Every year, as I make my best attempt at inward looking and t’shuvah (repentence), I get frustrated. Not only by my t’shuvah (though my struggle to atone and stay on my right path is plenty frustrating), but by one ubiquitous sign of synagogue life in the Jewish month of Tishrei — the tickets.
It’s the tickets that get me steamed every year. Here’s the scenario:
A family bathes, dresses, eats a festive High Holiday meal and then comes to synagogue. They have, in whatever way, elevated themselves for the holiday.
They approach the doors (of most local synagogues) and are welcomed with the warm question, “Do you have tickets?” Crash. Where once they were entering community, they are now entering an institution.
Usually, the exchange passes flawlessly. The family, individual, or couple, shows their tickets and enters the synagogue, unfazed. But sometimes it doesn’t happen that way.
Several years ago, my family went to a local synagogue without tickets. We were naïve, I know; fresh from Israel, who was thinking about tickets? We were thinking that we had finally found our way to the Jewish community here.
As we stood at the synagogue door, we found ourselves engaged in an embarrassing public discussion of fees that included a request for our mailing address for billing purposes. Thoroughly turned off, we were finally permitted to enter, our High Holiday buzz tarnished.
The same thing happened this year to a friend and her family. Members of a local shul, they found themselves at a different synagogue for Yom Kippur. As they had no tickets, they also were drawn into an uncomfortable public discussion, including a request to see identification, and then reluctant admission.
All or nothing?
This family was told that security was the issue — our post Sept. 11 world requires stringent security. I chuckled to myself when I learned that at Neilah, Yom Kippur’s closing service, two security officers stood guard but no tickets were requested. Had the threat dissipated? Do terrorists only strike during the more popular Kol Nidre and morning services?
As we all know, the real and very legitimate concern is money. Our Jewish institutions need it to maintain their buildings. Clergy, educators, administrators and maintenance personnel must be paid. I’ve never been involved in the inner workings of a synagogue, but I’m sure the financial burdens are heavy. And the reported lag in synagogue membership is surely a source of real worry.
There are the “twice-a-year-Jews,” who visit synagogues only for the High Holidays and special events. And there are many among us who feel distant and alienated from organized Jewish life.
Moreover, according to the 2000-2002 National Jewish Population Survey, 47 percent of American Jews are marrying non-Jews. By all indications, that points to fewer engaged Jewish families and fewer homes where Judaism is the central religion/identity.
But that’s the problem with the ticket system. By making High Holiday synagogue attendance contingent on membership, we’re building high walls that turn away the people we should be seeking.
Every Tishrei, I think about the unengaged and get distressed by the tickets. I think about the people who don’t participate in Jewish religious life during the year but, during Tishrei, a light goes on for them.
Maybe they’re moved by the spirit of their grandparents, or maybe it’s the eternal light of their Jewish soul. Perhaps it’s just the need to connect with the community during our Days of Awe.
Whatever the reason, something draws these people to the synagogue — without a ticket. Yes, they could make the proper arrangements and surely explain their case to synagogue leaders. But will they be committed enough for such a clear and decidedly Jewish step?
And I think about the Israeli family that is here for a couple of years and does not belong to a synagogue. And the college student or young adult who doesn’t live near her parents but hasn’t joined a local shul. For them, and so many more, it’s all or nothing. Unfortunately, they often end up with nothing.
We, the American Jewish community, cannot afford this. We cannot afford to create congregations that are not warm and welcoming. We cannot afford to have a community that talks money before reaching out. We cannot afford to alienate even one Jewish soul.
We must — it is indeed our holy responsibility — welcome every Jew that comes to our door, whether for morning minyan in mid-winter or Kol Nidre. The first words people should hear when they approach the synagogue doors should be, “Welcome. We’re so glad you’re here.”
This is not just a feel-good notion either. The bottom line is that a warm and soulful congregation draws more warmth, more soul, more activity. Is that not a wiser strategy to outreach?
We are left to ask ourselves, our congregations, the hard questions of t’shuvah: Who do we want to be? What environment do we want to create? What message do we want to send?
What is the alternative? Some congregations manage to keep their doors open during the High Holidays. Maybe it’s time to collaborate and discover their secret.
One shul I know greets High Holiday newcomers with not only a congregant sitting at a desk but also a welcome letter that is, in essence, a gentle request for a contribution. Their warm approach is one that makes people want to pay and stay.
The time has come for change. Let us behave as if the world is already perfect, as if our songbird is not caged in financial worries. Let us behave as if the other, that person without a ticket, is us.
I speak here as a concerned insider, as a voice for change within our community. My intent is to draw us closer, not to point fingers. This is a conversation with my mother and father, my cousins, my brothers and sisters.
If you disagree or believe that I’m mistaken, please use the pages of The Chronicle to share your opinions. These pages are waiting for vibrant discussion and transformative debate. Let us trust each other enough to engage in such conversation.
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