Leading Monday services #2

This past Monday morning I led as the cantor for the student led Shacharit services at HUC. My partner was a rabbinical student named Rachel. We began planning this service about 6-7 weeks ago. Let me tell you, those weeks fly by fast!

While I hesitate to say that we had a theme (it's sort of like saying theme in relation to b'nai mitzvah. No, I'm not doing an "under the sea" theme. I'm going to be a bat mitzvah. My theme is entering Jewish adulthood) we had a focus of connections running throughout the service. It sprung from the prayer in the Shacharit (morning) service called Asher Yatzar. In this prayer, we thank God for all of the miraculous connections in our body, for without even one of them functioning we would not be in trouble. We decided to focus on the different connections in our lives: connections to God, our loved ones, ourselves, to music.

A few weeks ago I recieved from the URJ a weekly email called "Ten Minutes of Tefillah." The cantor who wrote it focused exactly on Asher Yatzar and had a mp3 link to Debbie Friedman's setting of Asher Yatzar and Elohai Neshama. Although I'm not particularly fond of her voice, the actual piece is gorgeous. It is a very simple melody that ultimate combines to become a duet. My idea was to include this in my service. However, I wanted to make it a bit more unusual and rather than the second part being sung, I decided to ask one of my classmates (a rabbinical student named Jim) to play the clarinet for me. Rachel is also very musically talented so she added a guitar and our accompaniest played the piano as well. All together the voice and instruments made such a lovely balance. It was so much fun to imagine it in my head and then hear it come to fruition.

Jumping off of the clarinet idea, I immediately though of klezmer music. I was able to find a fantastic opening niggun to use the with the clarinet and I decided to conclude the service with Ami Aloni's Adon Olam. The klezmer sound with such a fun connection to our musical Jewish past and also a generally fantastic way to begin the morning in my opinion. Adon Olam has become one of my favorite pieces now. I kept on expecting an old Hassidic rabbi to pop out from behind a curtain and start dancing.

Another special part of the service was right before the mourners' Kaddish. Rachel had heard a poem called The Lanyard by Billy Collins (read by rabbi) and thought it was the perfect setting for our idea of connections. We read it right before the Kaddish and had many people in tears (I, having heard it in rehearsal many times, also got a bit choaked up). It was an incredible moment. The poem is pasted below.

The Lanyard – Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

The service ended and I was immediately sad that it was over. I had such fun standing on the bimah, leading my peers in prayer, praying myself, and making gorgeous music. The kahal (congregation) began singing along altogether during Elohai Neshama and it was an overwhelming moment to hear everyone join in. I half wanted to cry and half wanted to laugh, but ended up just continuing to sing. It was a beautiful moment for me.

It's moments like these that makes me so incredibly excited to become a cantor and to begin a student pulpit next year.

Below are pictures that have absolutely nothing to do with my service. These two pictures were taken by a social worker at Nofei Yerushalayim, the nursing home I volunteer at.

One of the residents began dancing with a nurse. It was so sweet. I must say, it's a bit difficult to sing when you want to cry from joy.

Hope you're having a wonderful week!
Sarah