The Right Shul

By: Larry Gordon

I know some people who have never been in more than one shul during their entire adult lives. Now that I think about it, I prefer moving around, trying different shuls. Do you think that’s a good idea or not?

The fact of the matter is that when I was too young to cross a street, in one circuitous city block in Crown Heights, there were about nine shuls where I could daven without having to cross a street.

In some ways, picking a shul is like ordering from your favorite restaurant. There may be an extensive menu of fancy dishes, but somehow you can’t get past ordering the same dish each time you’re there.

Sure, you always have the option of popping over to the other shul in your neighborhood, but there’s no denying that both Hashem and the davening are pretty much the same no matter where you go.

As we evolve as frum men and women, we’re often redefining our relationship with Hashem. And it’s usually at this time of year—Rosh Hashanah—that we’re more inclined to take a more definitive stand on the nature of that relationship.

Earlier this week, I made a short trip from the Five Towns to the Ohel, the final resting place of the Lubavitcher Rebbe and his father-in-law, the previous Rebbe, R’ Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson, zt’l. Let me just say that the experience of going there is deeply meaningful, and I just don’t visit this holy place to daven often enough.

It was a very busy and crowded Sunday afternoon. On the men’s side of that small, stone-walled structure with the open roof called the “Ohel,” things were very tight with a few people pushing and jockeying for position. On the women’s side, which is just behind the matzeivos of these two great Rebbes, things seemed much more tranquil and calm. I glanced over for a moment and saw women praying with devotion, some swaying with their eyes closed in silent meditation.

On the men’s side, the davening was a bit more animated, with lots of shuckling, men moving back and forth with their eyes closed, sometimes moving in multiple directions with their feet planted firmly in place.

I remember a few years ago when someone came up with the idea of erecting a mechitzah between the men’s side and the ladies’ side of the Ohel. Frankly, it felt strange and out of place. I don’t know about the politics surrounding the matter, but just a few days later, the mechitzah was taken down.

We were talking about this on the way home from the Ohel and I speculated that people had indeed been going there for decades to daven and recite Tehillim, and if the Rebbe had thought that a mechitzah was necessary, he would have made sure there was one. So, if the Rebbe thought that a mechitzah was unnecessary at a kever, I suppose that’s the final word on the matter.

If there is a Jewish landmark where everyone is welcome, the Rebbe’s Ohel is it. Visitors sat at tables with a cup of coffee and pens and paper, writing kvitlach, committing their intimate concerns to paper, praying and hoping for a better future. But most important, hoping to connect with Hashem and waiting expectantly for an answer to their prayers.

On this visit, I did more than that. For the first time in a long time, I made multiple stops. I even impressed myself by being able to locate—albeit with some difficulty—the kevarim I was hoping to find.

My father’s parents are right there near the Ohel. My mother’s parents are deeper inside Montefiore Cemetery, but I developed a technique over the years to find them. For my bubby and zaide—Aharon and Chaya Malka Berger—I know that I have to drive down Carmel Avenue. It’s toward the end of the cemetery, and my grandparents are buried two rows behind Rabbi Yaakov Bender’s mother—Rebbetzin Basya Bender. So, my car rolls slowly along this so-called street until the Bender name carved in stone pops out and into my line of vision. Then I know I’m in the right place.

We visited and said Tehillim at the kever of my brother, Binyomin, who I wrote about last week. Then we stood in disbelief at the kever of my niece, Rachel. Then we visited the kever of my Aunt Esther Goldman, who’s next to her daughter, Chanchy Bruk, who took ill and died at the young age of fifty-four. Chanchy is the mother of our columnist, Chaim Shaul Bruk, the Chabad shliach in Bozeman, Montana who you’ve no doubt read about and come to love and admire in these pages over the years.

So, back to where you daven over yom tov, and in particular over Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Some people I know go to daven at 7 a.m. on Yom Kippur and finish by noon before going home to sleep until about 5 p.m., when they begin Minchah. Then there’s the option of the later minyan like the one at 770 I described last week.

Others can daven someplace else all year but when it comes to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, they return to their familiar old yeshiva, opting for a bit of nostalgia during the Yamim Noraim.

Long ago I lived near a friend who went to Yeshiva Chaim Berlin on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I was pretty astounded when I found out that on Rosh Hashanah, they start at 7 a.m. and finish at 5 p.m. Yom Kippur is an all-day experience, the difference being that there’s no two- to three-hour break as there is in other shuls.

The first year I lived out here in the Five Towns, I davened at a local shtiebel and as the time for the fast came to a close on Yom Kippur, they just kept davening like time didn’t matter. Up to that point in my life, the time the fast ended on Yom Kippur as well as Tishah B’Av was everything. How do you just blow past a zman? I’m writing these words this week after dinner, so I’m looking at the experience a bit differently, even with a touch of admiration. But when you’ve reached hour 26 of a 25-hour fast, things look differently.

Some people can sit in shul most of the day on Yom Kippur but after the break in the afternoon they just have to go someplace new for Minchah and Neilah. It’s like you just need something new and refreshing, and a new shul environment is just what you need at that moment.

By the way, that can be valid for the rest of the year as well. That is, you need a steady rotation of three to four shuls to go to during the year. I mean, you were in this shul last week so you need to try something else next week. On the other hand, some people are the exact opposite. As I mentioned above, there are people who davenin only one type of shul. You’ll almost never see them anywhere else.

One of these types is preferable to the other. I’m just not sure which one it is. The good thing is that there’s an abundance of shuls out there. Hopefully everyone can find a place to daven in that they can honestly call home.

Shanah tovah u’metukah! 

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