treppenwitz

"...who shall live and who shall die..."

I have a confession to make:  I sit and fidget in synagogue on Rosh Hashannah and Yom Kippur just like (or probably worse than) most of you. 

Don't get me wrong, I find some parts of the high holiday services extremely moving.  But there are long sections of the reader's repetition that leave me thumbing through the machzor (holiday prayer book) to check just how many pages remain. 

Sound familiar? 

Some of you are nodding at your monitors... and some of you just told your first fib of the new year.  :-)

One of the things that I noticed a few years ago during one of these inspirational lulls was a story in a footnote connected to the origin of one of the most inspirational liturgical poems (In my humble opinion) in the entire holiday liturgy; The 'U'Netaneh Tokef' prayer.  For those not familiar with it, allow me to share:

It seems that about a thousand years ago in the German city of Mainz there lived a man named Rabbi Amnon who was an adviser to (and by some accounts a friend of) the Bishop of that city.  During one of their conversations the Bishop asked Rabbi Amnon if he would convert to Christianity.   Instead of refusing out of hand, the Rabbi asked for three days to consider the matter.  When he got home he was beside himself, not because he had been asked to convert, but rather because he had given the Bishop the impression that he was actually considering apostasy. 

Rabbi Amnon spent the next three days fasting and in a deep state of mental self-flagellation.  When three days were up and he hadn't returned to give the Bishop his answer, the Bishop had him brought before him.  When asked for his answer Rabbi Amnon told the Bishop that he deserved to have his tongue cut out for the sin of even hinting that he would renounce his faith.  Upon hearing this the Bishop responded that the sin was not in his tongue for what he had said, but rather in his feet for not returning at the appointed time.  The Bishop then ordered that Rabbi Amnon's legs be cut off... joint by joint.  Once his legs were gone his hands hands and arms were also ordered removed... again, joint by joint. 

Admittedly, the first thing that crossed my mind when I read this account was that it casts some small doubt upon the theory that the two had been friends.  But I digress.

Once the amputations had been completed, Rabbi Amnon was taken to his home (along with his severed body parts) to die. He lingered close to death for a few days until Rosh Hashannah when he asked to be carried into the synagogue so that he could attempt to sanctify G-d's name as a partial reparation for the desecration of G-d's name he had caused by giving the impression that he would convert. 

At his request he was carried to the center of the synagogue where he offered a prayer of his own composition - the 'U'Netaneh Tokef' (translation here) ... and then immediately died. 

The story that is told by the compilers of our prayer books is that three days after his death Rabbi Amnon appeared to Rabbi Kalonymous ben Meshullam in a dream and taught him the text of the original prayer he had offered, with the request that it be distributed to all Jewish communities for inclusion in the Holiday liturgy.

For the record, this last part of the story strikes me as a little 'iffy'.  It seems much more reasonable that someone who was present when Rabbi Amnon died after reciting his prayer-poem was so moved by the event that he wrote it down from memory after the holiday and took it upon himself to publicize it.

Whatever the actual path by which the poem entered our high holiday liturgy, the historical events seem to have indeed taken place.  Rabbi Amnon was asked to convert.  He was tortured and had his limbs amputated for ultimately refusing.  He was carried into the synagogue where he offered a personal prayer before expiring. 

Well, this year I sat fidgeting through the reader's repetition of the Mussaf (additional late morning) service on Yom Kippur and wondered to myself how I was going to make it through the day.  As we approached the recital of 'U'Netaneh Tokef' I had the passing thought that nothing like this could ever happen today.  I mean, no matter what the circumstances, a person couldn't simply interrupt the reader and interject his own supplication/addition to the codified service, right?

You can imagine that I was a bit surprised to receive an emphatic answer to my un-asked question only a couple of hours later during the mincha (afternoon) service.

We were most of the way through the afternoon service and my concentration was ebbing quickly.  I had gone through all the extra reading material I'd brought with me, and was starting to feel a little sorry for myself because of my sore back and legs.  Then the reader began reciting 'Avinu Malkeinu' (Our Father our King) which is basically a long list of requests we make to G-d for the coming year. 

As he started reading (and the congregation answered each line responsively), the normally quiet crowd began to whisper and nudge one another.  I turned to see what the commotion was about and could not believe my eyes when I saw Elroi Rafa'el walking by himself up the center aisle towards the reader's desk.

For those who are new here, a little background might be necessary (or you for more details you can read here, here and here).

I knew Elroi because he was a neighbor and I sometimes gave him rides to his base near Beer Sheva.  He was an officer in an elite combat unit until just before the disengagement when he was tragically wounded while leading his men in Gaza.  A large piece of shrapnel entered his skull and came to rest in his brain stem.  He was airlifted to the hospital and his family was rushed to his side... but his parents were told by all the doctors that the outcome was a foregone conclusion.  He would certainly never wake up from so serious an injury... and if he didn't die within a day or two he would probably exist in a persistent vegetative state.

Elroi's family is a deeply religious one and refused to accept this.  Our entire community held daily meetings where Psalms were recited, and almost exactly a year ago his father stood at the readers desk of our synagogue and tearfully declared that he didn't care what the doctors said.  His son would not die... and would in fact make a full recovery... if only enough people would only pray for it.

Many treppenwitz readers (and their communities) joined in prayers and thinking good thoughts about this young officer... and within a few weeks he had miraculously woken up from his coma.  He was completely paralyzed on the left side of his body, but he could communicate and you can imagine his family was extremely grateful to have him back.

For the past year people have continued to pray for his recovery and Elroi Rafa'el has been in a special rehabilitation hospital working with gritty determination to try to regain the use of his body. 

Over the past few months I have seen him stand up from his wheelchair momentarily, and took it as an encouraging sign.  But nobody was prepared to see him actually walking on his own... and certainly not unbidden up to the reader's table in the middle of Yom Kippur services!

When Elroi reached the reader's table he stood next to the person leading the service and seemed to be waiting for something.  The sidelong clances of the reader indicated he was equally in the dark as to what was going on.

We didn't have long to wait.

Just as the reader was about to chant the line, "Our Father our King, send a complete recovery to the sick among your nation", Elroi touched him on the arm to interrupt him and in a clear strong voice intoned the request himself. 

I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried like a baby when I witnessed this. I mean, who better to make such a request on behalf of the nation of Israel than Elroi Refa'el Mizrachi?  The only question that remained was why he had decided to stand up and make the request himself... although two possibilities come to mind:

1.  Having been personally granted such a request, he was arguably a good candidate to make the request on behalf of others.

2.  Since for over a year others have been making the request for Elroi, now that he is able to ask that his recover be completed (I noticed he still walks with great difficulty and his left hand is quite weak), he wanted to ask on his own behalf.

Whatever the reason he had in mind, it was a very moving moment. 

A thousand years ago an evil decree by a German Bishop cost a man his limbs and ultimately his life.  But with the last of his strength this man fought back and chose to sanctify G-d's name... an event which gave us one of the more inspirational portions of our holiday service. 

A little more than a year ago an evil decree was handed down to a young IDF officer... the son and brother of my neighbors... and thousands of people used their prayers and good wishes to drag him back from death.  And in an unforgettable sanctification of G-d's name, Elroi walked to the front of our synagogue and took up his own case - as well as the case of every sick person in the nation of Israel - before his creator.

Each year when I read the words in 'U'Netaneh Tokef'; "Who shall live and who shall die?" I give them only a passing thought. It's just something we say during the long, exhausting holiday services.  I certainly never thought to check if my question was actually being answered. 

But seeing Elroi walk up the center aisle and interrupt the reader I got more than just the answer to last year's question.  I also received the answer to my musings about of whether spontaneous events could be added to the holiday services on our day.  This one will certainly be part of my Yom Kippur service for as long as I live.

The Third Row

My slow crawl towards traditional Jewish observance began somewhere around age 16 (a story for another day), and for all intents and purposes continues to this day.  However there were a couple of milestones along the way that stand out in my mind... especially at this time of year.

For instance, several months after enlisting in the Navy... with basic and technical training behind me... I decided the time was right to 'come out' just a little bit about being an observant Jew.  There is an entirely different story I may share with you some day about reporting to my first ship and handing my orders to the captain... while wearing a kippah.  But that too is a story for another day.

Today I'd like to tell you how and why for the past 25+ years... no matter where in the world I've found myself... I have almost always gravitated towards the third row of the synagogue.

It all started in a place with the unlikely name of 'The Aloha Jewish Chapel'. 

The first time I heard the name of the place was about a week after getting orders for my new home port, Pearl Harbor Hawaii.  The name made me giggle because it sounded like a Las Vegas wedding chapel where Elvis impersonators presided over drive-thru nuptials.

However, to my surprise the first time I wandered over to see the place I found a relative rarity in the U.S. military; a Jewish chapel that did not share space with any other religion (picture a reversible Aron Kokesh (Ark) with a ghostly hand sticking out on either side to indicate the presence of an over-large crucifix nailed to the other side). 

In fact The Aloha Jewish Chapel was one of the only Jewish facilities in the U.S. designed and built from the ground up to serve the needs of the military Jewish community.

Upon walking inside I was impressed to see pictures on the wall of Rav Shlomo Goren (the former Chief Rabbi of the IDF) visiting the Aloha Jewish Chapel shortly after its completion.

The first Friday night service I attended there was an eye opener.  Far from being the only person silly enough to pass up on a night out in Honolulu, I was one of a large group of active duty military personnel, their families, and even some civilians from the local Jewish community who showed up!  A couple of Air Force SGTs (from Hickam AFB), an Army SGT from Scoffield Barracks and a Navy LCDR came over to introduce themselves and invited me to sit with them... in the third row.

It seems that a tradition had sprung up whereby the young, single military personnel (and their friends) gravitated towards the third row, to the extent that the Rabbi and the rest of the congregation often referred to the group by that name (e.g. "OK, but if we're going to plan a bake sale we should check to see if most of the third row will be around to help out.").

Sitting there in the third row  of the AJC I learned about Judaism.  I learned about being part of a Jewish community.  And most of all I began to learn a little about myself.  The 'High Holidays' in the AJC stand out in my mind because this was the first time in my life that I was going to services because I wanted to... not because I was expected to.  Not surprisingly, many of those original members of 'the third row' were also embarked upon their own journeys of discovery and perhaps greater observance.

After the navy I went to Israel to study at the Hebrew University, and I noticed with some amusement that each time I entered a synagogue, my feet took me unbidden to a seat in the third row.  Even after I returned to the US to complete my degree at Yeshiva University, I often found myself sitting in the third row of whatever shul I attended.

After we were married and had moved to Connecticut, I found to my consternation that I'd been assigned a seat in the second row of the synagogue.  I never said anything about it (it seemed a little nutty to demand a third row seat), but for several weeks it proved to be a real distraction.  But then I noticed a couple of seats set off at an angle in front of those I had been thinking of as the first row... which technically gave me a loose claim to still occupying the third row... so everything was OK.

Once we finally moved to Israel I was so overwhelmed with all the adjustment issues of aliyah (the term for moving to Israel), I never stopped to think about where I would be sitting in my new synagogue.  But when I asked the gabbai about open seats (I didn't want to accidentally take a place where someone else had become accustomed to sitting), I was told that a family had just moved to Jerusalem so I could have their seats.  A small smile crept over my face as he pointed out the seats next to the window... in the third row. 

I told him that these seats would be just fine.

I'm not exactly sure why I've shared this with you today... except perhaps as I said earlier, my memories of that original third row come back to me particularly clearly during the holiday season.  Thinking about the tunes I first learned and the rituals I first understood back then mostly bring me back... and I think about how all those intervening years were bringing me to this spot so far away (quite literally on the other side of the earth) from Hawaii... but in a small way to the very same place.

Here is the inside of my shul:

Walking towards my seat...

Sliding into the third row feels a little like coming home:

I can still picture what it felt like sitting in the third row of the Aloha Jewish Chapel.  When my mind would drift back then, I would wonder where this flirtation with observance was taking me.  Would it last?  Would it change me?  For the better?

I still think about these things as I sit in my third row seat next to the window in my Israeli synagogue and look out over a valley that still contains an ancient aqueduct which supplied water to Jerusalem during temple times.  When my mind needs a little vacation, I look across at the ridge-line opposite the one on which our community sits where there remains an ancient road along which Abraham walked with his son Isaac on his way to Jerusalem in order to sacrifice him.

So much of my life here is still new and unfamiliar.  But my seat in the third row of the synagogue is a link in a long chain of events that brought me here.  And though that slow crawl towards greater observance still continues to this day, I sit in my seat... looking out my window and realize I am finally home.

I hope that anyone to whom I have given offense this year will please forgive me.   May you all be sealed in the book of life for a healthy and prosperous year.