Every family has its disagreements. Especially when there are teenagers around. Some are relatively simple and generally mundane. Like: <\/p>\n
Should a thirteen-year-old have an enforced bedtime?<\/em> <\/p>\n Or:<\/p>\n Can he play on his new laptop whenever he wants?<\/em><\/p>\n Others, though, are more spiritually profound. The burning question in our house at this time of year is: which synagogue should we attend for High Holy Day services.<\/p>\n I know, I know, this is a dilemma you are probably scratching your head over and muttering “say what?” It was the same for us back in the old country: we were members of a single synagogue and that was where we went. After all, isn’t that what we paid all those dues for?<\/p>\n In Jerusalem, though, we have our regular<\/em> synagogue <\/a>and then there’s the hippy-happy super-sized Amiqa De-Bira<\/a>, AKA The Leader Minyan. <\/p>\n By super-sized, I mean super-long<\/em>. <\/p>\n I’ve written about this remarkable place before (click here to review “Yom Kippur Groupies<\/a>”) and how, with all the high energy singing and dancing, High Holy Day services more closely resemble a rock concert than a traditional shul<\/em>. And like a concert, the davening<\/em> (prayer) goes on for a good 3-4 hours more than our regular synagogue. Think a Grateful Dead<\/a> show vs. The Backstreet Boys<\/a>.<\/p>\n But there’s something about The Leader Minyan that speaks to me on a very deep level. I relate to the davening<\/em> there more than any other place. No wonder it’s been my High Holy Day home away from home for nine years now.<\/p>\n But that’s me. And then there’s my teenager.<\/p>\n “I don’t want to go there!” Amir blustered when I informed him of my plans.<\/p>\n “What do you mean…why not?” I replied, taken slightly aback by the intensity of his conviction.<\/p>\n “Listen, Abba, I speak Hebrew,” he said. “I can understand the prayers when they’re done fast.”<\/p>\n “So what’s the problem?”<\/p>\n “I can’t<\/em> understand the words when they’re said so slowly. I really didn’t enjoy it when we went last year.”<\/p>\n He had a point. Just saying the first word of the Shema<\/em> at the Leader Minyan can take up to 30 seconds. <\/p>\n “Shhhhhh-mmmmm-aaaaa-hhhhhh….”<\/em><\/p>\n “Try not to think of the words, then,” I ventured. “Let the music roll over you. Get into the communal beat. Think of it as more than prayer. It’s an experience<\/em>!”<\/p>\n “Abba, really…” was all he said, but his withering look didn’t hold out much promise for compromise.<\/p>\n “What do you propose we do then? Do you want to go to our regular shul<\/em> alone?”<\/p>\n “I hate sitting alone,” Amir said.<\/p>\n “Why don’t you try coming with me, and if you still hate it, we can cut out early.”<\/p>\n “I don’t know…” he said. <\/p>\n “Sleep on it and we’ll talk in the morning.”<\/p>\n As I headed off to bed, though, my thoughts were nowhere near as clear as my fatherly advice implied. Was I being selfish, I wondered? Too rigid? A bad father? Or was I just being clear about what I<\/em> needed to make the holiday meaningful? Was that so terrible?<\/p>\n When I stumbled out of bed in the morning, Amir was already dressed, sitting on the living room couch, ready to go.<\/p>\n “I’m going with you,” he said. “I’ll give it another try.”<\/p>\n My heart skipped a beat. As much as Amir didn’t want to be alone, neither did I. Having my newly bar mitzvahed son at my side, I knew, would be something special. <\/p>\n Still, Amir had not transformed overnight. He sported a scowl that reeked of “obligation” and only grudging respect all the way on the walk over.<\/p>\n When the chazzan started off the morning service with an extended bbbb-aaaaahhh-ruuuuu-chhhhhh<\/em>, I wasn’t sure this was going to work.<\/p>\n The service meandered slowly from soulful to spirited. Amir looked impassive but, in time, not so defiant. At a particularly rousing section, I turned to Amir. <\/p>\n “Did you hear what the chazzan just did? How he built that repeated coda into a crescendo until everyone was near bursting, totally ready to explode?”<\/p>\n Amir didn’t say anything but I could see that, ever so slowly, his disdain was dissolving under the relentless drumming of 200 congregants pounding away on their chairs, prayer books and even the walls. I looked down. Was that his foot starting to tap ever so slightly?<\/p>\n The congregation belt out another song at the top of its collective lungs, singing as if the world’s survival depended on our words reaching a receptive inner ear. A quick glance at Amir: he was singing too. <\/p>\n I turned to him, trying to figure out the right words of encouragement that wouldn’t seem too overbearing, but he beat me to the punch.<\/p>\n “I can see why you like it here,” he said simply. OK, it was a statement, still “you,” not “we”. But a step forward. I ventured a hope. My son may yet “get me.”<\/em> <\/p>\n The first part of the service ended and we broke for a community Kiddush consisting of honey cake and cherry juice (there was more, but that's what I had).<\/p>\n Not wanting to push my luck, I said to Amir, “So should we go now and catch the rest at our regular shul<\/em>?” Better to leave on a high, wanting more, I figured.<\/p>\n “No, I’m enjoying it here,” Amir said.<\/p>\n “Really?” I asked, though at this point I didn’t doubt it. <\/p>\n And then he added: “You know, you were right. Last year, I really was too young to experience<\/em> it.”<\/p>\n I guess we won’t be having a disagreement over where to go for Yom Kippur this year.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Every family has its disagreements. Especially when there are teenagers around. Some are relatively simple and generally mundane. Like: Should a thirteen-year-old have an enforced bedtime? Or: Can he play on his new laptop whenever he wants? Others, though, are more spiritually profound. The burning question in our house at this time of year is: […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[3],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1085,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7\/revisions\/1085"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisnormallife.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}