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magidIt was an odd Yom Kippur for me. As with R"H, I'd planned to daven at Tehillah, but this chag it turned out to not be the right place for me.
Due to some last-minute something-or-others (logistics? snafus? no idea), the location changed to a lecture hall, Harvard Hall room 104. On the plus side, it faces east, but it meant that the doors were in the front of each section, and that, plus the mostly-fixed curved-row seating, plus general overcrowding, plus certain davening issues, combined in a bad way for me. The doors being at the front, rather than the back, meant that there was a lot more traffic at the front than usual, so I defaulted to the back for less back and forthing. The fixed seating I avoided entirely: that would have me either feeling trapped in the middle of a row, or letting people by whenever (or both), plus not enough room to do more than stand or sit (I stand a lot, mitigating it by movement), plus being conscious every time of the sound of the seats folding up/being sat in (they were the automatic flip-up sort of seats, with little fold-out desk attachments). The other feature of the rows was that they were each higher than the next, but the floor around them was sloped, which was a bit more challenging to stand on, unless one were very much front or back, where it was flat. And the overcrowding, especially for Kol Nidrei (no surprise there), made everything that much more difficult (for me, as always; most everyone else seemed fine with it). Added issue with overcrowding: too warm. And I have a hard time coping with that, much more difficult than too cold.
Kol Nidrei was short enough that I ignored the issues, but I started thinking about location during the dvar Torah, which was rather longer than I expected it to be (I'm not used to d"T that run well over half an hour), as I sat on a window ledge. There was one thought in there that struck me, about how we don't have awe (yirah) in us; it is driven out by cynicism, so we should try to change ourselves to be less cynical.
Plus: I was in Harvard Hall for the first time ever, and I got to look out the arched windows, through the old wavy panes of glass that made the world different, and look at the rising waxing moon, as it serenely sailed into the branches of the tree near me.
Which helped me figure out how to deal with things for maariv so I could try to focus better: for amidah, I stepped up into the window ledge, which had the advantage of an eastern wall in front of me, and the partly lowered shade gave more visual distance from the crowd as well. It still wasn't easy, unfortunately.
Davening got out around 8:45, and I went home to bed; I'd decided not to leave any lights on, other than my candles and a nightlight, because it never seems right to sit around reading, just as it feels strange to stand around talking after davening, when it's so easy to slip into mundanities (which seem trivial, given that I don't have to coordinate things with a partner or kids) or actual lashon hara ("did you hear that...?" is too easy the rest of the year; this one day I'd like to avoid it entirely).
Shabbat morning, I went back to Tehillah, and it wasn't as crowded. Which definitely helped, until the open window I was near was closed because people were cold (I was just comfortable with the breeze on me). So I moved forward, where the window ledges were high enough to put my machzor on... until someone lowered the shades enough that it was blocked. And I discovered that it's not trivial to stand for that long on a sloped surface (I tend to stand for amidah and repetition and the Torah service, which ends up being rather a lot of hours on Y"K). There were a lot of new-to-me tunes, too. Some is fine and interesting, but there were new tunes to things that I particularly wanted traditional melodies to, and after a while it was disappointing to so rarely get those. Everyone else seemed to be getting into it, though, with much spirit in their singing (sometimes during a part that's the shatz's, but no one seemed to care, if they knew the tune...). It made me feel worse, that I was all closed-up and petty and not part of this davening group the way I wanted. Definitely an unpleasant version of the bad kind of alone in the crowd. Towards the end of musaf, I hit more frustration, as the shatz chose tunes that were extremely repetitious; I'm very much of the say-it-once school. And I ended up walking out of the 'hayom's at the end, which sounded somehow like I'd expect music at a powwow. I kept trying to focus on the words, but it wasn't flowing, not like R"H davening had; I kept finding my mind other places, and dragging it back to the words in front of me. Again, and again, and again.
Morning davening went from 8:15 to 2:20. Even in the best of circumstances, it's a challenge to stay focused that long. Mincha was to be at 4:30; I meandered by Hillel to find that ortho was starting at 4:55.
And then home, for an actual nap. This is also a first for me; I tend to stay at shul during the break, to minimize walking time when not drinking. The downside: this year it was really warm, which was more difficult. The up side: I went out onto the porch, and saw orange and black butterflies (monarchs?) fluttering among the riotously blooming flowers in my neighbors' back yard. (And they've been there a couple of other times this weekend to; they make me happy every time I see them.)
I went to ortho for mincha-neilah-maariv. They were in Pound Hall at the law school, as usual. Instead of going in on the regular level, I went up a level, to the unused balcony space, needing the quiet, the lack of distraction of other people, the calm of it. I got even luckier, in that the shatz (whoever he was) had a lovely voice, not needing to be loud all the time. Ortho felt much more where I needed to be, with people davening in a more Litvak, less Carlebach-ecstatic sort of way. There was room for me doing my own davening without it being flooded by everyone else's davening.
Neilah was led by the same person who's led it since before I arrived in the minyan. He's older, and his davening is very old-school, and this year for the first time I realized that though the pronunciation will never be mine, I really do appreciate the feeling of awe and last-minute-before-the-gates-close that his davening brings; the shatzes at Tehillah seemed to use a lot more tunes expressing joy, which has some place, too, but I need at least some fear to balance it out. I know, Rambam says d'vaykut to the Omnipresent through fear rather than love shows that one is at a pretty low level... so be it.
Neilah ended, as usual, with Avenu Malkainu (the more poignant because we hadn't said it before, because of Shabbat), then the repetition of key phrases, building in intensity, and the final shofar blast, a solid, low-toned tekiah.
And it is done for another year. I felt like I was wrestling to find the kavanah that I was lucky enough to be graced with much more easily on Rosh Hashana, and I don't think I succeeded, but perhaps my continuing struggles for it will be enough.
May it be a good year.
Due to some last-minute something-or-others (logistics? snafus? no idea), the location changed to a lecture hall, Harvard Hall room 104. On the plus side, it faces east, but it meant that the doors were in the front of each section, and that, plus the mostly-fixed curved-row seating, plus general overcrowding, plus certain davening issues, combined in a bad way for me. The doors being at the front, rather than the back, meant that there was a lot more traffic at the front than usual, so I defaulted to the back for less back and forthing. The fixed seating I avoided entirely: that would have me either feeling trapped in the middle of a row, or letting people by whenever (or both), plus not enough room to do more than stand or sit (I stand a lot, mitigating it by movement), plus being conscious every time of the sound of the seats folding up/being sat in (they were the automatic flip-up sort of seats, with little fold-out desk attachments). The other feature of the rows was that they were each higher than the next, but the floor around them was sloped, which was a bit more challenging to stand on, unless one were very much front or back, where it was flat. And the overcrowding, especially for Kol Nidrei (no surprise there), made everything that much more difficult (for me, as always; most everyone else seemed fine with it). Added issue with overcrowding: too warm. And I have a hard time coping with that, much more difficult than too cold.
Kol Nidrei was short enough that I ignored the issues, but I started thinking about location during the dvar Torah, which was rather longer than I expected it to be (I'm not used to d"T that run well over half an hour), as I sat on a window ledge. There was one thought in there that struck me, about how we don't have awe (yirah) in us; it is driven out by cynicism, so we should try to change ourselves to be less cynical.
Plus: I was in Harvard Hall for the first time ever, and I got to look out the arched windows, through the old wavy panes of glass that made the world different, and look at the rising waxing moon, as it serenely sailed into the branches of the tree near me.
Which helped me figure out how to deal with things for maariv so I could try to focus better: for amidah, I stepped up into the window ledge, which had the advantage of an eastern wall in front of me, and the partly lowered shade gave more visual distance from the crowd as well. It still wasn't easy, unfortunately.
Davening got out around 8:45, and I went home to bed; I'd decided not to leave any lights on, other than my candles and a nightlight, because it never seems right to sit around reading, just as it feels strange to stand around talking after davening, when it's so easy to slip into mundanities (which seem trivial, given that I don't have to coordinate things with a partner or kids) or actual lashon hara ("did you hear that...?" is too easy the rest of the year; this one day I'd like to avoid it entirely).
Shabbat morning, I went back to Tehillah, and it wasn't as crowded. Which definitely helped, until the open window I was near was closed because people were cold (I was just comfortable with the breeze on me). So I moved forward, where the window ledges were high enough to put my machzor on... until someone lowered the shades enough that it was blocked. And I discovered that it's not trivial to stand for that long on a sloped surface (I tend to stand for amidah and repetition and the Torah service, which ends up being rather a lot of hours on Y"K). There were a lot of new-to-me tunes, too. Some is fine and interesting, but there were new tunes to things that I particularly wanted traditional melodies to, and after a while it was disappointing to so rarely get those. Everyone else seemed to be getting into it, though, with much spirit in their singing (sometimes during a part that's the shatz's, but no one seemed to care, if they knew the tune...). It made me feel worse, that I was all closed-up and petty and not part of this davening group the way I wanted. Definitely an unpleasant version of the bad kind of alone in the crowd. Towards the end of musaf, I hit more frustration, as the shatz chose tunes that were extremely repetitious; I'm very much of the say-it-once school. And I ended up walking out of the 'hayom's at the end, which sounded somehow like I'd expect music at a powwow. I kept trying to focus on the words, but it wasn't flowing, not like R"H davening had; I kept finding my mind other places, and dragging it back to the words in front of me. Again, and again, and again.
Morning davening went from 8:15 to 2:20. Even in the best of circumstances, it's a challenge to stay focused that long. Mincha was to be at 4:30; I meandered by Hillel to find that ortho was starting at 4:55.
And then home, for an actual nap. This is also a first for me; I tend to stay at shul during the break, to minimize walking time when not drinking. The downside: this year it was really warm, which was more difficult. The up side: I went out onto the porch, and saw orange and black butterflies (monarchs?) fluttering among the riotously blooming flowers in my neighbors' back yard. (And they've been there a couple of other times this weekend to; they make me happy every time I see them.)
I went to ortho for mincha-neilah-maariv. They were in Pound Hall at the law school, as usual. Instead of going in on the regular level, I went up a level, to the unused balcony space, needing the quiet, the lack of distraction of other people, the calm of it. I got even luckier, in that the shatz (whoever he was) had a lovely voice, not needing to be loud all the time. Ortho felt much more where I needed to be, with people davening in a more Litvak, less Carlebach-ecstatic sort of way. There was room for me doing my own davening without it being flooded by everyone else's davening.
Neilah was led by the same person who's led it since before I arrived in the minyan. He's older, and his davening is very old-school, and this year for the first time I realized that though the pronunciation will never be mine, I really do appreciate the feeling of awe and last-minute-before-the-gates-close that his davening brings; the shatzes at Tehillah seemed to use a lot more tunes expressing joy, which has some place, too, but I need at least some fear to balance it out. I know, Rambam says d'vaykut to the Omnipresent through fear rather than love shows that one is at a pretty low level... so be it.
Neilah ended, as usual, with Avenu Malkainu (the more poignant because we hadn't said it before, because of Shabbat), then the repetition of key phrases, building in intensity, and the final shofar blast, a solid, low-toned tekiah.
And it is done for another year. I felt like I was wrestling to find the kavanah that I was lucky enough to be graced with much more easily on Rosh Hashana, and I don't think I succeeded, but perhaps my continuing struggles for it will be enough.
May it be a good year.