the tiny state of Israel. The movie tells the fascinating history and of the contributions of Jews in Arab lands, conveying the complexity of the relationship – which sometimes was positive, and yet at others was filled with fear and terror that rage could be unleashed at any moment.
Friday evening I attended services at B’nai Jeshurun, the synagogue on the Upper West Side that pioneered the concept that others have attempted with varying degrees of success to replicate. The service has a great deal of participatory singing, most of it the melodies of Shlomo Carlebach, accompanied by musical instrumentation. During Lecha Dodi, people danced around the synagogue. Much of the music is beautiful. Some of the people who attend seem as if they just stepped out of a time machine from the 1960’s. A few of the worshippers appear to be in a trance as they dance and sway to the melody of the music of the congregation. They are part of the community, yet as they are caught up in their own motions, they are clearly in their own world. While not wishing to be judgmental at all, as I look upon them, I cannot help but wonder while this is clearly a spiritual experience for them, how Jewish of an experience it is, and how it fits into the greater continuum of Jewish history and peoplehood.
posted by Rabbi Stuart Weinblatt at 6:09 PM
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