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magidYesterday I did something I haven't done for half my lifetime: I lead davening. As always, if there's jargon I should translate, let me know.
In almost every mechitzah minyan on the planet, this would be an impossible statement. When there's a mechitzah, men lead the davening, and men and women pray. At Tehillah, as at a few other self-styled "egalitarian orthodox" minyanim, women can lead p'sukei d'zimra and hotza'at sefer Torah, can read from the Torah and get an aliyah (if a woman is reading), and give a d'var Torah. For the last, the mechitzah is drawn back. For the rest, the shulchan is towards the front of the room, with the mechitzah effectively bisecting the side people stand on.
The last time I lead services, it was at Brandeis, for the egalitarian minyan, most usually because I hadn't found anyone else to do it that week - I was the gabbai. This time, I was asked, as someone who would actually show up on time. Actually, I wanted to be early; Tehillah starts just before Baruch She'amar, and it felt appropriate to me to do the earlier blessings there, in the same room.
I was a bit nervous, magnified by the fact of having something like a cold that had magnified to an intermittent cough as well. So I would not be singing as much as I might otherwise have done, just the basic chanting of the first and last lines as customary while managing not to have a coughing fit. It also felt weighty, being the minyan's representative, the delegated davener, even though it was clear that all the people who'd gotten themselves there for p'sukei were quite able to daven for themselves. Still, it's a responsibility, and I found myself going more slowly, taking a little bit more care with the words than usual, while still having to remind myself that I was the one setting the pace by saying the first and last lines aloud, so I needed to do that. Otherwise, I tried not to think too much about the other people I was sort of responsible for, lest I seize up (too fast? too slow? not loud enough? misspoke?). Luckily the physical layout helped, with the shulchan right in front of the aron, and holding my siddur (there is no shtender), which meant there was something for my hands to do.
The extra intensity both distracted me (Was everyone done, or just the people who davened loudly enough for me to hear? What if I misspoke?) and made me see at least some of the tehillim with fresh eyes, reminding me why it is one of my favorite parts of davening when I have the right kavannah for it. It's lyric, but approachable, and in some ways clearer than other parts. Or perhaps it is just that it resonates with me, all those years of repetition overlying millenia of forebears doing the same thing. I also like how it's quiet, compared to the other services, letting itself be found for those who seek it. Mostly I mean that liturgically, with none of the automatic highs of kedusha or kriya, but some of that is physical: there are always many more people later on in the service. I have a hard time concentrating well when it's too crowded, so in some ways p'sukei is perfect for me, giving me the space as well as the words.
I started davening when there were three men and three women. When I finished, there weren't quite ten men and ten women in the room, but it was clear that there would be a full complement by the time it was necessary. I know it's customary, but hearing "yasher koshaich" felt great as I went to daven shacharit.
In almost every mechitzah minyan on the planet, this would be an impossible statement. When there's a mechitzah, men lead the davening, and men and women pray. At Tehillah, as at a few other self-styled "egalitarian orthodox" minyanim, women can lead p'sukei d'zimra and hotza'at sefer Torah, can read from the Torah and get an aliyah (if a woman is reading), and give a d'var Torah. For the last, the mechitzah is drawn back. For the rest, the shulchan is towards the front of the room, with the mechitzah effectively bisecting the side people stand on.
The last time I lead services, it was at Brandeis, for the egalitarian minyan, most usually because I hadn't found anyone else to do it that week - I was the gabbai. This time, I was asked, as someone who would actually show up on time. Actually, I wanted to be early; Tehillah starts just before Baruch She'amar, and it felt appropriate to me to do the earlier blessings there, in the same room.
I was a bit nervous, magnified by the fact of having something like a cold that had magnified to an intermittent cough as well. So I would not be singing as much as I might otherwise have done, just the basic chanting of the first and last lines as customary while managing not to have a coughing fit. It also felt weighty, being the minyan's representative, the delegated davener, even though it was clear that all the people who'd gotten themselves there for p'sukei were quite able to daven for themselves. Still, it's a responsibility, and I found myself going more slowly, taking a little bit more care with the words than usual, while still having to remind myself that I was the one setting the pace by saying the first and last lines aloud, so I needed to do that. Otherwise, I tried not to think too much about the other people I was sort of responsible for, lest I seize up (too fast? too slow? not loud enough? misspoke?). Luckily the physical layout helped, with the shulchan right in front of the aron, and holding my siddur (there is no shtender), which meant there was something for my hands to do.
The extra intensity both distracted me (Was everyone done, or just the people who davened loudly enough for me to hear? What if I misspoke?) and made me see at least some of the tehillim with fresh eyes, reminding me why it is one of my favorite parts of davening when I have the right kavannah for it. It's lyric, but approachable, and in some ways clearer than other parts. Or perhaps it is just that it resonates with me, all those years of repetition overlying millenia of forebears doing the same thing. I also like how it's quiet, compared to the other services, letting itself be found for those who seek it. Mostly I mean that liturgically, with none of the automatic highs of kedusha or kriya, but some of that is physical: there are always many more people later on in the service. I have a hard time concentrating well when it's too crowded, so in some ways p'sukei is perfect for me, giving me the space as well as the words.
I started davening when there were three men and three women. When I finished, there weren't quite ten men and ten women in the room, but it was clear that there would be a full complement by the time it was necessary. I know it's customary, but hearing "yasher koshaich" felt great as I went to daven shacharit.
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no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 01:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 01:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 02:01 am (UTC)Where did you lead him?
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Date: 2008-02-11 05:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 05:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 04:06 am (UTC)Shavua tov.
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Date: 2008-02-11 05:12 pm (UTC)I hope you had a lovely Shabbat, and your week starts well.
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Date: 2008-02-11 04:58 am (UTC)I know what you mean about the extra responsibility. Everyone in the weekday shacharit minyan can daven; they don't need me. But when I'm up there, it's still different. One thing I'm careful about is that I never go off-book when leading; even where I know the text by heart and there aren't halachic issues, I still read. Because it's important when it's not just my own prayer that I might mess up.
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Date: 2008-02-11 05:14 pm (UTC)*nod* That's exactly it. When I was younger, it was more about whether I had the technical skills to lead. Now it feels more a question of being a worthy representative of the community.
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Date: 2008-02-11 01:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-11 05:12 pm (UTC)