Selichot are Not Outcries

My teacher, Rav Soloveitchik taught that the selichot prayers are an outcry to God, a form of prayer that is out loud and hence a blatant public event. Outcry prayers he says, are different from more ordinary request prayers, more dramatic and more emotional.

The obvious repetition in those liturgies makes sense to the Rav because outbursts expressing needs and drama and emotion are repeated.

I disagree. Outcries ordinarily are one-time events. Only in utter desperation are they repeated. We who recite this prayer are not in utter desperation.

The repetitions of Selichot are way too numerous to make sense to me as outcries. And the label of "outcry" or "outburst" is hardly a category bearing significant cognitive meaning, deep theological content or any distinctive personality.

So no,  it is not correct to read the selichot as outcries. What then are the selichot?

Selichot are quiet and personal and above all, meditations seeking compassion.

Repetition is a hallmark of meditation. And compassion is a central end goal of the High Holiday season, central in particular to the Yom Kippur liturgy.

In his wonderful book, "Before Hashem You Shall Be Purified : Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik on the Days of Awe," by Joseph B. Soloveitchik and Arnold Lustiger, Lustiger says, "On Rosh Hashanh, Hashem moves from the throne of justice to the throne of mercy (p. 35)." Call it mercy or or call it compassion, I agree that movement takes place in the prayers for these holidays.

Through this season our prayers call on us to alternate between a definite certainty of the Kingship of God and a great uncertainty of the worthiness of our actions. We vacillate, we move at times into the personality of the brave public celebrity who is sure that we are number one and our God is number one.

Then we move into the personality of the insecure meditator, who seeks through meditative introspection a confirmation of the worthiness of his meager life. In one part of our service we crown God our King. And in another we meditate and seek the king's compassion so that we may live another day.

We start out this dramatic up and down High Holiday season as meditators seeking the compassion of God in the repetitions of the selichot prayers. Next we will go on to proclaim the Kingship of God on Rosh Hashanah. Then on Yom Kippur we will return and focus on our complicated quest for compassion with many quiet and personal selichot meditations -- persistently seeking compassion.

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JStandard: My Dear Rabbi Talmudic Advice Column for August

Published in the Jewish Standard, Dear Rabbi: Your Talmudic advice column

Dear Rabbi,

My son, his wife and children have decided to make aliyah to Israel. My husband and I understand their practical and idealistic motivations for this decision. We applaud what they are doing and feel pride in their Judaic and Zionist ardor. We plan to visit them in Israel periodically, but we have no plans to move there.

At times we both admit to ourselves that we worry about them and that we will sorely miss them. What advice can you give us to help us cope with this bittersweet situation that we face?

Stuck in Bergen County
New Milford

Dear Stuck,

First, know that you are not alone. In our area, a good number of Modern Orthodox families with young children make aliyah. An underlying motive for this uprooting is the financial burden of local day school tuition. That concern combines with years of sincere devotion to the Zionist dream. Modern Orthodox education encourages pride in the miracle of the State of Israel. And many Jews simply feel a mystical attachment to the Land of Israel.

When younger couples and single college age children decide to make aliyah, that move is logistically less complex. But it also leaves parents with long distance communications challenges and airplane trips to see their offspring.

Many of our area families boast three generations of dedicated Zionists. I recall the excitement in our family when I was a young child and my grandparents announced they were making aliyah. That event took place way before such moves became more common among American Jews, when living in Israel meant making sacrifices and accepting a lower standard of living, even hardships.

Based on what I know from experience and from friends and what I sense in your inquiry, I don’t entertain the notion that you try to dissuade your children from going. Yet there are several ways to reduce the anxiety and loneliness that you fear.

First, do the travel. It’s been said for decades about the situation of American Jews, “There is no galut if you commute.” You are not fully in the exile if you make enough periodic visits to Israel. And you will feel close to your children and grandchildren as you see them progress and grow at intervals.

Next, use the technology. When my grandparents went to live in Israel, plain old telephones were a rarity and long distance calls were expensive and low-quality. Nowadays, even with the time differential, you can vividly see and interact with your Israeli family via Internet video applications such as Skype and FaceTime. Voice phone calls cost little or nothing.

Third, try to form informal social support mechanisms. You can make efforts to connect to other nearby parents and grandparents whose children have made aliyah to share concerns and, of course, to keep abreast of the best airfares and apps to use for the suggestions above.

Last, you can heed your children, when they inevitably suggest to you that you join them in their adventures, and you can make aliyah yourselves.

Dear Rabbi,

After many years of regular worship I started to pay more attention to the Alenu prayer that we recite at the end of every service. I do not understand why we say this so frequently and at the end of each synagogue session. Also, I have become uncomfortable with what I feel is the confrontational tone of the prayer and its proclamation that we are the only true faith and all other gods are worthless and powerless.

Can you help me find renewed relevant meaning in this regular recitation?

Pluralistic, not Pugilistic
Teaneck

Dear Pluralistic,

Your question draws attention to one of the great complexities of our prayer book – the different moods and motivations that flow throughout our services. One of those distinct philosophies, succinctly expressed in the Alenu, is that we are in constant competition with other faiths, that there will be an end to the contest of history, and that there will be only one winner – us.

In religious terms we refer to the “last minutes of the game” as the messianic age, the time at which we will emerge from the battles of the ages and the all the world will recognize us as the worthy people who worship the one true God.

In the services in the synagogue this theme comes to the forefront at particular times. The Alenu is famously one of the crucial liturgies in the Musaf additional service of Rosh Hashanah in the section of the Amidah that we call Malchiyot – kingship. We enthrone God on the New Year as our sovereign and we initiate our declarations of that with the Alenu.

The prayer concludes, “And the Lord shall be king over all the earth: in that day shall the Lord be One, and his name One.”

Most of the rest of the year, and throughout our prayers, we allow other themes to dominate at the core of our services. I suspect with reasonable certainty that we are not yet at the end of time. But permit me to offer this metaphor to help explain why it makes sense to me that we conclude every service before we leave the synagogue with the not-really-inclusive, and actually somewhat combative, Alenu prayer.

I see our synagogue as our team’s locker room where we gather together at our half-time breaks. We share our diverse team talk there for a while. And when we are done, right before we go outside onto the field to resume the contest and competition in the arena of our communities, we engage in a spirited spiritual pep-talk.

We say team-like things: that we are number-one, that our God is number one, and that we will crush our opponents! In the theological language of our prayer that comes out: “We therefore hope in you, O Lord our God, that we may speedily behold the glory of your might, when you will remove the abominations from the earth, and the idols will be utterly cut off, when the world will be perfected under the kingdom of the Almighty, and all the children of flesh will call upon your name…”

Whether you see yourself as an active team player or as an avid spectator, you should be able to root heartily for your team, the Jewish People, and do so with the Alenu prayer.

Dear Rabbi,

What does it mean when you say you offer in your column “Talmudic Advice”?

Seeking answers
Fort Lee

Dear Seeking,

By saying I supply Talmudic advice I mean that I offer in my column advice only, and not halakhic rulings or decisions. And I also mean that in Talmudic fashion I try to see more than one dimension of an issue and encourage the questioner to find his or her own best solution.

The Dear Rabbi column offers timely advice based on timeless Talmudic wisdom. It aspires to be equally respectful and meaningful to all varieties and denominations of Judaism. You can find it here on the first Friday of the month. Send your questions to DearRabbi@jewishmediagroup.com

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NYC Triathlon Swim: My Hudson River Diary

New York City Triathlon, July 14, 2013, 6:45 AM

Minute Zero: Coming down the ramp onto the race-start-barge in the Hudson River at 99th Street.

Goggles, check; swim cap, check; stopwatch on zero, check. Interview with the race announcer over the public address, I’m Tzvee from Teaneck, New Jersey. Yes, it’s my first triathlon; yes, I’m on a relay team.

Line up, look into the river. Fourteen other swimmers in my wave and many of them sit down on the barge and jump in at the tone. So do I. It’s four feet from the barge to the water.

Minute One: I’m in the Hudson. It’s dark. I go in much deeper than I thought I would. It’s dark all around me. This was a mistake. I need to get out.

Wow, I now finally understand the psalm, “Out of the depths I cry out to you O Lord.” I do not like this at all. I’m back to the surface. It’s choppy. My heart is racing. My chest is tight. I’m not swimming. I need to swim. But where am I? Not sure. Start to do the breast stroke. Others around me are swimming. It’s cold. What a bad idea this was.

Minute Two: Still not swimming the crawl. Wetsuit. Should have worn one. Would float better. Another real dumb decision. Still doing the breast stroke and my breathing is too shallow. Realize that I am in full panic. Adrenalin starting to pump.

I’m not gonna make it. I see tomorrow’s obituary, “Teaneck Rabbi Drowns in Hudson… He always loved swimming, family recalls.”

I pray, “Shema Yisrael.” “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one.”

Okay, so how do I get out of here? I am dizzy and disoriented. Just in case, I pray some variations, “Our father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Oh heck, “Hail Mary full of grace.” Hey, you never know. Oh, cover those bases, “Allahu akhbar.”

Minute Three: Still floundering. Tell myself to take deeper breaths. Urge myself to start to do the crawl. You can do this! No I can’t. I will swim over to that kayak and hop on board.

“Put your head down and swim!” That tight chest feeling is just panic. Not a heart attack. You wimp, you have six stents in your coronary arteries. You will be okay. Breathe, just breathe. Stroke, just stroke.

Minute Four: I’m coming back to grips with my reality. Ha! I muse that I will call out to the lifeguard on the surfboard, “I made a pledge to the United Jewish Appeal and haven’t paid it yet.” Old joke. The UJA definitely will make sure I get out alive.

I’m swimming now but going sideways. A guy in another kayak is pointing and waving at me to go in another direction. I am zigging and zagging. I’ve been swimming nearly every day for thirty years but boy, am I sucking at this swim.

Minute Five: I’m starting to get awareness for where I am and where are the other swimmers. “How long O Lord?” I sure haven’t made much progress. A long, long way to go.

Guess I really don’t like open water swimming in the Hudson. A little late to think about that now. Okay. Just stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe.

Minute Six to the Exit: Okay wow, we are doing this. Holy moly, it is far. No turning every 25 meters at the end of the pool. Can’t see any lane markers on the bottom of the river. No plastic lane dividers to gauge the direction. I am still veering right and left. There are currents and wakes. Salty I don’t mind. But feh. It’s dirty water.

Starting to bump into other swimmers. That’s good. Seems like a very long time. Stroke, breathe. Heart is strong. Breathing is better. Panic is easing.

Seems now like forever. Finally see the exit ramp ahead at 79th Street and a crowd of swimmers in front of it. A New York moment. Traffic jam is slowing us down at the Henry Hudson River off ramp.

Get to the ramp, a strong hand grips my hand and pulls me up. I’m out! Alive. But oh crap, I never started the stop watch. And double crap, now I have to run barefoot on asphalt to the bike transition. It’s long, it’s annoying. I reluctantly jog over half a mile. Hey, I am getting happier anyway.

I give my chip to my teammate, our rally team biker. He rides off.

I am done.

Check off that one.

Halleluyah.

Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy, who lives in Teaneck and writes the monthly Dear Rabbi column for the Jewish Standard, was inspired by his triathlete son Yitzhak, who did the entire NYC triathlon and raised money to help victims of terror through Team One Family. Tzvee did the NYC Tri swim leg with help from his two Team One Family teammates, Harvey Lederman and Leiba Rimler, who did the biking and running legs.

Donate here to help the families.

Published in the Jewish Standard, July 26, 2013.

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Rabbi Abraham Rosenfeld's Nachem Prayer for Tisha B'Av

Rabbi Abraham Rosenfeld's Nachem Prayer for Tisha B'Av inserted in the Amidah for Minhah.

From “The Authorised Kinot for the Ninth of Av,” London, 1979. I believe that Artscroll censored out this version in their reprinted edition. This liturgy in our view is more authentic to historical reality.

Click to expand.

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Team One Family Triathlon Special: Free Kindle Book: God's Favorite Prayers

I swam in the Hudson on a rally team with Team One Family in the NYC Tri this Sunday. Yitz did the whole tri.

So here is my Triathlon Offer: God's Favorite Prayers
Free Kindle Book from now until Sunday Night July 14.

Make a contribution to Team One Family to sponsor Yitz to help victims of terror.

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The Tie Rule is Bad and the Jacket Rule is More Nonsensical

We stirred up quite a controversy with our "Dear Rabbi" column where we offered advice regarding a rule requiring the wearing of a necktie in a local synagogue on the Sabbath in order to receive an aliyah - a Torah honor.

A local synagogue which has such a rule took this as a direct criticism and published an odd rebuttal letter in its bulletin, sent out to all its members. (Yediot Yeshurun, see the scans to the right.)

The synagogue action was strange because (a) they did not publish the original question and my answer, just the rebuttal; (b) they did not mention my name as author of the column; and (c) they did not identify by name the newspaper in which it appeared.

The shul bulletin called me "the columnist" and referred to a "local Jewish newspaper". As I understand the rules and norms of civility, the distributors of a communal bulletin are obliged by professional standards and by common courtesy and fairness to publish in their synagogue bulletin my original article under my name as the original author (Rabbi Dr Tzvee Zahavy) and to list the place of original publication, the Jewish Standard. It is clear that the synagogue has different norms.

The necktie controversy continues this week with this letter from a Rabbi Dr. Wallace Greene to the Jewish Standard.

The mark of a competent rabbinic authority is his/her capacity to seek the advice of another rabbinic authority in cases where the law may not be black and white since it is impossible to master the entire corpus of halakhic literature and keep up with all the responsa (“Dear Rabbi,” June 7). The current brouhaha over wearing ties on Shabbat ought not to be flippantly dismissed. Nor should a synagogue’s right to maintain certain standards be cavalierly denigrated. In fact, synagogue ordinances regarding how Jews ought to dress have a distinguished literary history. In addition, the spring 2013 issue of the “Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society” contains a detailed essay called “Casual Saturday? Dressing Down for Shabbat,” which makes the case, based on clear halachic guidelines, for wearing a jacket and tie on Shabbat.

Rabbi Dr. Wallace Greene
Fair Lawn

Greene misstates and wrongly characterizes the following.

My "Talmudic Advice" column does not purport to be a halakhic decision column. There is no "brouhaha over wearing ties on Shabbat." The question under discussion was addressed to a rule requiring a man to wear a tie to receive an aliyah. There was no flippant dismissal or cavalier denigration of synagogue standards or ordinances. There was no intent to review the "distinguished literary history" (whatever that means) of dress ordinances.

So again this Q and A was not about generally "wearing a jacket and tie on Shabbat." It was about a mean-spirited shul constantly denying without exception a Torah honor over a period of many years to one member who does not ever wear a tie.

Distorting and re-framing my question to "rebut" it and to cast aspersions on me because he does not agree with my advice is not Talmudic -- and well that surely is not the mark of "a competent halakhic authority." It's a rhetorical dirty trick. I am quite disappointed in Rabbi Dr. Greene for doing just that.

It is a shame that nonsensical petty rules in shuls are used under the guise of "halakhah" to "flippantly dismiss" and "cavalierly denigrate" the sensibilities and preferences of honorable and respectable members of a community and that there is so little empathy for that in our local rabbinic community.

But wait. One more thing. That reference by Rabbi Dr. Greene to "a detailed essay" should read as follows, because he wrote the article that he cites:

In addition, in the spring 2013 issue of the “Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society” I published a detailed essay called “Casual Saturday? Dressing Down for Shabbat,” in which I make the case, based on clear halachic guidelines, for wearing a jacket and tie on Shabbat.

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Times: Mindful Meditation Makes You three times more Compassionate

In a truly remarkable article the Times explains that science has demonstrated that mindful meditation makes a person more compassionate.

I wrote about the mindfulness of Jewish blessings and the compassion of the grace after meals in my 2011 book, "God's Favorite Prayers."

Ever since I studied and practiced meditation in the early nineties, I knew the connection between meditation and compassion was the basic premise of the practice. Yet I did not expect that science would "prove" the causal link.

The Times describes one breathtaking study - where the incredible conclusion is that mindful meditators are three times more compassionate than non-meditators.

Here is the article.

The Morality of Meditation
By DAVID DeSTENO
MEDITATION is fast becoming a fashionable tool for improving your mind. With mounting scientific evidence that the practice can enhance creativity, memory and scores on standardized intelligence tests, interest in its practical benefits is growing. A number of “mindfulness” training programs, like that developed by the engineer Chade-Meng Tan at Google, and conferences like Wisdom 2.0 for business and tech leaders, promise attendees insight into how meditation can be used to augment individual performance, leadership and productivity.

This is all well and good, but if you stop to think about it, there’s a bit of a disconnect between the (perfectly commendable) pursuit of these benefits and the purpose for which meditation was originally intended. Gaining competitive advantage on exams and increasing creativity in business weren’t of the utmost concern to Buddha and other early meditation teachers. As Buddha himself said, “I teach one thing and one only: that is, suffering and the end of suffering.” For Buddha, as for many modern spiritual leaders, the goal of meditation was as simple as that. The heightened control of the mind that meditation offers was supposed to help its practitioners see the world in a new and more compassionate way, allowing them to break free from the categorizations (us/them, self/other) that commonly divide people from one another.

But does meditation work as promised? Is its originally intended effect — the reduction of suffering — empirically demonstrable?

To put the question to the test, my lab, led in this work by the psychologist Paul Condon, joined with the neuroscientist Gaëlle Desbordes and the Buddhist lama Willa Miller to conduct an experiment whose publication is forthcoming in the journal Psychological Science. We recruited 39 people from the Boston area who were willing to take part in an eight-week course on meditation (and who had never taken any such course before). We then randomly assigned 20 of them to take part in weekly meditation classes, which also required them to practice at home using guided recordings. The remaining 19 were told that they had been placed on a waiting list for a future course.

After the eight-week period of instruction, we invited the participants to the lab for an experiment that purported to examine their memory, attention and related cognitive abilities. But as you might anticipate, what actually interested us was whether those who had been meditating would exhibit greater compassion in the face of suffering. To find out, we staged a situation designed to test the participants’ behavior before they were aware that the experiment had begun.

WHEN a participant entered the waiting area for our lab, he (or she) found three chairs, two of which were already occupied. Naturally, he sat in the remaining chair. As he waited, a fourth person, using crutches and wearing a boot for a broken foot, entered the room and audibly sighed in pain as she leaned uncomfortably against a wall. The other two people in the room — who, like the woman on crutches, secretly worked for us — ignored the woman, thus confronting the participant with a moral quandary. Would he act compassionately, giving up his chair for her, or selfishly ignore her plight?

The results were striking. Although only 16 percent of the nonmeditators gave up their seats — an admittedly disheartening fact — the proportion rose to 50 percent among those who had meditated. This increase is impressive not solely because it occurred after only eight weeks of meditation, but also because it did so within the context of a situation known to inhibit considerate behavior: witnessing others ignoring a person in distress — what psychologists call the bystander effect — reduces the odds that any single individual will help. Nonetheless, the meditation increased the compassionate response threefold.

Although we don’t yet know why meditation has this effect, one of two explanations seems likely. The first rests on meditation’s documented ability to enhance attention, which might in turn increase the odds of noticing someone in pain (as opposed to being lost in one’s own thoughts). My favored explanation, though, derives from a different aspect of meditation: its ability to foster a view that all beings are interconnected. The psychologist Piercarlo Valdesolo and I have found that any marker of affiliation between two people, even something as subtle as tapping their hands together in synchrony, causes them to feel more compassion for each other when distressed. The increased compassion of meditators, then, might stem directly from meditation’s ability to dissolve the artificial social distinctions — ethnicity, religion, ideology and the like — that divide us.

Supporting this view, recent findings by the neuroscientists Helen Weng, Richard Davidson and colleagues confirm that even relatively brief training in meditative techniques can alter neural functioning in brain areas associated with empathic understanding of others’ distress — areas whose responsiveness is also modulated by a person’s degree of felt associations with others.

So take heart. The next time you meditate, know that you’re not just benefiting yourself, you’re also benefiting your neighbors, community members and as-yet-unknown strangers by increasing the odds that you’ll feel their pain when the time comes, and act to lessen it as well.

David DeSteno is a professor of psychology at Northeastern University, where he directs the Social Emotions Group. He is the author of the forthcoming book “The Truth About Trust: How It Determines Success in Life, Love, Learning, and More.”

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jStandard: My Dear Rabbi Column of July 5, 2013

My July "Dear Rabbi" column.

Dear Rabbi,

I grew up in a religious home and attend synagogue all my life and kept a kosher home, observed all the holidays and mitzvot. I'm 55 years old now and I realize that I do not believe in God. I've have told just a few people about my loss of faith. One friend with whom I have discussed this insists that it is hypocritical for me to attend synagogue and recite the prayers. At this age I do not want to disrupt my life style. What should I do?

Perplexed,

Paramus, NJ

Dear Perplexed,

Your mid-life crisis of belief is not uncommon, and yet, it has no easy solution. You know how thick with activities a religious life can be. It is hard to walk away from your accustomed life, one which is filled with tasks and obligations and appointments in your home and your community and on your calendar.

Admittedly, there is an element of hypocrisy if you practice without belief, if you go through the motions of the prayers when you don't believe in God. However there are many dimensions to collective worship. The synagogue provides for a means of social expression and of interactions which are important to a vibrant life. Participation with family and friends within a community promotes general health and well-being.

Though hypocrisy is no virtue, it also is not a sin. It is a fact of life. And for you, it may be best to keep your doubts a private matter. You seem to have already decided on that course of action, and I agree. It is better not to broadcast your non-belief to the world.

You may know that some seem to disagree with the approach of remaining discreet about the lack of belief. Writing recently in the Times, T. M. Luhrmann, a professor at Stanford, argued aloud that belief is overrated as a main feature of religion in America ("Belief Is the Least Part of Faith," May 29, 2013). She says that, "you can argue that religious belief as we now conceptualize it is an entirely modern phenomenon."

Luhrmann describes what she learned in her studies of evangelical Christians, "I saw that people went to church to experience joy and to learn how to have more of it. These days I find that it is more helpful to think about faith as the questions people choose to focus on, rather than the propositions observers think they must hold."

Now, based on my years of shul-going, I am tempted to say (jokingly) that I saw that people go to synagogue to experience "oy" (rather than "joy"). But I do agree with Luhrmann that we should not get hung up on questions of "belief." With or without active credence, great positive value derives from participating together with your peers in your worship community.

Dear Rabbi:

I don't see the point of reciting blessings before eating at every meal. I understand that it is a mitzvah and a form of thanksgiving. But, this kind of constant practice feels rote and repetitive to me. Can you provide me with any insight or new motivation?

Bless me,

Englewood, NJ

Dear Bless Me,

Your question has a pragmatic flavor to it. Curiously, there's an anecdote about one of America's founding fathers asking a related question.

Benjamin Franklin described a boyhood memory of the barrel of salted meat that sat in a corner beside their family dinner table. When the family took their meat for their daily meals from the barrel, Franklin recalled, his father prayed at every occasion: "Thank Thee, Father, for the meat Thou has laid before us."

One day young Benjamin openly suggested that the family could save some time, "Father, why not say one prayer over the whole barrel, and then we don't have to thank the Lord at every meal for every piece of meat we eat." His father was displeased with that suggestion and he scolded Franklin for his ingratitude.

I won't scold you. I will offer you a somewhat novel motivation for the myriads of food blessings that we Jews are accustomed to recite.

Simply put, reciting blessings can help us foster a more thoughtful awareness of our eating. Blessings can serve as triggers for us and can tell us to put aside our distractions, to be mindful of our actions, to be meditative of what type of food we hold in our hands, how that food ought to be regarded and classified, and to recall what its prescribed berakhah is.

All forms of mindfulness heighten a person's experiences and elevate ordinary events from a background of passive awareness to a foreground of active thinking. A blessing can act as a cue to us to more mindfully savor the taste and texture of our foods.

Meir, a rabbi in the Talmud in the second century, spoke of his expectation for every Jew a life punctuated daily by one-hundred blessings. He expected a Jew to experience each day one-hundred triggers of mindfulness, via blessings, not just over foods that we eat, but in our prayers and in the performance of all our ritual acts.

To be a bit more theological, because a blessing invokes three names of a divine entity ("Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe…"), classical Judaism says that it can accomplish something we conventionally describe as the sanctification of the acts that the reciter performs after each blessing. By our actions of reciting a blessing and then eating, for instance, a blessing-reciter fulfills a commandment and performs a sacred act.

A mindful-berakhah-eater knows to associate the correct blessing that applies to each food category and to each specific food. The eater has to decide what species of food this is—where it came from, what category it falls into—and thereby to determine the proper berakhah to recite before putting it into his or her mouth and eating it. A mindful eater must be culturally analytical, a bit botanical or culinary or scientific, and religiously cognizant—all before he or she recites the blessing.

As I see it, blessings trigger a frequent flow of meditative mindfulness. And I have found that for me a more thoughtful and mindful life throughout the day is a more sacred life.

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Free Awesome Torah and Haftorah Chanting Apps from PocketTorah

Barak forwarded this from Eytan Kurshan (first posted on 4/17/12)...

Hi everyone,

I wanted to let you know that I was involved in the creation of an app which has just launched! It is called PocketTorah and is available here. 

The app contains a recording of every aliyah in the Torah as well as all Haftorot. If you'd like to hear me, I recorded the parshiyot from Tazria to Acharei-Mot.

There is also a separate module containing recordings of just the trope of Torah, Haftorah, and Megilah....

Congrats to Rabbi Charlie Schwartz and Russel Neiss for putting this all together.

Eytan

We downloaded and reviewed the apps. They are awesome.

"PocketTorah is an application that  will provide the user the ability to learn the weekly Torah and Haftarah portion anywhere, at any time, on any mobile device or computer for free."

Denominational Alert! These two apps obviously were designed for Conservative, Reform and Reconstructionist Jews. There are women Torah readers recorded on the apps, so officially they are not suitable for Orthodox users.

Learn to chant

1. Download for iOS
2. Download for Android
3. Use it on any computer in a web browser using Chrome or Safari.

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Summer Sale -- We Reduced Prices on Our Talmudic Books

Summer Sale. Wow. Our Talmudic Kindle Book Prices are Reduced!

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Kosher Talmud: Hullin $.99

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God's Favorite Prayers $2.99

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Define Judaism: Ten Seminars $2.99

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God Bless You: The Origins of Jewish Prayers and Blessings $2.99

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Eleazar: Rabbi, Priest, Patriarch $2.99

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Kosher Prayers: Talmud Yerushalmi Berakhot $2.99

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Rashi: The Greatest Exegete $.99

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Six People You Meet in Synagogue $.99

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Whence and Wherefore $2.99

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The Daily Beast: Dear Rabbi: Should I Shoot Women?

It happens. When you practice irrational thuggery in the name of religion it does not take long for an impressionable young person to get a really wrong idea. On the Daily Beast we read, "Dear Rabbi: Should I Shoot Women of the Wall?" by Sigal Samuel on Jun 6, 2013.

Fortunately (did we reach rock bottom yet?) there was no violence today as women prayed at the wall under a heavy police guard. It's getting clearer every day that Orthodox Judaism has decided to resort ever more often to bullying and thuggery against what it sees as weak Jewish opponents - women who want to pray. Not brave; not heroic. But the legacy of bullying vulnerable women via rabbinic decree goes back a long way to illustrious roots.

The Daily Beast reported, "In a disturbing QandA session, a 17-year-old Jerusalem yeshiva student asked a rabbi in an online forum whether it’s permissible under Jewish law to shoot and kill members of the liberal prayer group Women of the Wall when they gather at the Kotel. The boy was arrested today after Rabbi Baruch Efrati alerted police to the question—which, true to the rabbinic tradition of she’elot u-teshuvot (responsa literature, literally “questions and answers”), he nonetheless deigned to answer...."

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JStandard Letters Continue Dear Rabbi Debates

JStandard letters continue the debates on issues raised by Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy in his column, Dear Rabbi.

Jeff Bernstein • Letters
Many thanks for Rabbi Zahavy’s and Mr. Sutton’s thoughtful responses to my May 24 letter on the issue of the efficacy of prayer, particularly the Kaddish (“More on angels,” June 2). I would be grateful if any reader would care to respond to my question concerning the Kedusha: Why, in the Kedusha, does the Creator of the Universe need to hear words of praise from angels, beings who have no free will, and therefore no choice in the matter?

Jeff Bernstein
New Milford

Shel Haas • Letters
“Our great minds are equally sure that God hears our prayers” illustrates how irrational those “great minds” were (“More on angels,” May 30). “Official theology”? According to a group of men of long ago that were unaware of the information regarding all aspects of life that is available today. The great Saadia Gaon’s writings illustrate his great reasoning powers. He could examine a problem from all aspects and then proceed to a conclusion. He professed that the Earth was the center of the universe. He obviously did not have the knowledge possessed in later years. Prayer answers a psychological need in humans. Sound from Earth is not heard in outer space. God is not limited to a particular place in a particular time. We do not listen to God’s messages. If God saw fit to enable the Temples built in Jerusalem to be demolished, finding them faulty in many ways, why do our people venerate what God has destroyed? God gave us the ability to think for ourselves. We have the past upon which to base our present and future. If the past has proven to be faulty in many ways, isn’t it time to acknowledge that conclusion and move on to approach the real path God has set forth for us. Justice, righteousness, and charity were the three themes expressed by our prophets as to God’s desires of mankind. All else, God said many times, is meaningless.

Shel Haas
Fort Lee

Emile Pincus • Letters
Thank you for printing the stimulating exchange between Rabbi Zahavy and correspondent Jeff Bernstein (Letters, May 24 and May 31).

Mr. Bernstein’s comments reflect a major tension inherent in modern religious life. There is an impressive intensity that he invests in solving the mystery of what to believe. However, his need to go beyond the emotional position — which, I submit, is a spiritual position — expressed in prayer, to an urgent need to find a factual type of reality seems misplaced.

The issue is not really whether the angels pray in Aramaic, or whether God needs our prayer, or indeed whether we really do intercede with God when we say prayers in memory of the departed.

There is a deep beauty and need that we humans experience when we try to give to others. When we remember the dead, and when we believe that they might actually need us to help them by doing so, in a way that they are unable now to help themselves; when we think of whatever they have given us, and how can we really express that to them today — religion gives us a means of expressing that. Others may believe they have found more meaningful ways of expressing that gratitude and debt. However, religion gets us started in the right direction, and provides a real reminder that we need to give something of ourselves to remembering those we owe to ourselves to remember on a recurrent basis.

What Judaism and prayers offer is an opportunity to adopt a posture toward life that is ultimately helpful for ourselves. A favorite image I have, on family yahrzeits: they are depending on me to remember them, to “do the right thing,” that just might help them. They’re cheering me on from the silent grandstand. Knowing that I might be doing something for them and that they need me and that actually I need them to need me makes the occasion and the observance “make sense,” which Mr. Bernstein insists upon. Perhaps these thoughts and imaginings will help.

Emile Pincus
Teaneck

[EDITOR’S NOTE: Please continue to write in to Dear Rabbi to agree or disagree. Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy looks forward to reading more of your questions, insights and challenges. His monthly column is on page 47 - link.]

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JStandard: Dear Rabbi on Standing for the Sh'ma and Wearing a Tie in Synagogue

Your Talmudic Advice Column by Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy

Dear Rabbi,

I don’t understand why we Jews in most synagogues sit when we recite one of our most important prayers – the Sh’ma. I have heard that it is permitted to recite this core affirmation of our faith either sitting or standing. Why then do we most commonly choose to sit when reciting it?

Wants to take a stand

Bergenfield

Dear Wants:

Other rabbis offer social and historical reasons to explain the postures that we prefer for praying. I prefer to listen to the contents of each prayer and understand how its distinct personality dictates its proper postures.

Consider, by contrast, that because of its personality we do stand to recite the Amidah. That prayer is a formal set of rabbinic blessing-declarations, containing praises and petitions that express a mixture of theological, personal, communal, political, and national beliefs and aspirations.

When I recite the words, to me it seems as if I am a priest performing a repeated ceremonial rite at the altar in the Temple in Jerusalem. Just as a priest stands up to perform his official public actions, it makes sense to me that I stand up and perform this prayer.

I find in the Sh’ma an altogether other form and personality. It’s easy to see that this expression of beliefs and values comes directly from carefully chosen Torah passages that emphasize a special subset of Jewish values and beliefs. The texts emphasize that we should love our one God, who keeps accounts and rewards and punishes us based on our actions. The passages further underscore that we should patronize our scribes — that is, we should wear their t’fillin on our bodies and affix their mezzuzot to our homes.

To me the Sh’ma encompasses the personality of Torah study and the values of the scribes who write our texts and who keep our accounts. Study, writing, and accounting are done almost always while sitting down at a table or desk. And so, since the contents and personality of our prayer dictates the posture of our prayer, I find it altogether fitting and proper that we should sit down like scribes and students to recite the Sh’ma.

Dear Rabbi,

I am sad for my good friend, a respected community leader and a member of a local Orthodox synagogue for many years, who does not like to wear a tie. His synagogue follows an idiosyncratic rule that no matter how nicely dressed he may be, a man who does not wear a tie cannot receive an aliyah to the Torah on a Shabbat or a holiday. So my friend has not received an aliyah to the Torah on any of those days for many years, even on the special occasions of his parents’ yahrzeits. It hurts me to see him suffer this arbitrary form of petty ostracism and humiliation. What should I do?

Fit to be tied

Teaneck

Dear Fit:

Common sense would dictate that you and your friend not go to places where you feel uncomfortable, even if it is a mere trifling practice that creates a sense of annoyance and intimidation for you. You know that an Orthodox synagogue must follow the many laws and customs that govern who should receive an aliyah. For example, a Cohen receives the first aliyah, and a Levite gets the second. A man who has a yahrzeit often gets precedence, and so does the father of a newborn child and a groom before his wedding. Major donors to a synagogue get some preferential treatment, as do important rabbis. I’ve noticed also that the gabbai who allocates aliyot gets his fair share of them too. And a woman is not called to the Torah at all.

You may know that some non-Orthodox Jews find the exclusion of women from this process of public honors to be troubling or even offensive. Orthodox spokesmen point out that women receive due respect and honor in their community, just not by receiving aliyot.

Forty years ago, when I asked Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik about the possibility of women receiving aliyot in an Orthodox minyan, he quipped to me, “When women write the checks, then they will receive the aliyahs.” The Rav dodged my inquiry. I understood his reply to be a clever observation or a social comment, but not any halachic guidance.

Now, the synagogue that you describe in your question definitely created for itself a heightened odd character when it adopted an additional “tie rule” to further govern its members’ roles and aliyah-rights. Even if its eccentric practice is an approved requirement of synagogue committees, officers, and boards, it still fits the category of a socially undesirable “because-we-say-so” intimidation.

That said, you and your friend may be able to ignore and rise above this nonsense if you keep in mind that Moses, King Solomon, Jeremiah, Rabbi Akiva, Maimonides, the Vilna Gaon, and many other great non-tie-wearing-Jews would not be offered a Torah honor if they somehow, via time and space travel, showed up in your suburban shul.

The Dear Rabbi column offers timely advice based on timeless Talmudic wisdom. It aspires to be equally respectful and meaningful to all varieties and denominations of Judaism. You can find it here on the first Friday of the month. Send your questions to DearRabbi@jewishmediagroup.com

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Discover Mindful Jewish Meditation

The benefits of Jewish meditation are accessible to every type of Jew through acts of Jewish piety.

People tend to think that the Orthodox and Hasidic Jews are really pious, the Conservative Jews less so, and the Reform and Reconstructionist even less.

Not so. Piety is individual. You decide how pious you wish to be. Some may argue that the Liberal Jew who makes a decision to engage in piety every day is more pious than the Orthodox Jew who rarely pauses to decide for himself what endows his structured life with meaning.

If you want it to, piety can fill your life as a Jew and endow it with transcendent meaning. Piety can overshadow faith at the central defining core of your Judaism. You can bring it into your daily, weekly and annual routines, and life cycle events.

"Mindful" is a term made popular by meditation guru, Jon Kabat-Zinn and others through their writings and teachings. They brought the concept into Western life from its origins within Eastern cultures. These teachers instruct us to meditate on the here-and-now. As if this was some new idea to us in the West. Done properly, religious practice affords us this mindfulness constantly in any number of ways.

We describe some elements of the religion of the Talmudic rabbis. If this is a form of Judaism that fulfills your needs, go with it! If not, we suggest you discover and then extract the major concepts of classical Judaic practice and apply them to your circumstances. In that way you will develop mindful piety for yourself, for your community and your calendar.

The Judaic Roots of Mindful Piety

Long ago rabbis prescribed, for example, that each Jew recite one hundred blessings each day. The recitation of a blessing prior to the performance of many basic rituals helped make a Jew mindful of his every action.

R. Meir used to say, "There is no man in Israel who does not perform one hundred commandments each day [and recite over them one hundred blessings] . . . And there is no man in Israel who is not surrounded by [reminders of the] commandments. [Every person wears] phylacteries on his head, phylacteries on his arm, has a mezuzah on his door post and four fringes on his garment around him . . . [Tosefta Berakhot 6:24-25]."

From the first stirring every morning, the mindful Jew began his day with acts of religious significance.

Waking up: Washing hands upon arising took on a special meaning. The individual conducted the washing according to a simple but prescribed practice. Water had to be poured on the fingers of each hand up to the joint as specified by the masters.

Bodily functions like elimination are not ordinarily considered in the realm of religious ritual. Yet the rabbis of old said that one had to recite a blessing after that normally profane physical process as thanks for continued health.

And speaking words of wisdom, Praying. In rabbinic Judaism morning prayers were literally clothed in piety. Often they took place in a special spot. And of course, they were repeated regularly.

Dressing for prayer: The man put on the tallith (prayer shawl) and tefillin (phylacteries) while reciting the respective blessings. Each pious male obtained and maintained these prized and essential objects of piety in accord with the prescriptions of the rabbis and scribes. The man wore these objects to show compliance with the prescriptions of the verses of the Torah recited in the shema (Deut. 6:4-9, 11:13-21 and especially Num. 15:37-41). Each knot on the four fringes of the tallith garment was tied in accord with age-old tradition.

The tefillin were crafted of select leather, made into cubical containers to hold the small parchments of biblical paragraphs written by trained scribes. The head-tefillin had to rest on the worshiper between the eyes on the forehead, neither too high on the head, nor too low on the face. The leather strap that held it in place had to be tied in accord with known custom. The wearer understood that the knot of leather that sat at the base of his skull was a representation of the letter yod, the third letter of Shaddai, one of the divine names.

On the leather box of the arm-tefillin was inscribed the letter shin. The wearer knew that the knot that held it fast on his left biceps--opposite his heart--was a form of the letter dalet. Thus as he recited prayer, the Jew was bound head and heart to God, Shaddai. He wore these appurtenances each weekday from the time he reached 13, the age of maturity, the age of Bar Mitzvah. Obtaining a pair of tefillin from the scribe was the most significant overt sign of achieving adult membership in the rabbinic community.

The standard practice was to wear the tallith and tefillin during the morning prayers and then remove them. To show extreme piety some few virtuoso rabbis wore them all day as they sat immersed in the study of Torah.

Congregating for prayer: An ordinary Jewish man could recite his prayers in a designated synagogue or study hall, in private, at home, or in any orderly place. For optimal piety he went to the synagogue to pray with the minyan, the prayer quorum of ten adult Jews. The formalization of the synagogue as a standard communal institution took place over a span from the first century through the middle ages. The emphasis in Jewish custom and law was always on prayer in a public gathering of ten or more men, not on prayer in a specified building or designated place for gathering. This aspect of rabbinic piety was thus defined mainly in terms of a societal association with a community of other Jews. The rabbis placed little emphasis on the need for sacred bricks and mortar to fulfill the spiritual needs of prayer.

Repeating the process: Rabbinic piety centered on stability and repetition. On weekdays Jews gathered for the morning, afternoon and evening prayers. Major elements of prayer were repeated with small variations at the three services. A person said the shema in the morning and evening services; the amidah (standing prayer of eighteen blessings) in the morning afternoon and evening services; the alenu (a sublime prayer proclaiming God king) to conclude all three.

To these they added a morning Torah service to the public prayer on Monday and Thursday and on any festival or fast day. For this part of the service they read the first section of the seven of the Torah weekly portion that was going to be read during the Sabbath morning service at the end of the workweek. This focused attention on the coming Sabbath celebration and gave the men gathered during the week an added opportunity to hear the inspiration of the words of Torah.

During the week a fourth service, the additional prayers, called musaf, were added to celebrate special days. On New moons, celebrants added several paragraphs to the regular services and read an appropriate passage from the Torah. They concluded the morning prayers with the recitation of the amidah the standing prayer of eighteen blessings -- of the additional service. Likewise on holidays, modifications were made in the regular prayers and the additional musaf amidah was appended.

Evening prayers consisted of the shema, amidah and alenu. A widespread custom was to recite the shema once more at bedtime. Many believed this added evocation of piety would also protect the person who recited it from harm during the night.

The Mindful Challenge

Simply put the challenge is how do we take these traditions and making them over into a template for our own lives? Rabbis often tell us their answer. However, deep Piety, especially mindful piety, cannot come from the outside.

How do we find meaning through study and reflection and make all this into our own piety? No one should presume to tell us that, though many will. But that must be our own - our most personal task. (Repost)

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Dear Rabbi Controversy on Angels and Prayers

Here are this week's Dear Rabbi Responses and Discussions from the Jewish Standard.

Rabbi Zahavy’s response to my letter of May 23 ("Kaddish, Kedushah and Angels") concerning the efficacy of the Kaddish and the meaning of the Kedushah, is both confusing and incomplete. On the one hand he admits that our prayers, specifically the Kaddish, do not cause God to act regarding the souls of our departed and then immediately contradicts that by writing that God hears and answers his prayers (meaning the Kaddish and/or the El Maleh Rachamim) regarding the immortality of his parents' souls. He also completely ignores my question about why, in the Kedushah, does the Creator of the Universe need to hear words of praise from beings (angels who have no free will) who have no choice in the matter.

Perhaps Rabbi Zahavy can further clarify. Thank you.

Jeff Bernstein
New Milford

Jeff Bernstein, in his May 24 letter, asserts that “we are rewarded and/or punished for our own deeds and not for what anyone else does. My parents’ place in the World to Come does not depend in the least on what I or anyone does on their behalf.” In actuality, while Mr. Bernstein’s first sentence is accurate, his second sentence does not follow from the first, and is not correct.

When we conduct ourselves in a good and holy way, do good deeds, and yes, say Kaddish for our parents, we demonstrate that our parents were successful in passing Jewish ideals to their children. It is our demonstration of their merit that confirms and raises their place in the World to Come, not what we do on their behalf. In other words, the very fact of our desire to honor our parents by saying Kaddish for them is a sign of their good work in raising their children. And conversely, our neglect or unwillingness to say Kaddish would be a sign of their failure.

So yes, the place in Olam HaBah of Mr. Bernstein’s parents depends strictly on their own deeds; and Mr. Bernstein’s actions in this world are a clear demonstration of his parents’ deeds, at least in the area of child raising and fulfilling the mitzvah of teaching one’s children.

Leon Sutton
New York, NY

Dear Rabbi, Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy, responds:

My intent in my column is to encourage an open, non-denominational and non-judgmental discussion of basic Judaic issues. So I am grateful for the Talmudic questions from Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Sutton. Both writers take prayers seriously and they raise legitimate concerns. 

I wish I could give Mr. Bernstein a clearer description of how prayer affects God’s decisions. Our great philosophers and theologians agree on the one hand that our prayer does not force God to act. Belief that prayer compels God would be a heresy that equates prayer with magic. Yet our great minds are equally sure that God hears our prayers and takes them into account in determining our fate. Note well that the members of our congregations may have personal beliefs on this matter that are not based on our official theology or philosophy but are to them equally valid and meaningful.

On the second question, the idea that angels sing praises to God is biblical, as for example in Psalm 148. I confess to a lack of further expertise in matters between God and his angels.

Mr. Sutton’s meaningful and personal theological explanations remind me once again that ordained Rabbis do not have an exclusive franchise on our theology. Members of the community at large can be a great source of creative insights.

Please continue to write in to Dear Rabbi and agree or disagree. I look forward to reading more of your questions, insights and challenges.

Talmudic Books
God's Favorite Prayers

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jStandard: Aramaic and Angels Redux

May 24, 2013
To the Editor:

Rabbi Zahavy’s column about kaddish (“Dear Rabbi,” May 3 Jewish Standard) and the letter responding to it (“Do the angels pray in Aramaic?,” May 10 Jewish Standard) raise a host of issues that must be dealt with rationally.

When my parents died, I, as an Orthodox Jew, said kaddish three times daily for 11 months for both. I did it out of respect for Jewish law and tradition and respect for them. Certainly not because I expected that my actions or inactions in this world would have any effect on their position vis-a-vis God in the World To Come. Rabbi Zahavy says that “to secure a place for the departed soul”… “many Jews believe” that by daily recitation of Kaddish, you will be “certain” about the departed’s immortal life “in the eternity of heaven.”

To begin with, our religion makes very clear that we are rewarded and/or punished for our own deeds and not for what anyone else does. My parents’ place in the World to Come does not depend in the least on what I or anyone does on their behalf.

Secondly, both he and the letter writer, Israel Polak, discuss whether angels do or do not communicate in Aramaic! One of my problems, relating to this and the Kedushah, has to do with the issue of angels praising God. It is established that 1) angels have no free will and 2) God has no need of our prayers nor of our praise of Him. We are the ones who need to pray and to praise God. Why then does the Creator of the Universe need to hear, as the Talmud states, the Kedushah illustrates, and Rabbi Zahavy argues, words of praise from beings who have no choice in the matter?

While it may be comforting and romantic to believe, as Rabbi Zahavy says “many Jews” do, that we can intercede with God “to gain heavenly immortality for the soul of a departed one,” it makes no sense that our intercession will, as it were, cause God to change His mind.

Jeff Bernstein
New Milford

Rabbi Dr. Tzvee Zahavy, replies:

Mr. Bernstein makes good points. I agree that we always must offer respectful performances of our ritual. And surely we do not expect our prayers will compel God to act. But my explorations seek to understand why we say this Aramaic or Hebrew prayer in this place and for this amount of time.

I do believe that God hears my fervent and humble prayers and that they do make a difference. That is why, during Yizkor on the second day of Shavuot, I said the El Maleh Rachamim, asking God to grant proper rest in heaven for the dear souls of my father and my mother, “O God, full of mercy, Who dwells on high, grant proper rest on the wings of the Divine Presence in the lofty levels of the holy and the pure ones, who shine like the glow of the firmament…”

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תפילה לירושלים מילים הרב שאר ישוב כהן Video: Chief Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen's Inspiring Prayer for Jerusalem

Aaron Reichel, my friend of many years, sent me this update about a video of Chief Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen's inspiring Prayer for Jerusalem and related matters:

Thanks to Rabbi Itzchak Marmorstein, whose work relating to the late Chief Rabbi Kook our Harry and Jane Fischel Foundation has supported, I just received a you-tube link to the Prayer for Yerushalayim, to be recited or sung annually on the Shabbat before Yom Yerushalayim, authored by the Chairman of the Board of our Foundation and President of the Machon and of Ariel, Chief Rabbi Emeritus Shear Yashuv Cohen (also former Deputy Mayor of Jerusalem), chanted by a chazzan and a full ORCHESTRA! I don't know about you, but I can't think of ever having heard ANY prayer -- let alone a prayer intended for recitation in Orthodox synagogues (though not exclusively, of course) -- chanted with such an orchestra! I hope you will savor this you-tube presentation as I did. I'm not a music connoisseur, so I won't offer any comments of evaluation. The u-tube presentation (of course made on a weekday) speaks -- sings? -- for itself!

Cantor Avremi Kirshnbaum תפילה לירושלים מילים הרב שאר ישוב כהן from YouTube

Aaron adds:

While on the general subject of special prayers sung in Orthodox synagogues but composed in relatively recent times, a few weeks ago, the very prominent Rabbi J. J. Schacter spoke at the West Side Institutional Synagogue as the featured "scholar in residence" and guest speaker at the annual Rabbi Herbert S. Goldstein Memorial Lecture (subdivided into three full-length lectures), in conjunction with the recent publication of the augmented biography of Harry Fischel, originally edited by Rabbi Goldstein. Rabbi Goldstein was the father-in-law of Chief Rabbi Cohen, who wrote the preface to this augmented edition. Rabbi Schacter was as eloquent and informative as ever, but among the things that stand out about his presentation is that despite the fact that, unlike me (who might be considered biased in favor of Rabbi Goldstein, notwithstanding the objective documentation in the biography I wrote), Rabbi Schacter would be expected to be biased AGAINST Rabbi Goldstein, having been the rabbi of a historically competing synagogue, on various levels, The Jewish Center, and having co-authored a book about Rabbi Goldstein's "nemesis" -- Mordechai Kaplan, the first rabbi of the Jewish Center and the founder of reconstructionist Judaism, and, to some extent, the CJI before it, of which Rabbi Goldstein became the first director. Yet Rabbi Schacter was extremely gracious in his praise of Rabbi Goldstein and Rabbi Goldstein's place in history, and even had some kind words about the biography of Rabbi Goldstein, which he cited extensively. These tangents now lead up to the main tangent to what I'm leading up to, in the context of the you-tube link.

At the Shabbat at the WSIS featuring Rabbi Schacter (referred to above), the Chazzan of the WSIS, Zev Muller, sang Avinu Shebashamayim, a/k/a the Tfila L'Shlom Hamedinah (the prayer for the country of Israel) a rendition composed by Cantor Sol Zim, with a solo at the beginning and at the end, which was absolutely mesmerizing, no less than what listeners of the you-tube link below are about to hear. Among the other compositions that Chazzan Muller sang was Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach's Mimkomcha. Rabbi Schacter, the guest speaker, began his primary speech -- the Shabbat morning sermon -- with some words about the synagogue and the current rabbi and the history of the synagogue and its founding rabbi, but he also said that had he come to the West Side just to hear this chazzan (Chazzan Muller) sing these two compositions, it would have been worth it! I've heard many guest speakers and many notable chazzanim, but I never before heard any guest speaker make such a statement about any chazzan!  I would hope that the readers of this email will come to the WSIS and/or encourage other people to come to the WSIS for many reasons, but now they can add this one!

Cantor Muller, by the way, is to be one of the guests of honor at the forthcoming dinner of the WSIS, and I'm sure that, PG, he will do more than a simple acceptance speech! So if you want to hear him during the week, this is an opportunity to do so.

--Aaron

Talmudic Books
Kindle Talmud in English
Whence and Wherefore
God's Favorite Prayers

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