In vanoggend se NYT is daar ‘n
berig oor ‘n Joodse geestelike in New York wat gedrewe voel om nuwe lewe in sy
bediening te kry, veral oor die resend snelle agteruitgang van bywoning van
dienste (sien: http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/16/nyregion/lab-shul-is-an-experimental-jewish-gathering-still-in-a-beta-phase.html?emc=edit_th_20140316&nl=todaysheadlines&nlid=55992893).
Ek vind heelwat interessanthede in die berig:
Mense is besig, gewoond aan
wonderlike ervarings in die teater en kunswêreld. Hulle wil nie in ‘n diens ‘n
lang preek vol allehande inligting hoor wat niks verskil aan hulle lewens maak nie. Hulle soek, aldus
die Joodse geestelike, transformasie.
Mense wil ook nie vanaf die
preekstoel vertel word hoe hulle moet leef nie. Hulle wil betrokke wees,
deelneem, saamdink. Veral, sou ek sê, omdat hulle intuïtief aanvoel dat die
geestelike nie die waarheid in pag het nie. Jy kan ure praat oor hoe Jesus sy
lewe opgeoffer het en daardeur die onmoontlike gedoen het, sonder dat jy ooit
besef wat ‘n opoffering in jou eie lewe sou wees.
(In New York het die
geestelike gevoel dat dit regtig baie van hom sou vra as hy vir ‘n dag lank
sonder die internet sou moes klaarkom!)
Ek vind veral uitdagend hoe hy oor
godsdiens dink: ‘n mens neem nie deel aan godsdiens om die godsdiens aan die
gang te hou nie. Jy is aktief daarin omdat dit van jou 'n vervulde mens maak. Of,
in die taal van spiritualiteit, omdat dit jou in die teenwoordigheid van God
bring.
Dit is soos wanneer ‘n mens met ‘n lugdiens vlieg: jy vlieg met ‘n
lugdiens omdat dit jou die beste diens gee.
Alles in die berig is nie so
positief nie. Aan die einde daarvan word vertel dat die eintlik sterk Joodse
groepe, die konserwatiewe groepe is. En in hulle geledere wil mense maklike
antwoorde in ‘n komplekse, verwarde wêreld hê.
Wat my weer laat besef: Mense se
geestelike behoeftes verskil nie net van plek tot plek, van instelling tot
instelling nie, maar ook van tyd tot tyd. Wie gemaklik in ‘n tradisionele
omgewing voel en graag daar ‘n tuiste soek, is op ‘n ander plek, in ‘n ander fase
nie meer so seker daaromtrent nie. Veral nie wanneer hulle agterkom dat alles
wat altyd so seker lyk nie, nie meer ‘n verskil maak nie.
Ook hiervoor moet ‘n mens begrip
hê.
Wie het nou kon dink dat ‘n Joodse
rabbi in New York dieselfde geestelike ervarings het en soek as dit waarmee
vele Christelike kerke oor die wêreld tans worstel.
Nog boeiender: hoe gebeur dit dat
daar so min gepraat word oor die verskil wat ‘n mens se godsdiens aan jou lewe
moet maak? En dan gaan dit nie om die gehoorsaamheid, etiek, moraliteit, sekere
moets en moenies nie. Dit gaan ook veel meer oor transformasie, die soeke na
die diepere, wat ingebed in die menslike innerlike is.
Byvoorbeeld: hoe sal ‘n preek lyk
as die prediker elke keer tydens die voorbereiding vra: “aan die einde van die erediens
moet mense voel dat hulle God se teenwoordigheid daarin beleef het.”
Hier is dele uit die berig:
At a rock club on the edge of SoHo
on a recent Saturday, Amichai Lau-Lavie stood in front of two musicians and a
set of video screens, bringing a message about counterculture. Mr. Lau-Lavie,
44, descends from at least 37 generations of Orthodox Jewish rabbis.
On the screens was an image of a
sacrificial lamb, taken from a Dutch painting. He asked his audience to name
something they were thankful for.
If they felt guilt that they wanted
to expiate, as ancient people did through ritual sacrifice, what did they feel
guilty about?
“Where is sacrifice in our lives
today?” he asked.What act in today’s society, he asked, was painful enough,
messy enough, to approximate ancient sacrifice?
Finally he offered an answer:
unplugging from the Internet for one full day a week. It would hurt, sure, but
it could also be cleansing, he said. Then he confessed: “Giving up digital for
24 hours is so healthy, but I don’t do it, because I’m addicted.”
“One of the ways to describe what
this is about is creating sanctuary,” Mr. Lau-Lavie told the roughly 60 people
for the more-than-two-hour service. The conversational style and claim to
counterculture, the texts and videos projected on screens, the emphasis on arts
and music, resembled nothing so much as a modern evangelical Christian church.
These are precarious times for
non-Orthodox synagogues in New York. According to a 2013 survey, fewer than
one-third of American Jews belong to a synagogue, and barely one-quarter say
religion is very important in their lives, compared with 56 percent of the
general public. The share of Jews living in a household where anyone belonged
to a synagogue fell to 39 percent. In a 2001 survey, it was 46 percent. The
decline has been especially acute in Reform and Conservative congregations,
many of which have closed or merged to stay afloat, even as the Orthodox
community expands.
The wreckage, in turn, has created
opportunities to improvise.
Mr. Lau-Lavie finds himself part of
a coterie of religious leaders, Christian as well as Jewish, asking a nearly
impossible question: In an increasingly
secular, technological, consumer-driven culture, how can they revise worship in
a way that is relevant to people who have unlimited demands on their time and
weak ties to institutions?
“The Pew study tells us, if synagogue life
won’t innovate, then we’re going to continue to lose people,” Rabbi Ingber
said. “I’m convinced we’re blessed to live in a marketplace that forces us to
hone what we’re doing.”
He added: “The hierarchical model of the rabbi speaking to a flock is obsolete.
Experience is paramount. And information alone is not transformative, so people
are not coming to synagogue to learn new things. If you have everything you
want to know at your fingertips and you’re still unhappy, it’s clear that
information isn’t enough. People ask how come their services aren’t as
transformative as their yoga class. And they could be.”
Lau-Levi noticed that the heart of
the synagogue service was given to a scriptural reading that felt lifeless
compared to the competing forces in New Yorkers’ lives, he said.
“That was my big light bulb,” he said. “What
if we changed the unit of the worship? The storytelling? This is theater.
There’s a guy standing on a stage; they are transmitting a story. It happens to
be the world’s best seller. There’s an audience. It’s a performance. It’s just
a bad performance. It’s really bad theater. What if it was actually theater?”
Mr. Lau-Lavie started a theater
company called Storahtelling to present scriptural narratives the way he
imagined them, in English, with music and dramatized.
As Storahtelling grew, with holiday
performances that drew several hundred people, Mr. Lau-Lavie began to develop
new ways of thinking about his faith and his family legacy.
Michael Dorf, the owner of City
Winery, joined the group’s board of directors. Mr. Dorf, who describes himself
as a “cultural Jew,” mainly interested in observing the holidays, felt that Mr.
Lau-Lavie was a charismatic leader who could provide more.
At a 2012 board meeting, he said
the group should evolve into a synagogue, with Mr. Lau-Lavie as its rabbi. He
offered his club for services.
Mr. Lau-Lavie had resisted such
entreaties before, feeling that “artists were the new rabbis.” This time,
though, he felt he and the congregation were ready.
“What matured in me is the sense that Judaism, like all
religion, is not the bottom line,” he said. “That it is a tool in our toolbox
for human well-being and being helpful beings, and that there is a difference
between many people who really view Judaism or religion as the end goal: In
other words, keep the Sabbath or marry a Jew so the Jewish story continues.
That’s of course how I grew up. I realized that that’s missing the point.
“I’m not flying Delta because I’m interested in Delta. I’m
flying Delta because it’s convenient or I got the miles on it. The idea is to
get somewhere. I’m practicing Judaism because that’s my airline, because I was
born into it and I think it’s got a deeply profound, ancient and relevant
toolbox for a good life, but the end goal is a good life, not to be Jewish. To
be human. To be there for myself and others. And that’s a totally different
proposition.”
Shawn Landres, who runs a Jewish
innovation lab, compared the experimentation in places like Lab/Shul to the
“emergent” Christian churches, which have reached out to people turned off by
religion.
“Emergent churches and synagogues
are both moving away from traditional institutional forms, to reflect a broader
cultural shift,” he said. “People coming
to synagogues or churches now want to be in a relationship, not a contract.
They want to be in a network, not an institution.
