rear pew mirror • doug brook
The Sounds of Service
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July 2021 • Southern Jewish Life
Hello, minyan, my old friend. I’ve come to get you 10 again. Summer months bring school breaks, vacations, camps, day trips, sleeping in more on weekends, and, as a result, fewer people at services on Shabbat or holidays. (Yes, Virginia, there are Jewish holidays during the summer.) Attending services so sparsely attended that one can hear a tallis clip drop eventually conjures curiosity about the various sounds one hears at services, and the rich history and meaning behind these integral parts of Jewish services throughout the ages, both young and old. An obvious example comes on Purim, when graggers are used to drown out the name of the bad guy (Haman). As the megillah reading progresses, the noise happens increasingly often, a time-honored symptom of the Purim edict to drink until you can no longer distinguish the hero and the villain. While Purim provides an example of a high-volume tradition on a highly attended holiday, Sukkot is a lightly-attended holiday with a much quieter example. Sukkot attendance suffers because of its close proximity to the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur decathlon, the end of which prompts a non-Passover, more off-color singing of Dayeinu (translation: “It’s Enough For Us”). Sukkot’s agent thought it a good idea to ride on Yom Kippur’s coattails, much like the coveted time slot right after a top-10 network TV show. It backfired, thus few people are present to hear the gentle rustling from the shaking of the Lulav and its two conjoined plant species. Which is a shame because the accompanying Etrog smells nice, but that’s for another, more dubious column about the smells of the service. Yom Kippur provides the loud, collective “oy” of finally sitting down after Kol Nidre or Ne’ilah. However, its corollary of a collective “oy” when standing up after sitting through the sermon is experienced week after week ‘til we’re weak. Not to mention, the final declaration of discomfort as we rise for the last prayer Zoom just of every service, Aleinu, or, as it often sounds due to all the creaking bones, doesn’t capture Oyveinu. This leads to the many marvelous sounds heard during services the true crowd throughout the year. The remaining main sounds are heard sounds from during every Torah Service, so not only Shabbat morning on Shabbat, not even only on holidays, too, but also every Monday and Thursday morning and Shabbat afternoon, for those who dare. When the Torah Service begins, the ark is opened. No matter how often they’re oiled, the hinges or tracks inevitably squeak. Chanukah celebrates how one day’s worth of oil lasted eight days but, since then, the ears of the Jewish people have been suffering through centuries of this high-pitched recompense because no amount of oil is enough to nullify these arkaic, arkane, ark-opening noises. The crown or rimonim (Hebrew for “finials,” as if that clarifies it) riding atop the Torah typically have small bells which jingle as the Torah moves. Of course, the Torah doesn’t go straight from the ark to the reader’s table. Symbolizing the Israelites’ 40-year desert walkabout, the Torah is carried there via the most indirect route possible throughout the sanctuary, jingling all the way to help find it if it gets lost. Another Talmudic reason for the bells is for synagogues where the sermon is delivered just before the Torah is returned to the ark, to accommodate the FedEx driver’s route schedule. Thus, when the Torah is continued on previous page