Into the Field

Into the field. Into the parking lot, out onto porches and into backyards: it’s in these spaces that I`ve been able to connect with this community, and where we all have been trying to be there for each other, safely, in-person.

How strange for me, as I have begun my time here at Anshe Sholom B’nai Israel seeing how little time I have actually spent inside shul. Instead, as social distancing has become the norm to preserve our health and the health of our loved ones, over the past weeks some of us have begun to leave the four walls of our private domains, and re-enter into an altered, masked and socially- distanced communal space.

This altered communal space holds so much grief: for loved ones lost, for those who have fallen ill, for those who have lost jobs or relationships, and so much more. We grieve for loss of the reality we knew before.

It also holds great uncertainty. So much is unknown. When will this end? What will we, our community, and the world at large look like when we emerge on the other side?

Grounding in the present, seeing what’s in front of us and what’s available to us here and now is one tool for calming this anxiety. To stop thinking into the past or future, and seeing what’s here in the present. What’s possible, what is in my power to do- right in this very moment?

I want to share with you a teaching which I believe shows how God actually models for us this grounding in the here in now, in this season of teshuva.

God’s Kingship is a theme that we highlight throughout this season of repentance and into the new year. On Rosh Hashanah, we imagine God as a King sitting on the majestic thrones of Judgement or Mercy. But in the season leading up to the Days of Awe, God’s Kingship manifests differently.

Rav Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the Alter Rebbe, offered us the following metaphor:

One might have thought that the strong emphasis on “ God as our King” during our High Holiday davening is a way of establishing boundaries and distance- God is the King who is unapproachable, only hearing our prayers from behind palace doors, but never coming down to our level to meet us face to face. The Alter Rebbe teaches us that this is not so. The King to whom we address our prayers during the Yamim Noraim is right here next to us, accessible, even coming into the fields to meet us there and stand by our sides as we express our hopes and fears for the new year.We have been going into the field to pray, and at this time of the year, God comes into the field as well.

While it might seem like a novel idea, as we have been going out into the field to pray to avoid spread of droplets in closed spaces, this practice of going outside of shul to pray has precedence in the mishna.

In times of crisis, the mishna teaches, the community declares a ta’anit, a fast. Though obviously we do not fast on Rosh Hashanah- the resemblance of the scene set in mishna Taanit to the prayer we’ll be doing this Rosh Hashanah is striking to me.

The scene of a public fast in a time of crisis is described in Mishna Taanit as follows:

The following mishnayot continue to describe that the prayer leader recites the standard amidah but adds six additional berachot - Zikhronot and Shofarot - the 2 of middle sections from our Rosh Hashanah Mussaf davening. (Mishna Taanit 2:2-3)

Why does the mishna mandate this practice of taking our prayers out into the street in times of crisis?

Being outside, going out of our four-walls to be exposed to the outside world forces us to reflect on our vulnerability, and our place in the broader context of existence. This shift instills in us humility, it forces us to recognize our smallness in relation to the world, our vulnerability. It also forces us to ask and clarify for ourselves: out in the field, with externalities stripped away, what do I really need?

This time has forced us to turn inward, with all the time spent inside on our own or with only a small circle of people. It has forced us to ask in many areas of our lives: what so I really need to be okay, to be healthy? What do I need to keep me going, to keep me feeling connected?

Communicating with the people in our lives from underneath masks and from six feet apart it has also forced us to listen more closely: What are the needs of others? How can I reach them?

Having just recently joined this community, I am inspired by the efforts I have seen - of people reaching out from their own isolation to meet the needs of others, to imagine what the other is going through and to try to create initiatives to SHOW UP for one another.

So the thing that’s grounding me in all this uncertainty is this: What do I really need, simply, in this moment? what resources do I have right in front of me to help me through? What power is in my hands, right now, to connect?

And though we have all been struggling with feelings of helplessness, we do have power in this very moment.

We have the power to support others: We have the power to send an email, a text, make that phone call- to remind someone they are not alone in their solitude, and that they are loved. We have the power- as I`ve seen in the wonderful community initiatives going on- to deliver notes, small packages, buy groceries, arrange meals and opportunities to safely socialize for those who may be on their own for the chagim. We have the power to show up and make a parking-lot minyan so people who are in mourning can recite the kaddish in community.

We have the power to reach into ourselves. We can identify inner strength we didn’t know we had. The inner resources in this moment: our ability to hope and imagine a healed world, our ability to pray and connect to myself and to God. The ability to comfort and ground ourselves in the present: the feeling of this breath as I inhale and exhale, the feeling of the warmth of the sun or the fresh air on our skin, the sound of music or a loved one’s voice.

And what does a Jew really need on Rosh Hashanah, simply?

The triumphant and jubilant sounds of us coronating God on Judgement Day are profound and impactful. We usually daven in a beautiful prayer space filled with colorful stained glass, rich fabrics and embroidery, and silver trappings. We sing together in harmony, with prayer leaders singing out energetic, familiar, beautiful melodies.

But this year, we can’t all be together in the beautiful shul space, we can’t sing out the way we want, we can’t gather ברוב עם, with the throngs of people befitting greeting our King on Rosh Hashanah.

But as we grieve our usual grand Rosh Hashanah experience, we remember that God has come from the palace to join us in the field.

God is modeling spiritual simplicity for us.

Because what does a Jew like me really need to make Rosh Hashanah happen?

My voice, to pray inwardly or outwardly. My hopes and dreams and fears for myself, my loved ones, my community, the world. My sadness, my grief, my pain. This year as we go out to pray in the field, we know God has come to stand right there simply beside us. We put our hope before God, and everything else we experience too. And as the mishna teaches- we’ve been here before, with ashes on our heads- and God was there too, with ashes on His.

What does a Jew really need to make Rosh Hashanah happen?

Just me, and God: I’ll meet you in the field.