Singing Too Loudly
In the musical Gypsy, the mother of all stage mothers shouts at the top of her lungs “Sing out, Louise! Sing out!” Mama Rose’s advice and her delivery may be strident, but after my experiences in shul this past high holiday season, I think it is a refrain that we could stand to hear more frequently.
I want to share an incident that occurred during Kol Nidre services at a Conservative synagogue in a major city that shall remain nameless. Kol Nidre coincided with the beginning of Shabbat, so I was particularly energized. Despite its solemnity I always have found the Day of Atonement moving and aweinspiring, one of the few times during the year when I truly feel close to God. While I could do without the fasting, the intense praying and self-examination move me and it is through song that I feel most connected to a sense of transcendent spirituality. I tend to participate in services wholeheartedly – you might even say loudly. I do it not to make a scene, not when it might be inappropriate, but when the congregation is called on to participate. And in fact I am a good singer. In such moments, when the music is most moving, I feel most connected to the liturgy, to Judaism, and to God.
On this night, though, something happened to me for the first time. Someone turned around and told me to lower my voice, because, he said, I was “singing too loudly.”
I was shocked and hurt. I was in the house of God and I had to be quiet? “Shout unto the Lord, all the earth; break forth and sing for joy, yea, sing praises,” Psalm 98 says. Yet on this day, when the spirituality of Kol Nidre was mixed with the joy of Shabbat, being told not to sing was like having the spiritual wind kicked out of me. So hurt was I that I abandoned my prime seat to stand at the back, where I felt I could sing more unobtrusively.
Having been chastised, I asked myself, was I singing too loudly? I had once sung the Verdi Requiem (talk about loud), and that definitely wasn’t the voice I use in synagogue. As I looked around and listened to my fellow congregants, I understood how I might have been singing too loudly, because they were barely singing at all. Indeed, the man who told me to simmer down hadn’t opened his mouth all night. Most people seemed bored, confused, or lost. Noticing that, I wondered what I was doing in this synagogue to begin with.
Part of me was ready to dismiss the man as an anomaly, an isolated case. Maybe he was in a bad mood. Maybe he had sensitive ears. While I was hurt by his words, I began to feel sorry for him because I can only assume that he has never experienced the true religious joy that can come from singing loudly to God. And I’m sure he is not alone. What is ironic is that despite the way many Conservative Jews turn their noses up at Reform Judaism, Conservative Jews themselves have adopted the apathetic style of prayer typical of so many Reform services. Reform Judaism modeled its synagogues on Protestant churches, where the clergy faced passive congregants sitting in pews, a setup all too familiar today.
The problem of once-a-year Jews is hardly new. Just a week earlier, at Rosh Hashanah services, the rabbi at the same unnamed urban synagogue encouraged people to introduce themselves to their neighbors. The sanctuary was filled with noise and chatting. “When I was younger,” the rabbi said, “the synagogue sounded like this all the time, not because people were talking, but because they were participating. I urge you all to participate a little more vocally.” I almost shouted “Amen!” Sadly, the rabbi’s words made little difference.
Why is it that Conservative congregations are so reserved and inhibited? A visit to an Orthodox synagogue often reveals that they – the men, at any rate – can daven with true spiritual fervor. If I didn’t find their gender and sexual politics distasteful, I might be there now. And while Reform Judaism, the movement in which I was raised, might be lacking in ritual observance, singalongs and innovations in Jewish choral music have made its services a musical feast.
But because I agree with much of Conservative ideology, here I sit, singing too loudly, in a sea of non-singers. I raise all these points out of concern for Conservative Judaism. Not long ago, at the same unnamed Conservative urban synagogue, I was involved in a discussion bemoaning the decline of the Conservative movement. Intermarriage and secular life were frequently blamed, but at no point did anyone point a finger at the Conservative movement for allowing itself to fall into a state of apathy. While there are of course some vibrant, even boisterous Conservative synagogues, by and large the majority are like my unnamed urban synagogue. Why would anyone want to be there just to sit passively, or worse, told to be quiet?
You might ask why I was at this service in the first place. Truth be told, I was an interloper of sorts. Some friends and I lead an independent egalitarian traditional havurah in my city for 20- and 30-somethings. We meet once a month on Friday evenings to sing and welcome in Shabbat with the standard liturgy and an occasional dvar torah. People come to daven, to affirm their commitment to Judaism, and to sing, loudly, often in harmony! It is a joyous place, truly a glimpse into gan eden, the garden of Eden, that Shabbat promises every week. And we are not the only local havurah; another one gathers more than 50 active participants twice a month, indicating a true thirst for this type of worship.
When people ask why I want to be part of a havurah, the answer is easy. Because it’s lay-led. The community cannot afford to be passive or the havurah will fall apart. Like most havurot, though, ours does not have the resources to host high holiday services, and so I, like many of my fellow havurah members, find myself scrambling to synagogues for the holidays.
I’m not anti-synagogue, but I wish that Conservative synagogues would be more inviting, more participatory, more exciting. Perhaps that is the reason why so many people are flocking to havurot and minyanim all over the country. Younger people do want to daven, but they want communities that are vibrant and active. When people question the future of organized Judaism, I ironically think it’s the synagogues themselves that are to blame. More cantors, rabbis, and yes, congregants, must urge people to participate. Think about Baptist churches and gospel choirs – I wish that we had that abandon and could sing openly and feel the spirit when we pray.
In my havurah there is a lovely, smart, and sensitive man who is also, sad to say, musically challenged. Yet, consciously or not, he sings and davens loudly with everyone else. While it’s true that pitch and tunefulness are nice, I never would ask him to lower his voice, because when I watch him I can tell that he truly is communing with God. Davening, for him, really is a religious experience. And in the end, isn’t that what’s important? Singing in shul is not about musicality or pitch. It’s about celebrating God and Judaism.
My pitch-challenged friend sings on and on, and all I can think, is “Sing out, Louise! Sing out!” Each of us could stand to sing out more each and every day.
Warren Hoffman holds a PhD in Jewish American literature from the University of California- Santa Cruz. He’s taught at the University of Delaware, Hunter College, and Rutgers University, and his book on queer Jewish culture is forthcoming from Syracuse University Press. He’s performed at Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center but loves singing in synagogue best of all.
