The Movement for Reform Judaism

It is a very powerful and moving experience to be giving this keynote address on an occasion when the new Siddur is being used in the presence of the leadership of the Movement. In one sense the new Siddur is the product of eight years of sustained work, but in actuality, from a personal standpoint, it is the result of a process of learning and experimentation and risk-taking that has covered more than thirty years of my rabbinic career.  

When my friend and colleague Lionel Blue invited me to help him work on the then ‘new Shabbat and Daily prayer book’ for the Reform Synagogues of Great Britain in the early seventies, we little realised that this would in turn lead to two further volumes and this latest work. I’ve often told the story. There was already in existence a prayer book committee, made up of elderly German rabbis of the refugee community, but some dissatisfaction had been expressed about their feel for contemporary English. Rabbi Dr van der Zyl spoke to Lionel and said something to the effect: ‘You went to Oxford, why don’t you try out a few translations?’ And Lionel said to me:  ‘You write songs, why not translate some of the poetry?’ The rest, as they say, is history.   

Lionel brought many gifts to the task, above all a deep-seated spirituality and a rich prayer life.   His concern was always to ask whether the classical prayers that we were invited to translate actually spoke to a contemporary reality. If not, why bother with preserving them?  I, on the other hand, being very insecure in my first years at the Leo Baeck College, wanted to preserve every single traditional word and phrase, and, in my translations, every conceivable nuance in the Hebrew. Out of our challenging personal struggles, there emerged what became a much-loved prayer book for a new generation.   

Just how much it was loved became clear when a new Prayer Book Editorial Board undertook the task of revising it. For those who couldn’t see the point there was the familiar oft-repeated plea:  if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! There were concerns expressed about the desire to recast the English so as to be more gender inclusive – accusations of the sin of ‘political correctness’ abounded when the first draft appeared. When a familiar text is changed there are always accusations that the new version is clumsy, or bad English – and indeed in the experimental phase this may well be the case. Incidentally we were grateful for and accepted many suggestions for improvements from congregants. Nevertheless it is surprising how soon familiarity makes the new version if not ‘good English’, at least ‘comfortable English’. At least that was our experience with the 1977 edition at the time, and I hope it will be the case with this new edition.      

Perhaps it is important to note already that with a few exceptions, the issues around inclusive language, the addition, for example, of the matriarchs to the Amidah, and other such innovations, have been largely accepted. In part this is because such changes have already been around for some time, and anyway we have undergone major changes in our wider society and culture that make the older assumptions and concerns feel unnecessarily conservative and even largely irrelevant. That is not to say that battles were not fought in many congregations, and work needs to be done to heal rifts and support those hurt by the changes. One does not easily let go of a lifetime’s  experience, values and assumptions. If the new Siddur cannot also offer in time familiarity and consolation as well as challenge, then we have certainly failed in our task.   

Of course once the work of the editorial board began in earnest and the first experimental draft, and then the second draft, went into regular use, we began to recognise many other things that had to change, simply because today’s movement and our Jewish and the wider society, had indeed moved from where they were thirty years ago. But the changes were subtle, not radical.   

Firstly there has emerged a far greater liturgical conservatism that affects all our progressive movements. There is a widespread desire to reclaim parts of the tradition that had been lost or set aside by earlier generations. The reasons for this are varied. Somewhere there remains anxiety about being ‘authentic’, of proving the degree to which we in the Reform Movement are firmly located within the tradition, though that is also less of an issue than for previous generations. On the other hand, there is a recognition that we do wish to feel at home in any kind of synagogue service wherever a Jewish community exists, so that common bonds of language, texts, patterns of worship and nusach, should unite us. At the very least we should not feel ignorant or uncomfortable when joining other communities at prayer.

I think this reflects a deeper but paradoxical reality that affects us. It has been said that we live in a post-denominational Jewish world. While there may be relatively clear-cut divisions between the various institutionalised forms of Judaism, whether calling themselves Reform, Liberal, Conservative, Masorti, Reconstructionist or Jewish Renewal, an individual during his or her lifetime may move comfortably between any of these movements or even into and out of some form of Orthodoxy. Such moving around may simply depend on geographical chance – you join the nearest synagogue whatever it happens to be, or the one where your friends belong. There may also be an element of temperament in the choice, or change of choice, over time. We also know that a broigus can lead not only to the departure of members but even the creation of a new synagogue around the corner. 

We live in a world of consumer choice, so it is no surprise that we are equally choosy when it comes to our spiritual needs, finding them where we want, and changing when they no longer fit us as circumstances in our life change. In such a climate a prayer book has to fit a greater variety of situations, types of service, professionally or lay led, and a wider range of needs than before. Moreover, since many today have a deep ambivalence about their commitment to Judaism as a spiritual option, a different kind of access to the content and meaning of the prayers themselves is also needed, simply in order to catch and then sustain interest.   

What emerged from discussions with rabbis and congregational leaders at a very early stage was the large variety of kinds of service currently available in our congregations. They ranged from what we might call ‘traditional Reform’ to experimental ‘alternative’ services, some following a much more traditional format, some chavurah-style, others more experiential and personal. Though this variety could just about be contained within the existing Siddur, it became clear that a different kind of structure, which was more inclusive in materials, but more open to choice and flexibility of use, was required. This I believe we have achieved. It was brought home to me when two very different congregations complained that they had used the new draft, and it was exactly like using the old Siddur – so why had we bothered to do a new one! That two such radically different services could be derived comfortably from the same draft was proof, even if in the form of a backhanded compliment, that we were on the way to the right degree of flexibility and balance.  

Certainly people have welcomed the greater emphasis on the structure of the service and the sign-posting, already clear in the draft and more so in the final version. What has already emerged, from those congregations that have used the final draft for any length of time, is that more people have felt empowered when leading services to be selective in what was included and to enjoy the possibility of choice, but also to recognise the responsibility to study and prepare that comes with it.     

If the Siddur has to address the belief that we are post-denominational, it must also deal with the other view, that we are ‘post-modern’. Since there are any number of ways of defining this phenomenon, assuming it exists, assuming that we are not already post-post-modern, I will only address one element that seems to be relevant for our subject.   It has to do with a disturbing new reality, disturbing at least for those who in the past felt secure in a well-defined set of ‘progressive’ Jewish positions. Even thirty years ago things were changing, but it was still possible to be clear about Reform views of things like the revelation at Sinai – historically probably not true, but an acceptable folk belief that should not be over-stressed;  the messiah – no belief in a personal messiah, but in a messianic age to be reached through human achievement and by social evolution not revolution;  no desire to rebuild the Temple and reinstitute animal sacrifices, so the less said about this, and the less the liturgy that referred to it,  the better; discomfort with angels and other supernatural elements, so simply banish them from the liturgy;  no clear idea about the resurrection of the dead, so at the most radical, replace the concept with phrases like mechayeh et ha-kol, ‘giving life to everything’, or our own careful English translation, ‘giving life beyond death’.  (I was always amused  by formulations like ‘the hope of immortality’ which seemed rather mean. If you are going to include the concept in your liturgy, then you might as well affirm it without reservation and be done with it.  I still recall a World Union for Progressive Judaism conference where a nervous colleague leading the service misread the phrase as ‘the hope of immorality’.) 

Today in our post-post-modern world, alongside all these once clear formulations of progressive thought, we find ourselves living with a plurality of beliefs, many of which are mutually contradictory, but which we seem able to hold together without too much difficulty. We can sing ‘v’zot ha-torah asher sam moshe lifnei v’nei yisrae’el’ ‘this is the Torah which Moses set before the Children of Israel’, without feeling that we have betrayed our historical consciousness. We can restore the Musaf service as an option, provided we make it speak about a future meeting for all faiths in Jerusalem, not in a rebuilt Temple with a reinstituted sacrificial cult. So we are either in a situation where we have somehow betrayed the beliefs for which our progressive ancestors fought, or we have reached some sort of intellectual compromise with them, or we have simply accepted that we can live with a multitude of different traditions, beliefs and affirmations, putting as much or as little credence in them as we wish and as circumstances dictate. 

Of course we have to accept as well that almost more important than the content of much of what we say in our liturgy is the tune with which we chant or sing it. That has probably always been the case of course – think of Kol Nidre, once banned by our Reform ancestors or replaced with words to fit the melody. But this aspect reflects the view that rather than the principles of coherence, rationality and systematisation of belief of an earlier period, our priority today is far more to give people a sense of belonging, of participating and of finding emotional sustenance in a community at prayer. That is where we are and much of the concerns behind the creation of the new Siddur, including the controversial issue of transliteration, has to do with creating a framework where people can feel at home and comfortable.

I personally think that this is very important, but for a deeper reason. In the past it was clear that taking part in religious worship was a duty and a religious responsibility. The halakhic expectation that we would dedicate time to God in this way was the rationale for attendance. It was probably never a mere legal formality. The sense of community, sometimes the effect of the singing, or a moment of insight or uplift, might affect us at any time. But clearly we were there for the service, not the service there for us. Today, of course, the sense of things is reversed. We are more inclined to ask whether the service ‘worked’ for us, than whether we ‘worked’ for the service. This is neither a good nor a bad thing. It is simply a product of the way we are conditioned by so many aspects of our lives today. So, without reducing the entire service to a branch of the entertainment industry – fortunately we are not yet good enough performers to manage that – at least we know that we have a responsibility to be welcoming, and that the experience should be enjoyable on many levels.  

My deeper point is the following. In our society we are peculiarly unprepared for dealing with the difficulties and tragedies and traumas of life. We lack very often the kind of testing that came in earlier societies from the mere struggle to survive and the hands-on experience of all aspects of life and death. We are protected from many things, and when certain inevitable challenges confront us, be they because of illness or death, we find ourselves looking around for support. But we are often unable to find it in the one place where we might expect it, in the synagogue, because we have never been engaged with it. Here I do not only mean the practical involvement with the organisation and activities, important though these are, but the regular participation in worship services. Because that participation gives us a vocabulary of prayer, a repertoire of melodies, moods and language, that can be there for us when we need them. In some ways, regular attendance at synagogue, or even a regular private prayer life, is a kind of inoculation.  We store up resources, emotional and spiritual, to which we can turn. This is not to guarantee anything, but simply an additional dimension to our personal, human and spiritual resources, supported, of course, by the additional set of relationships that the synagogue community offers.

I suppose that I have stressed this in particular because of the considerable thought that has gone into preparing the life-cycle section of the new Siddur. I am very conscious that we have only touched on the surface of this matter in the Siddur itself, partly because of time and space constraints, partly because there is a lot of work still to be done, and the need eventually for a private kind of prayer book that addresses these areas.   

In some ways this brings me back to the starting point and the initial perception of Lionel Blue. Neither of us at the time could or would claim to be versed in the academic study of liturgy. Indeed in this respect we are already products of a different generation and culture than the one schooled in the Wissenschaft des Judentums, the scientific study of Judaism, that informed the liturgical work especially of the pre-war German generation. Nor were we altogether anarchic, merely less bothered with the scholarly aspects of liturgical revision, relying instead on readily available standard texts. So the approach has always been – what do people need in a prayer book?  And if we can identify that need, how can we tailor the liturgy to meet that need?   Lionel is fond of quoting Leo Baeck as saying to him once that Judaism should be his home, not his prison.  

I suppose the same principle operates in the composition of liturgy, especially in exploring new areas where prayers could be helpful, it too should be a home, not a prison.  I want to draw attention to another area, namely the work of compiling the Study Anthology.  The need for such an anthology grew organically out of the creative innovations in the 1977 edition. Once we had re-introduced the traditional blessing to be recited before study, absent in the 1930 edition, and inserted some possible study passages, it became obvious that these would soon become over-familiar and need to be supplemented by additional texts, hence the Study Anthology was born. But what to include?  The themes of the Shabbat services determined broadly the areas to be explored. We saw the value in including some of the classical passages from Jewish tradition which in turn reinforced our growing awareness of the potential of the Siddur as an educational tool as well. But the need to speak to contemporary issues as well meant an exploration of modern authors, initially within the ranks of Jewish thinkers who had worked within the normative tradition, notably Martin Buber’s exploration of Chasidism, Leo Baeck as one of our own great teachers, and Abraham Joshua Heschel for his spiritual insights. But intuitively we recognised that the Jewish contribution to modernity had ranged far and wide, well beyond the conventional Jewish framework. So obvious figures like Freud and Kafka came to mind for possible inclusion, but also many others, writers, poets and scholars who had entered new areas of thought, and indeed helped to define the twentieth century. The distance of many of them from organised Jewish life, and even their antipathy to it, itself offered a legitimate reflection of the ambiguities and uncertainties we face today with our Jewish identity.

It also seemed important to celebrate some of our own UK Reform figures. In fact I became conscious at the time of the need to create our own ‘mythology’ as a movement, so the writings of Rabbi Dr van der Zyl, of Rabbi Dr Maybaum, of Dr Ellen Littmann and other of our rabbis and teachers were explored for appropriate quotes. I must add, as well, that a few of my own whimsical interests were smuggled in, most notably when it came to musicians, performers and entertainers. Some people were puzzled to find the late, great Bud Flanagan in the anthology, even through he was a Jewish man born as Robert Winthrop, but he was a friend of my father and came to my Barmitzvah. Moreover he fitted in very well alongside a Talmudic story about the value of entertainers in making peace between people and a saying by Nachman of Bratslav about the importance of creating joy. In fact the anthology, as a whole had a surprising coherence, reflecting a kind of eclectic, contemporary religiosity. I was fascinated and moved to find many passages quoted as illustrative material in a recent book on contemporary Jewish philosophy.

The process of compiling the anthology had a further unexpected consequence. When it came to working on the High Holyday volume and later the Pilgrim Festival Machzor, I began with the anthology in both cases, which helped clarify the themes to be explored as the contents of the services developed, and both volumes have developed their unique quality through the process.  For the new Siddur the colleagues were invited to decide which passages from the existing book had stood the test of time and should be included again, and which should now be set aside. A surprising number survived the passage of time, and to them have been added major new passages, including, of course, a brand new section on Jewish liturgy itself. I hope they fulfil the same educational, but also experiential, role as in the previous edition. 

One other area was highly contested.  If the book was to meet the needs of a wide range of people, what about those who felt uncomfortable with the language of the liturgy itself, its view of God’s role in Jewish history, the certainties, especially about divine intervention in personal life, embedded in almost every page of the Siddur? This issue was only gradually clarified at the time when the major work of the Siddur was almost completed. We had fulfilled our brief to provide a range of services that could offer direct continuity with the previous book, and also allow for more traditional and more creative options. But where could people turn for more challenging questions to the classical texts, or indeed find alternative prayers that reflected different perceptions and needs. By the time this question was fully formed we were under time and space constraints with the book. But clearly this was an area that had to be addressed, and this was indeed now possible precisely because the solid core of the services had been established. One option was to create a full alternative liturgy, but it became obvious that for such a service to be effective it would need the same degree of experimentation, trial and consultation as everything else in the book. In the end we created a section of ‘reflections’ where newly composed passages, some of which ‘deconstructed’ the traditional texts, or appropriate existing more meditative materials, were provided as options to be used together with or instead of the classical prayers. Like the life cycle work, this represents an important innovation that we hope will spark further explorations and creativity. A small menorah beside a prayer indicates the page where an alternative text can be found. 

I have described some of the many practical considerations, and some of the ideological debates, in a series of diaries composed while the work was being undertaken. The Siddur is now out in the world and like any child must make its way whatever the hopes and fears of its ‘parents’. Like the work of the 1977 edition it has also been the product of debates, struggles and hard won arguments. I hope that every one who has contributed, whether from the Editorial Board, the Assembly of Rabbis, the Steering Commmittee or congregational membership, will recognise something of their own personal input in the finished work, and accept with generosity the suggestions that did not get included. For the sake of the whole we have all had to make ‘holy compromises’. It is always a delicate matter on occasions like this to single out individuals for thanks. The acknowledgment section in the Siddur covers the ground. But I would be remiss in my duty, and in my personal gratitude, if I did not mention the core team that finally held the whole task together and made this occasion possible. Without the extraordinary artistic and design skills of Marc Michaels, and a dedication to the project far beyond the call of duty, the layout with all its complexity, subtlety and practicality would never have come about. Rabbi Stephen Katz held together a team of gifted and knowledgeable rabbis and lay representatives with great tact, patience and good humour. Jenny Pizer was not only our liaison throughout with the leadership of the Movement, but the one who undertook all the complex negotiations with various possible printers and saw the finished task through. Above all, without Rabbi Elaina Rothman and her solid driving force to keep all parts of the project going, despite any number of setbacks along the way, we would still be looking at proofs and wondering if we would ever finish. It is a tribute to the Movement that it can call on such gifted and dedicated people.

I know that some of us are already feeling a kind of ‘post-partum depression’! For all of us involved in this project over more than seven years, it has been a very important part of our lives, one of those rare opportunities to harness creativity, spirituality and practical skills in the service of our faith in God and the destiny of the Jewish people. Spelling this out sounds grandiose, but all of us have been touched by the seriousness of our task, and we can only pass it from our hands in the hope that it will touch the lives of others.