Purim Time in Tokyo
 
While for many communities in the Northern Hemisphere Purim comes at the tail end of winter, here in Tokyo it is always a beautiful time of year.  Though winter here is easy, in comparison with other northern climes, it is always nice when Spring arrives.   The temperature begins to warm, and the early spring flowers – especially the pink plum blossoms – add color to the leafless trees, and the browns left from late winter. 
 
Of course, even if it were still mid-winter – as it was in my former Canadian home – Purim time still would be special.  It is a time of fun and games, celebration and gladness.  Purim is emblematic of a topsy-turvy world, where mourning turns to gladness, and existential threats to times of celebration.  God may seem absent, but when Esther and Mordechai act, when we act, God’s presence is revealed, and we realize that God was always here, we just did not realize it.
 
Celebration, joy and gladness certainly were in the air as costumed children (and their parents) gathered for the annual Jewish Community of Japan Purim Carnival.  This year all the activities planned and carried out by our Education Director Shelley Kunin, with the aid of seven teen assistants, were all new and fresh.  While all were uniquely appropriate to Purim, some also captured the flavour of Japan. Each activity took part of the story of Purim and brought it alive for our children. 
 
Those who listen carefully to the Megillat Esther each year may remember that Esther and the other potential brides did not enter the king’s presence unprepared.  Instead they spent months bathing in perfumes and adorned with costly cosmetics.  Each child at the JCJ was likewise prepared, though with just cosmetics, well face paints that is, instead of perfume.  I hope that Achashverosh likes cats, since whiskers seemed particularly popular.
 
After their time with the cosmetics, everyone was ready to be selected as the new queen (or king) of Persia.  In the megillah there was a great beauty pageant - at the JCJ we played musical chairs. The last one sitting would be the new queen.  Mayim was a great melody for the game, with the children essentially dancing around the chairs.  The very little kids were a bit traumatized, so in the end they just had fun circling their chairs, and none were eliminated.   We did get a bit carried away, playing two rounds.  So, I guess there will now be two Jewish queens of Persia.
 
I don’t think that any of us can forget that Haman chose the day of destruction (the 14thday of Adar) by casting lots, purin Hebrew – purimis the plural. Here in Japan casting lots to tell fortunes is extremely popular at local temples and shrines.  After randomly choosing a long stick, a fortune (called an Omikuji), either good or bad is revealed.    These fortunes reveal a host of answers, from future friendship and love to success on exams. Luckily bad fortunes can be tied to wires provided at shrines, allowing the bad luck to blow away in the wind. At the JCJ we made old school origami fortune tellers (I remember them from when I was a kid), whose answers led to special JCJ Purim/omikuji.  Whether cheesy, wise or witty, none of these omikuji required wind inside our building to blow them away.
 
 
What should be done to the person the king delights to honour?  Haman suggested that the person be led through the city while dressed in a royal robe and wearing a royal crown.  This was just what he was forced to do for Mordechai.  Here at the JCJ every child was Mordecai.  We ran relay races, as each child in turn ran while wearing the king’s own haori (kimono jacket) and crown.  Each child was the one the king was delighted to honour.
 
It turns out that plastic milk bottles, with some dried beans make ideal groggers.  Decorated with washi tape and magic marker, they were ready for use to drown out the memory of Haman.  The family Megillah reading provided the ideal opportunity. With a variety of entertaining voices, and an appropriate sneeze after each Achashverosh, the story of Esther was brought to life.  Listening closely to the Hebrew and the English I doubt that a single Haman was missed.
 
What would Purim be without food, and lots of it!  There are so many feasts in the Book of Esther, I find it difficult to count them. Our celebration concluded in the Palace, that is to say the JCJ’s grand dining room.  I doubt the food in Shushan was better than the JCJ’s falafel, humus and home baked pita bread.  I know for sure that no Persian hamantashen can compare with Izeki-san’s delicious triangular ear (or is it hat) shaped cookies.
 
None of our celebrations would have been possible without Shelley and her dedicated teen helpers. We also were reminded of the mitzvah of Shelach Manot as each person was given a wonderful package by Izumi-san. Thank you so much Izumi-san for observing this wonderful mitzvah.   Also the staff of the JCJ in office and kitchen helped to create a wonderful Purim atmosphere.  

For more than 30 years I have served congregations across the globe, from Scotland, the USA and Canada to Japan.  For most of those thirty years I have also continually heard of the imminent demise of the synagogue, and indeed the Jewish community. That we are still here, however should not be a reason for complacency.  Instead, it should be a moment of introspection.  We are still here, but the number of committed Jews in our pews is shrinking, and our relevance is rightly questioned.   We are not meeting the needs of a majority of Jews, and they are responding with their absence.  This, of course creates a vicious circle.  Absence of Jews means a reduction in resources, and a reduction in resources in turn makes it an even greater challenge to regain relevance and therefore numbers.  Somehow, we must rediscover what it means to create meaningful and vibrant communities.

There have been many suggestions as to how synagogues can reclaim their role as the centre of Jewish communities, but to my mind most are facile, and perhaps misunderstand the nature of decline.  It has, for example, been suggested that synagogue dues are the great impediment to membership.  Voluntary payment for service, it has been suggested, would make synagogue membership more attractive.  Yet, all a change like this would achieve would be to create unstable organizations which would be even less able to meet the needs of their communities.  Indeed, realistic dues (with flexibility to meet financial needs) are not the challenge. Instead, a feeling of worth for the dues (or for the voluntary fees) is the challenge.  

Another recent article (Haaretz, May 26, 2016) was somewhat more helpful.  It suggested that the term “membership” was the problem.  Membership implies a transactional relationship, which was unhealthy in the context of community.  The author rightly noted that the pay for service model would merely perpetuate the transactional nature of the synagogue.  Rebranding member as “friend” or builder (I would go with friend) the author suggested was the first step in the reinvigoration of the synagogue.

In truth I don’t think that dues or semantic terminology are the true challenge for the relevance of the synagogue for the Jewish community.  Instead I contend that synagogues largely misunderstand our mission to create an “am kadosh, a holy community.”  This is not done by a myopic focus of that which we call “religion” or in the context of the verse the adjective, holy.  Instead it is done when we focus on the noun, community.  It is not a coincidence that a very large segment of the mitzvotfocuses on laws between one human and another (ben adam l’havero).  Our ancestors realized that without a community none of the rituals and commandments between us and God (ben adam l’makom) would have any meaning.   Synagogues, therefore, should be places where a strong sense of community (in the words of the above quoted author, where friendship) is created.  Only then can we truly begin to serve God.

Synagogues must see themselves not as a place only, or even most importantly, for ritual, but instead as a place which facilitates and creates human relationships and connections.  Our services, of course need a close look, but that is only the beginning.  Are our services welcoming and meaningful enough to uplift and connect our members?  These should be the central considerations in all our decision making.   Length of service is not the true issue (people come and go as they wish). Instead, meaningful participatory services are the true challenge for a holy community.  In this respect I would suggest that speed is not a friend to meaning. It is better to my mind to cut out prayers than to rush meaninglessly through the siddur.

However, as the service continues on the bema, something much more fundamental needs to happen in the pews.  We must forget forever the concept of makom kavua, the idea that people have their set seats in the synagogue.  Nothing can be more disconcerting or off-putting than being told, sometimes over and over again, that empty seats (often for the whole service) are taken.  Recently, while in Europe at a non-Orthodox synagogue, the only seat I finally could occupy was in a corner (amid a sea of empty seats) fairly far away from most people present.  If I lived there, I would never go back.   

How we welcome people to our services is even more important.  Many synagogues have ushers who welcome congregants and newcomers.  Yet, as soon as the newcomer wanders into the pews he/she is often all alone.  They are alone in proximity, and perhaps also in comfort with the service.  In a community no one should be alone. Instead of just giving someone a book, why not take them to a seat next to community members who can make them welcome and help them through the service?  (I would also suggest that honours for guests, with people wishing them yasher koach, just as they do for their friends in traditional services, sends a powerful message).  This would be a true welcome to a community.

Today in many communities the value of the Oneg Shabbat and Kiddush lunch are often discounted.  They are seen as merely an adjunct to the service, either to be included, minimized or dispensed with (especially if one doesn’t want to take the time to find sponsors).  Yet, it was just for this social time that the synagogue was created.   It is not God that needs the community, rather it is us, as we try to create an “am kadosh,” that need it.  Sitting in prayer (no matter how beautiful and meaningful the service) is a weak building block of community.  Eating, talking and socializing at Kiddush is much stronger. It is at the Kiddush that relationships can be created.   I remember my home synagogue where the Oneg went on far longer than the service itself.  

Yet here again a newcomer may be lost.  Often, I have seen tables filled by regulars, with one or two tables left for the strangers.  Don’t allow them to be strangers.  Let all who are hungry come, eat and be welcome.  Invite the strangers to your tables and get to know them so that they no longer feel alone (and often unwelcome).

Most importantly, beyond everything else, the synagogue must be a place where relationships are facilitated, created and enhanced.  Often, this may mean forgetting the building, and even forgetting ritual as we work for something elemental.   These can be Shabbat or festival meals, or they can be activities with seemingly no Jewish content at all.  

It is not uncommon for a synagogue to designate an evening where community members invite others into their homes to celebrate Shabbat.  This is a great beginning, but hospitality and friendship should not be limited to one Shabbat, and hosts should not be limited to those who can “do” Shabbat. Instead, consider that a great building block of community is hospitality.   Create a culture, where hospitality is the norm, not the exception, where we encourage people to invite each other to Shabbat dinner, lunch or tea without a worry if they are “experts” at Shabbat.  Rather, let them be experts at making friends.

Some synagogue programs must be religious and educational (these also create community for some), but activities which strengthen human relationships and a feeling of community are as Jewish as any religious service or Torah study.   They are building blocks in the creation of a holy community.  People today are starving for relationships and our synagogues (in the broadest sense of their activities) should be a place to find these.  Playing or watching a baseball game, hikes in the mountains, bike rides, and wine tasting (and much more) create connections and friendship between people.

As we consider the synagogue of the future lets jettison or rewrite our mission statements.  It’s very easy to say that we are “a welcoming community”, but these are often just words with no action steps.  It would be better to say, “we are a place where relationships and true connections are forged.  We are a place where you will not be alone.”  If we can make these words a truth, then synagogues will regain their relevance and centrality to the Jewish community of the future.