I was terribly excited when I found out that the first day of the Birthday Exercises corresponded with the first day of Sukkot! As a religious studies major, I read about this festival in my Hebrew Scriptures class, and when I lived in Boston, many of the families in my neighborhood set up sukkot (booths or tents decorated with branches) in their yards, and ate or visited in them throughout the festival. The lovely booths always impressed me as I past them on my autumn walks. Despite my religious studies major, however, I never experienced Sukkot first hand - and I'm embarrassed to say I've never been to services at a synagogue at all.
When I set off this morning, I was quite nervous. My best friend reassured me that the synagogue had surely seen visitors before and that I shouldn't worry - but then she added that none of its visitors had come as part of their extravagant "Birthday Exercises!"
My nerves were assuaged when I arrived. (Forgive me, gentle readers for whom going to a synagogue is not a new experience, for the following rather detailed account.) Entering the synagogue felt like being in church: there was a comforting, welcoming, and reverent atmosphere that made me feel at home. Someone handed me a prayer book, and the rabbi announced the page numbers as we went, so I was able to follow along with the service. Our prayer books had Hebrew on the right-hand page and English on the other, which reminded me of the Latin-English Missal my mother used as a child. I wanted to let the prayers wash over me and get lost in their sound, but I also wanted to take in the meaning of the words. The words were heavy and heartfelt; I wanted to feel them on my tongue.
After the preliminary prayers, the rabbi spoke about the meaning of Sukkot. I felt a bit guilty, because she began by congratulating the congregation on making it through the fast of Yom Kippur - but the rest of her words I could take to heart! She told us that the booths that families construct, and eat or sleep in during the festival, remind us of our vulnerability and challenge us to accept it - but that we are able to admit vulnerability when we know we are supported, both by God and by our community. And as a harvest festival, Sukkot emphasizes hospitality; the rabbi encouraged us to reflect on the ways we can invite others into our lives and our hearts.
Then the lulav (a bundle of palm, willow, and myrtle branches) and etrog (or citron, a thick-skinned, fragrant citrus fruit) made their appearance. As the congregation continued to pray the psalms, we shook our lulavim and etrogim in six directions. The members of the congregation passed the lulavim and etrogim to those who didn't have them so that all had a chance to shake them. The young man standing behind me passed his to me, and I was amazed by the fragrance of the etrog. All around me, the branches rattled in a chorus, adding to our prayers.
When it was time for readings from the Torah, many people went onto the stage; throughout the reading of the Torah, many members of the congregation were invited to participate. Although I didn't always understand the structure of the service or each of its elements, it was easy to see the central place the Torah takes. [THEOLOGY NERD ALERT:] I felt awe for the scrolls themselves and the word of God that they contain which stayed with me through the day, and I was amazed by the way the reading of the Torah paralleled the Eucharist in so many ways, reminding me that we "do not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord."
I absolutely loved this experience, but as I left the synagogue and made my way back to work, I felt uncomfortable with the idea that I might be exploiting someone else's authentic religious experience for the sake of an "adventure," and worried that my account would come off as flippant. But I know that this is more than an adventure; these exercises stem from a sincere desire to learn, be humbled, and be awed.
WHAT I LEARNED TODAY:
Reverence and exuberance can coexist. I was excited to celebrate Sukkot, something that truly was a novelty to me, but that didn't take away from my understanding and appreciation of the sacredness of the experience. Respectful doesn't have to mean serious.
Admitting our vulnerabilities makes us open to greater gifts. It's humbling to admit we can't do it on our own, but the gifts and grace that God wants to give us are even better than what we could imagine.
HOW I LEFT MY COMFORT ZONE:
I went to completely unfamiliar religious services. As a self-avowed theology nerd, I spend a lot of time in Mass. It's as familiar as making French toast or mending a button. But today I was nervous when I walked into the sanctuary and got lost in my prayer book. It made me think of my peers who have spent a long time away from church or just don't come very often. How can I help them feel reverence and welcome, as I felt today?
