By Ralph Chadis
When I was a kid in the 1950s, we would say, “High Holidays are coming” and started days of making food that was eaten after the services in our homes. There was not only a tzimmes of orange food but a tzimmes of talk – about people; about Israel; about the sermon (a good one got talk, a bad one got a shrug); about the chorus and organ; about what someone wore (“we don’t wear that - not in Temple”, “why not?”). I really liked it.
Everyone went to the services, which is where we reminded ourselves we were Jews. At my Reform temple, we all sat quietly in our seats while behind the bimah my friend played the organ, and the choir sang the music, while, on the bimah, the cantor chanted the ritual, the rabbi recited the liturgy, and the congregation sat quietly, responding where the prayer book said to. I really liked it. Yes, it was 1960s.
Then I set out to find my own way – like Jack in the Appalachian tales – knowing nothing. On the way I found Havurat Shalom. This was a whole new experience. I heard people I did not yet know say “Oy Joy, the chag is coming!” A committee brought the food.
Everyone went to the services, which is where we celebrated our Jewishness – crowding into the yellow house like the children in Mother Hubbard’s shoe. Technically there was no separate bimah. It was the whole house. There was no organ – except that some congregants hummed. There was no hazzan, just a congregation that set down their books to sing well remembered or improvised nusachim, piyyutim, and other music as if they were born knowing it, harmonizing and melodizing. Congregants led the liturgy, and the congregation joined in, responding where tradition or their own souls said to. I really liked it.
This was a whole new experience, a wonderful new experience, a welcoming new experience. So – I kept coming.
Everyone went to the services, which is where we reminded ourselves we were Jews. At my Reform temple, we all sat quietly in our seats while behind the bimah my friend played the organ, and the choir sang the music, while, on the bimah, the cantor chanted the ritual, the rabbi recited the liturgy, and the congregation sat quietly, responding where the prayer book said to. I really liked it. Yes, it was 1960s.
Then I set out to find my own way – like Jack in the Appalachian tales – knowing nothing. On the way I found Havurat Shalom. This was a whole new experience. I heard people I did not yet know say “Oy Joy, the chag is coming!” A committee brought the food.
Everyone went to the services, which is where we celebrated our Jewishness – crowding into the yellow house like the children in Mother Hubbard’s shoe. Technically there was no separate bimah. It was the whole house. There was no organ – except that some congregants hummed. There was no hazzan, just a congregation that set down their books to sing well remembered or improvised nusachim, piyyutim, and other music as if they were born knowing it, harmonizing and melodizing. Congregants led the liturgy, and the congregation joined in, responding where tradition or their own souls said to. I really liked it.
This was a whole new experience, a wonderful new experience, a welcoming new experience. So – I kept coming.
Ralph Chadis is a long time member of the Havurah and a story teller.
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