The Joys and Responsibilities of Ritual

Rabbi Vicki L. Axe

Published in the January 2010 Rabbi's Column

Greenwich Jewish News

My father was the son of Russian immigrants and grew up in the Bronx.  He used to tell the story of meeting a man in business who had been born and raised in London.  When they realized that they were both Jewish, they began sharing childhood memories and were amazed and delighted to learn that many of their recollections were the same.  Their favorite parallel story was when their mothers took them to buy their Bar Mitzvah suits.  Both had had felt invisible, embarrassed, and man-handled while their respective assertive, immigrant mothers and overly solicitous shop keepers marveled over the perfect fit of the oversized suit, and haggled over the cost.  With tears of laughter, they named this apparently universal, uproariously funny memory, The Ritual of the Bar Mitzvah Suit.

Ritual is very important in our lives.  Some, like the Bar Mitzvah Suit Story, involve clothes.  Others are all about food.  Here is a personal story.  I have always felt that my chicken soup is the only holiday delicacy which surpasses my mother’s culinary artistry.  But my mother’s matzah balls were perfection – the kind that are light and airy, floating right up out of the bowl.  After enough matzah ball failures, I learned that my only chance of duplication was with the help of Manischevitz.  So my rich flavored chicken soup with matzah balls as close to my mother’s as possible was always a holiday treat enjoyed by all the Axe boys.

A few years ago, the boys added their own special touch to this traditional food.  We all stood around the pot of briskly bubbling chicken soup ready to share in the honored task of rolling the matzah balls when one said, “Look, I made a G for Gabe.”  Another followed with, “Look, I made a Jewish star.”  Another formed a heart.  Our holiday chicken soup ritual now links three generations of our family.

As free thinking intellectuals, we may deny the importance of ritual in our lives, but rituals define who we are, and permeate every aspect of society.  Everyone has a getting up and dressed in the morning ritual, a nighttime ritual, starting the car and buckling up ritual.  Sports events open with the singing of the National Anthem.  The Stock Exchange begins each day with the opening bell.   For me, talking on the phone includes getting my calendar, a pen, and a diet coke.

Rituals bring people with common interests, concerns, and history together.   Every religion has rituals which define it and compel its followers.   Judaism and the Jewish people have survived centuries of dispersion and migration with the accompanying acculturation and assimilation.  We have survived in spite of those who rose up against us again and again throughout our history hoping to destroy us.  I believe that we survived for over five thousand years while other religions and cultures have disappeared because of the rituals that we share with all Jews and Jewish communities across time and space.

We share rituals of weekly Shabbat worship, High Holy Day observance, Festival celebrations, the annual cycle of Torah readings.  Whether Jewish prayer is part of the rhythm of our daily, weekly or annual ritual, we all respond to the call of the shofar, the flickering lights of the Chanukah menorah, the singing of Dayeinu. 

But rituals come with grave responsibilities.  First, in order to enjoy the privileges of a community, it is our responsibility to embrace the rituals of those who came before us, to practice them with devotion and sincerity, and then to pass them on to our children and future generations.

There is a story of the Baal Shem Tov.  Whenever he sought to avert a misfortune, he would go to a certain place in the woods, light a fire, and offer special meditations and prayers, and the misfortune would be averted.  A generation later, when the Maggid of Mezeritsch was faced with the same problem, he would go to the same place in the woods and say, “I can light the fire, but I can no longer recite the prayers,” and the misfortune would be averted.  Another generation passed and Moishe Leib of Sassov would go to the place in the woods and say, “I can no longer light the fire, nor do I know the secret meditations that go with the prayers, but I do know the place in the woods to which all of this belongs,” and that too would suffice.  The next generation, Israel of Rizhin, would sit in his palace and say to God, “Master of the Universe, I no longer remember the prayers, or the fire, or even the place, but I can still tell the story, and that will have to be enough.”  And it was.

But what about the next generation?  Is merely telling the story enough?  When my son Judah had just completed first grade at Bi-Cultural Day School, he made a practice of reciting the morning prayers every day during the summer.  I complemented him saying, “Judah, I love seeing you practice what you learned in school.”  With six-year-old wisdom, he said, “Mommy, we didn’t learn the prayers; we did them!”

If our survival depends as I suggest on “doing the rituals,” what are we doing to keep Judaism alive?  Do we embrace the rituals of Judaism to define and compel us so that we can pass them on to our children and those who come after them?  It is the responsible thing to do. 

It is also the grave responsibility of the members of a group to question those rituals and practices which are in conflict with their sensibilities.  Abraham lived in a time when child sacrifice was a common practice in seeking favor from the gods.  The Biblical account of the Binding of Isaac brings to light the extraordinary wisdom of our ancestors to understand that child sacrifice is morally wrong.  The angels of God called out not once, but twice – Abraham, Abraham – to stop him just in the nick of time as he stood poised with knife in hand ready to kill and sacrifice his beloved son Isaac.

Imagine a world where the same kind of moral sensibilities had compelled people throughout history to stand up against rituals of ethnic cleansing, mass human destruction and genocide.  Imagine a world where we no longer sacrifice our beloved sons and daughters by sending them to battle in foreign lands.  We Jews are supposed to be a “Light to the Nations.”  We are supposed to stand up like the angels of God and say Abraham, Abraham, NEVER AGAIN. 

I pray that in this new year of the Common Era 2010, we will embrace the rituals of Judaism in a beautiful and meaningful way as a gift to future generations.  And I pray that we will speak out and take action against those rituals of our society that are in conflict with our moral and ethical heritage.

Sermon-in-Song

Rabbi Vicki L. Axe
Shabbat Shira January 29, 2010
Delivered as part of a Choir Exchange with Congregation Shir Ami and First Presbyterian Church of Greenwich

When I hear the song “For all we know” sung by the Carpenters, I am immediately transported back to February 17, 1971. I am driving in a limousine with my two older sisters and father and this song came on the radio as we were returning home from my mother’s funeral. It brought a wave of sweet sadness as I thought about my parents’ 35-year loving marriage.

When I hear Carmina Burana by Carl Orff, I am transported back to July 5, 1971 when Harold and I sang in a performance of this lustful ancient text set to the choreography of the Pennsylvania Ballet. What made this moment significant is that Harold proposed to me backstage following the performance.
When I hear disco music, I am transported back to pre-children days in the mid-70s when Harold and I would dance the night away at clubs in the city.
When I hear the poem “If” by Rudyard Kipling, I am transported back to 8th grade when I had to recite it from memory. I am suddenly in the classroom at Weeks Jr. High School and can easily visualize classmates and friends I haven’t seen in almost 50 years.
The sights and sounds we experience at defining moments in our lives stay with us long after the event. OK so my memories are clearly those of a choir geek! But I am sure that you have your songs that transport you back to defining moments. Your first kiss, your first prom, your first live concert, a family trip.
As Jews, we have collective memory that brings us together year after year to remember and recall defining moments is our history. Tonight is such a night. This Shabbat is called Shabbat Shira, which means the Sabbath of Song based on the reading from Scriptures designated for this week. We read about the moment in our epic story when we escaped slavery in Egypt and safely crossed the Red Sea. Notice, by the way, that I didn’t say “when our ancestors escaped slavery in Egypt,” but rather “when we escaped slavery in Egypt.”
What makes us unique as a people and one of the reasons why I believe we are still here after thousands of years of dispersion throughout the world is our sense of “us.” We say “we were slaves in Egypt,” “We crossed the Red Sea.”
We all know the story of the Exodus from Egypt. On God’s behalf, Charlton Heston – I mean Moses – has convinced Pharaoh to “Let My People Go.” And then Pharaoh had a change of heart and sent his soldiers after us. Picture it. With all of our worldly possessions in hand, we were running as fast as our group of well over five hundred thousand men, women, and children could move. We were forced to stop in our tracks when there in front of us was the rushing waters of the Red Sea as far as the eye could see.
With the Red Sea in front of us and the soldiers approaching in hot pursuit from behind, we had two choices. We could be over taken by Pharaoh’s soldiers and brought back to slavery in Egypt or worse. Or we could forge ahead and drown in the sea. We all know how the story ended. The sea miraculously parted allowing us to cross safely on dry land.
And when we found ourselves standing on freedom’s shore, Moses’ sister Miriam and all the women took timbrel in hand – tambourines – and burst into a song of praise and thanks. This is the song we sing tonight. This is the Song of the Sea. This is the Sabbath of Song. This is our defining moment when God redeemed us from slavery and we became a people bringing the glories of God to all the peoples of the earth.  Miriam’s Song by Debbie Friedman
And each year on this Shabbat we remember our redemption from slavery. While every other verse of Torah is chanted to a special ancient melody, the Song of the Sea has its very own sound, the sound that transforms us back to this defining moment.  The Song of the Sea by Corey A. Weiss
The central text of this song is so significant that it is part of the liturgy found in every worship service in Jewish practice. Michamocha ba-eilim Adonai, mikamocha needar bakodesh nora t’hilot oseh feleh. Who is like You among the God’s that are worshipped? Who is like You, majestic in holiness, awesome in splendor, doing wonders? The Lord will reign forever and ever.
This text not only defines us as a people, redeemed by God; it also defines the seasons of the year. Listen to how we sing this sacred text when we assemble in synagogues throughout the world for the Jewish New Year.  Michamocha S. Sulzer
Here is the special melody for Chanukah  Michamocha German Synagogue Melody
This melody is found in Protestant Hymnals that sit in the pews of churches throughout the world. As we have lived in the Diaspora for thousands of years, our music has been influenced by the culture of our hosting country. So listen to this version and think about when and where you think it might have been written.  Michamocha Solomoni Rossi
That was written by Solomoni Rossi who was a court musician in 16th century Italy. In addition to his composition for the court, he wrote music for the synagogue in the style of the music of his generation. Interestingly, this was a very anti-Semitic time and he would sign all of his compositions Solomoni Rossi, Hebrew.
The final version of Michamocha is embedded in a beautiful song from The Prince of Egypt, the recent movie version of the Exodus. We hear expressions of thanks and praise at the miracle we witnessed when the seas parted, when we were redeemed from slavery and stood at the shores of the Red Sea, the defining moment when we became a people.  When you Believe by Stephen Schwartz
So this Exodus from Egypt, which we recite this week in the annual cycle of Torah readings and repeat each year when we sit down to our Passover Seders, was a defining moment for the Jewish people in our epic story which continues to today. We were redeemed from slavery as a promise from God for ultimate redemption at the end of days. We have to ask ourselves what is taking so long for this promise to be fulfilled? And what is ultimate redemption?
For some people of faith, redemption is the second coming. For some redemption is a return to Zion. There are those who believe that redemption will come when every Jew walking this earth attends Shabbat services two weeks in a row!
When God created the world, God did not complete the act of creation. God created us to act in partnership with the Divine to finish this sacred task – to act in a way that would transform this imperfect world into a world filled with truth and love and peace, a world where in the words of the Prophet Isaiah, “the lion will lie down with the lamb and none shall be afraid.”

We read in our prayerbook –
When will redemption come?
When we master the violence that fills our world.
When we look upon others as we would have them look upon us.
When we grant to every person the rights we claim for ourselves.
Once we were in bondage, then we were free.
In this first liberation, our people saw revealed the power of the Most High.

Michamocha baelim Adonai, Mikamocha needar bakodesh
Nora t’hilot oseh feleh.

They perceived that God’s presence redeems time and event from the hands of tyrants.
We too acclaim the power that makes for freedom.
We sing the song that celebrates our deliverance from Egypt and all bondage.
May the story of our suffering push us to act on behalf of others who suffer, to hear the cry of those who are afflicted, and to know that they, like us, yearn to be free.

Kein y’hi ratson – be this God’s will.