There are people who have passed it practically every day of their lives and haven't the vaguest notion of its purpose although it had stood there for a good part of the century on the town's main thoroughfare. It has a perfectly good name, Beth Sholom, but much of the mail is addressed to the "Jew Church." But whatever it has not meant to the gentiles, it was the hub around which radiated the lives of the Jewish townspeople.
It is a simple, attractive building in the neo-classical style, a large Star of David the only adornment on each of the stained-glass windows. Entrance is gained through heavy, double wooden doors over which is carved the Decologue. The inside with its warm mahogany woodwork and lofty arched ceiling, is pleasing to the eye though is eerily still, the cold pervasive. The heat has been turned off and pipes drained as an economy measure. The synagogue's only function now, is for the three days of high holidays, and it is doubtful that that will continue for much longer. It has become very difficult to get the required ten men for a minyan. If you stand very quietly, you can conjure up a million memories. They come flooding at you in torrents-the solemnity, the gaiety, the sorrows, the comedy …
There is Mrs. Goodman arriving for Kol Nidre, aided to her seat by her husband. Her whole life has radiated around her illnesses, imagined or real. She never learned that a whole world existed outside of her own body. Everyone knows what to expect of her but if she lives to be a hundred and twenty, she will never understand why people do not react more sympathetically to whatever happens to her and why they avoid her like a plague. If the truth were known, she is barely aware of how they feel. Her head is too full with herself. On this night she is already deathly pale. It will not be long-she has yet to disappoint us. Although it is only a couple of hours since everyone has started to fast, as soon as the rabbi finishes the opening prayer, she will slide to the floor in a dead faint. No one gets frightened-it has become a tradition. The smelling salts are ready and her husband is prepared to escort her home, only a few yards from the synagogue.
On the front bench sits Mrs. Berg, the congregation's matriarch, sobs emanating from the depth of her being. As she reads the Yom Kippur liturgy, she takes every sin listed as her very own-she implores the Almighty to protect everyone from the enumeration of the ghastly means of death that can be visited upon us, who are only flesh and blood. Her sobbing becomes more intense, her body racked by tremendous shuddering. She pleads for atonement for all of Israel.
It is Simchas Torah, the gayest of holidays. Ordinarily quiet, unassuming, introverted Shlomo, plied with drink by the congregants, dances and sings. Everyone is delighted. Who deserves more than he, this one night a year-barely able to eke out a living-a new mouth to feed every couple of years? Tonight belongs to Shlomo.
Little Meyer, so small for a Bar Mitzvah "borcher," stands on the platform ready to deliver the words prepared for him by his teacher. He is bravely holding back the tears of nervousness that threaten to flow any second. His mother, bursting with pride, looks at him with adoration. Her concern that he will be short like the men in her family is banished for this day. She needn't have worried-he will be a six footer at maturity.
For years and years the shul had never been blessed with a wedding. Actually, it was too small for the amount of people a family would invite for the nuptials. Another problem was that there were no accommodations to serve the wedding dinner. So the ceremony was usually performed in a rented hall where the dinner would also be served. Consequently, there was much excitement and joy among the townspeople when Linda announced, room or not, she was getting married in the shul. Despite the fact that the guests were packed in like sardines in a can, it looks like a scene from the Arabian Nights: gossamer wisps of material entwined with pastel shaded flowers bedeck the chupah and the shul. It indeed looks like the setting for a storybook princess.
It is the worst snowstorm of the century. On more man is needed to make up the minyan for Hershel's Bar Mitzvah. It seems that will be impossible. Suddenly, the door flies open and there stands Mr. Hertzberg, the storm whirling about him. He looks like a snowman, icicles hanging from his bushy eyebrows and mustache. He is in his seventies and has trudged, uphill, three miles through he blizzard. Only a man with his deep abiding faith could perform such a feat. A miracle has come to pass.
Itzie and Miriam stand on the "bimah" facing the rabbi. They are being united in holy matrimony. Itzie is already in his fifties. Although his mother has turned away many eligible women, she is getting old and worries that he will be left alone and unable to cope. It is a quickly arranged match, and although they are already standing under the canopy, the mother has misgivings and has instructed the little, wizened rabbi, called out of retirement to perform the ceremony, to make an addition to the traditional vows. The rabbi asks the bride, "Do you promise to be good to your in-laws?" If the truth be known, it helped "ve a taite banches"-like bleeding helps a corpse.
There is Berly tugging at the curtains hung to separate the women from the men as required in the Orthodox tradition. He peers over his dime store glasses, which sit on the bottom of his nose, and looks over the curtains. He likes to look at the women and they knowingly smile at him.
The children are seated around the oblong table, their seders and writing tablets opened before them. Mr. Gold, the teacher hired to instruct the children twice a week in Hebrew subjects, and prepare the boys for Bar Mitzvah, stands at the head of the table. He is pleasant and patient-not the prototype of the European rebbe who thought you could instill knowledge with the aid of a switch. Today the lesson is an explanation of the rules of Kashruth. He tells his pupils that any part of the pig is forbidden: ham, pork, bacon. As he mentions bacon, Ian, the class clown, makes smacking sounds and gleefully rubs his stomach. Mr. Gold gives him a long dark look. The students titter.
Terror overcomes the congregation when Mr. Goldberg, from a neighboring community, who asked if he could attend services, stands up during the solemn prayers of Yom Kippur and loudly proclaims he is taking his family and leaving. He tells those assembled that they are living in the dark ages and he will have no part of it. He considers himself enlightened and takes offense at the separation of the men from the women and the chanting of prayers in the traditional Hebrew. A pall settles over the congregation. …An empty building, inhabited by ghosts from the past.
In the beginning before there was a shul, services were held in the house of one of the members. As the Jewish population grew, a large barn-like structure was rented. When they started to prosper a search committee was formed to seek a suitable building to purchase. This was by no means a simple task. First there was a monetary limitation. There were those on the committee who thought in grandiose terms. Then there were those who looked at the situation more realistically and had to spend much of their time explaining that the whole affair had to be approached modestly. There was also the problem of location; each committee member desiring it to be in close proximity to his home. Finally a compromise was struck and moderation reigned: a building at a moderate price in a central location and to top it off, a mitzvah earned. The building purchased: a barroom!! What better deed than to turn a saloon into a house of worship, ranking only second to turning a church into a synagogue.
The preparation for the dedication of the shul was the most exciting event the Jewish community ever participated in. There was a committee for every eventuality: program, entertainment, refreshments, invited guests. The day of the happy event arrived; every member of every family was bedecked in his or her finest clothes. The weather matched everyone's mood: warm and bright. The line of the procession started at the home of the member who donated the Torah. He carried the Scrolls at the head of the line of march. With him, the invited rabbis and honored guests representing neighboring congregations and Jewish affiliated organizations. A band imported from Boston followed playing appropriate marshal music. Young Mutke carried a velvet pillow upon which was placed the key to the building. Then followed the rest of the congregation with their families and friends. Many gentile townspeople gathered on the sidewalks and watched the parade, wondering why there was no statue of the Virgin. Handbills were distributed inviting everyone to join the celebrants. The inducement of promised refreshments and entertainment enticed a few of the more daring of the onlookers to join the group.
It was a plain wooden building, indistinguishable from the others around it. The key was handed to the eldest of the visiting rabbis. He had the honor of officially opening the shul. Everyone crowded into the building-there was barely room to move. No one took notice that the Oran Kadesh, where the Scroll was placed, was on the north wall instead of the prescribed eastern wall. Who in the congregation knew north from east-they were men of business, not astronomers?
The shul Sylvia Lisnoff writes about is now only a memory.
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