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Yom Kippur in Williamsburg
by Sudy Rosengarten
When the Days of Awe arrived, the rebbe himself conducted the
prayers for our congregation. His services were so moving,
his song and chant so impressive, that it was with the
excitement and anticipation of a thrilling experience that we
entered the shul.
As we tiptoed down the length of hallway to the women's
section, we would hold our breath, hoping that noone would
open the door of the men's section till we were safe in our
own domain. It just seemed wrong and immodest to be seen by
the men at a time, when they should be thinking of nothing
but the ineffable communion with G-d.
As the morning progressed, the halls would fill with the
noise of the children. Youngsters raced back and forth, up
and down the steps, in and out of the bathroom. Doors banged,
water splashed, babies whined. There was loud teasing,
fighting, crying. On top of all the commotion in the hall,
loud voices could be heard rising in the men's shul:
"Throw the kids out, and let's have some quiet!" But the
murmer of agreement was stilled, when the soft voice of Reb
Moishe Lieber calmed the indignant members. "Let them stay,"
he cautioned. "It's their shul, too. If we chase them out
now, they may not bother to come back when their turn comes
to replace us."
A heated discussion followed, with the ladies also joining
in. "If parents want their children to go to shul,"
Mrs. Stern stated tight-lipped, "the least they could do was
see that they behaved, and not force the rabbi to become
their baby- sitter." But nobody paid too much attention to
Mrs. Stern. She was always acting like an angry king, or at
least like his handmaiden. Though everyone might be crowded
together in the small ladies' shul on Yom Kippur, gasping for
air in the stuffy room that still smelled from the paint and
benzine applied in frantic haste before the holidays, Mrs.
Stern never had any qualms of conscience about slamming the
window shut. She was in a draft! All the pleading with her to
change her seat so that she wouldn't be in the draft
was to no avail. After all, she had sat in that seat, in
front of that window, ever since she had lived in
Williamsburg, ever since her husband had organized the
rebbe's congregation. Why should she change her seat? And
after all! She was the one who prayed there every single
Shabbos; not like the others who came just once or twice a
year!
Mrs. Stern would glare at every latecomer in farsighted
disapproval, squinting disdainfully over the glasses that
hung on the tip of her nose, as if waiting for G-d to do
something really dramatic to punish the latecomer, something
that everyone would always remember, like striking them dead,
maybe... Desperate for asylum from Mrs. Stern's accusing
stare, the poor woman would squirm her way into the first
available space, not daring to lift her head till some time
later, when the rebbetzin turned to smile at her in warm
greeting. The rebbetzin, a majestic beauty in white satin,
knew better than to get involved in her congregants'
arguments. Regardless of what was happening around her, she
kept right on praying in her corner of the Eastern wall,
swaying and bowing, shaking and groaning. Every few minutes
she'd push aside the curtain that separated the men from the
women, and sigh into the men's shul in an audible
singsong of prayer. When I tried doing the same, though, the
ladies all clucked me away with looks of censure.
Those who came just for Yizkor, always sidled in
appologetically, totally out of place in the shul they
were forced to visit because a religious parent had departed
to another world. I distinctly recall the pathos in their
hesitation, as they paid homage to a G-d they had long
denied. Watching them, I wondered how it was possible for
them to say words that their deeds contradicted. Because to
me, at age twelve, it was all very simple. Either you
believed that there was a G-d and obeyed Him, or there was
nothing and you were free. But, if there was nothing, and you
were free, life was more terrible than the void and chaos of
pre-creation. And then you were really in trouble!
The rebbetzin had her own system of prayer, often, different
than the rebbe's. But, no matter what went on in the men's
shul, in the ladies' she was undisputed authority.
When the rebbetzin stood, all the women stood. When the
rebbetzin bowed, all the women bowed. When the rebbetzin
sighed, all the women sighed. When I, in a surge of youthful
arrogance tried to convince Mamma that she could really sit
down, pushing aside the mechitza to show her that that
was exactly what all the men were doing, Mamma just gave me a
pained look. Regardless of what was taking place in the men's
shul, regardless of what took place in heaven itself, in the
Ladies' Shul, you humbly followed the Rebbetzin's example. In
the brief recess between prayers, the rebbe would speak to
the congregation -- chastising, rebuking, urging each one to
rally to G-d's call. Then, an appeal would follow for the
most pressing charity of the day, and the Torah would be
read, with honors auctioned off to the highest bidders. That
was usually the signal for the kibbitzers to shuffle to the
door for a breath of fresh air. Just as soon as they got
outside, they would buttonhole everyone who passed for the
baseball scores; seeming to be far more concerned with the
outcome of the World Series than that of Judgment Day.
When the prayers resumed, they had to be repeatedly summoned
before they came back inside. All day long the children would
prove their fast by sticking tongues out to one another. If
it was white, you really were fasting. If it was a livelier
shade, you were probably cheating, downing water in the
bathroom, when nobody saw. Such treachery! And on Yom-Kippur,
no less, when G-d's pen was poised to enter all the righteous
in the Book of Life, or if you weren't so righteous, in the
other book, whose name Mamma forbade us to mention. "Don't
ever think of that other book!" she scolded, insisting that
we even think in euphemisms. "Of course we'll all be
inscribed in the Book of Life! Just as soon as we're sorry
for the bad things that we've done and really decide to be
good, G-d accepts our prayers. Although these days are very
serious, they're happy, too, because we're certain that G-d
wants to bless us!" Listening to the rebbe pray, you also
were sure that G-d was going to bless you. His voice was a
violin-string quiver, the words were intense and alive. If
you only let go, your soul would lift up into heaven, and
this is what you saw. The heavens were ablaze with the
urgency of the day, the angels rushed to and fro. In fear and
awe, anxiety and apprehension, mankind stood before its
Master. It was the moment of judgment when G-d searched each
heart, man's deepest thoughts, his innermost fantasies, his
wildest dreams, as well as his every deed and intention. The
prosecution conferred with Satan; the defense summoned man's
deeds to appear. The angels were all trembling. Fright filled
the heights. Judgment Day had come, the day of reckoning for
all man!
The shul was completely silent, noone had to strain to
hear: The rebbe began in a soft whisper, which soon turned
into an empassioned cry. "As the shepherd guides his flock,
leads each sheep beneath his staff, so will the Master reckon
with each man, and judge each living spirit on this day: Who
will live and who will die; who at a ripe old age and who,
plucked from the Tree of Life while not yet ready; who will
perish in water, and who in fire; who in pestilence and who
in hunger; who will be rich and who will be poor; who will
enjoy peace and who will suffer..."
By then, the prayers of the congregants had become a roar.
There were cries of abandon, shouting and moans. Arms reached
out in supplication, heads shook back and forth, There was a
shrill wailing, a choked groaning as everyone unashamedly
bared his soul and stood naked before his Creator, not caring
who witnessed his total submission. For the truth was
suddenly clear; man was but clay in the hands of the Potter;
an infinitesimal speck, as powerless and as insignificant as
the passing shadow, the fleeting dream, the flower that fades
and withers after its hour of bloom.
I pinched aside the mechitza. The men's shul
was an ocean of white talleisim. Like waves, dashing
this way and that, pounding to shore in slamming motion,
everyone was bowing and bending, quaking and trembling in
strange expression of eagerness and intensity. Eyes grimaced,
fists hammered at the air. Laughing faces wept and weeping
faces laughed. The shul was bursting in passion, the
terrible struggle of man searching his soul. Evening shadows
gathered. Night waited to descend. The Day of Awe was ending.
The moment of judgment had come.
The rebbe lifted the shofar. In its frightening
blasts, the call for redemption sounded through the
shul, the promise of a messianic age when G-d's
presence and glory would be welcomed on earth, the dawn of a
day when Man's thoughts and deeds would match the fine
sentiment of his soul, when kindness and goodness, love and
charity would prevail, when G-d's wisdom would fill the earth
and peace would finally reign.
And then the shofar was silent. Spontaneous happiness
filled the shul. People were kissing and embracing,
clasping hands in joyous felicitations. Our prayers had been
accepted. The gates of heaven could close.
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