Late Friday Night Service

 

As a youngster even to recent times, the non-Orthodox congregations held their Friday night services comfortably after supper, typically at 8PM.  They took their chances on competition with the network schedule, That Was the Week that Was in the 1960s, Dallas in the 1970s, all prior to the VCR so gone once missed.  Despite cultural competition, for many shabbos had a priority, or maybe immersion in one's kehillah did.  Bat Mitzvot, including my sister's, took place on Friday night.  In many ways, it was an adaptation to reality, or maybe taking advantage of an opportunity to connect those who would be taking the boys to Little League on Saturday to the congregation.  

At my United Synagogue of America congregation, Friday night had its distinctiveness.  Our clergy were absolutely traditional.  A shabbos or yontif at my shul would be largely indistinguishable from most of the nearby Orthodox places except for mixed seating and an active parking lot.  Yet Friday nights, American culture prevailed.  The liturgy of the Silverman Siddur, fully maintained Saturday morning, gave way to a couple of English responsive readings in lieu of Hebrew.  A volunteer choir conducted by a friend's mother with an organ to provide a subdued continuo engaged a few adult congregants who liked to sing.  For the Bat Mitzvot, the Haftarah found its insertion along with a speech by the girl.  Our Rabbi spoke, not about Torah, but about contemporary issues from civil rights to the challenges of suburban living, though always imparting some aspects of traditional Judaism that underlie the things we pursue as Americans, or often challenge them. An oneg shabbat would follow the service, always pareve in anticipation of the fleishig shabbos dinner that preceeded each service.  Tea, some pastries, some fruit.  It was here that people would mingle, kids segregating among their chums from Hebrew school who would reappear at Junior Congregation the following morning, their parents with each other, and the seniors and Holocaust survivors with each other.  We were multigenerational, though probably not truly intergenerational.  

A weekly event would overwhelm any desire to have outside speakers at each oneg, but with some frequency a short program could be assembled.  We had a variety of speakers including NAACP officials and people of title within the school system.  But we also had events that were more internal, perhaps having the Ramah campers within the congregation do a couple of the dances they would perform each shabbos at camp or one shabbos honoring the congregation's high school seniors after they have made their college choices each May.  People thought about who was in our congregation and what made each subdivision special in its own way.

Across town, in my Jewishly diverse suburb, stood a growing Reform congregation with its iconic Rabbi of decades tenure, outgrowing its home as the GI bill brought secular newly prosperous veterans with growing families to our town.  Their new home opened in better proximity to the many housing developments created in the 1960s.  While that may have been the place we Conservative affiliates would only enter as Bar Mitzvah guests, we all new many dedicated members as families of our public school classmates.  They were similarly engaged in Hebrew School, Bar Mitzvah preparation, their teen group, and often with weekly worship.  Fathers were able to afford the suburban homes from their salaries that they generated as professionals, middle managers, sales representatives, and educators, mostly communting each workday to New York City, some 45 minutes away.  Work imposed its stress, to be relieved by closing time on Friday, heralding a two day respite from their rat race.  Dinner served as a centerpiece, less as shabbos, more as escape.  Their synagogue centered its Sabbath activities around Friday night, allowing for a dinner more elegant than TV dinners which had emerged as dietary staples of the workweek.  Some men made it home in time for their choice of three newscasts, others did not.  The synagogue had one shot per week to get people there for the only regularly scheduled Jewish observance that most would have outside the Holy Days.  Services began at 8 or 8:30PM, mostly English from the Union Prayer book, a message from the Rabbi, then snacks and schmooze.  Saturday went to yardwork or children's extracurriculars, Sunday for Hebrew School and Men's Club perhaps.  That left a very small worship window that had to avoid conflict with the immediate break from the work week.  There would be no second chance on Saturday for most.  Without Late Friday, the synagogue would not have its place as a scheduled destination for nearly as many as it attracted.

Since then some fifty years have passed.  With it came myriad changes.  Bat Mitzvah ceremonies moved to Saturday morning with the boys.  The VCR, and later DVD, enabled people to see the show that conflicted with kabbalat shabbat the following day.  Intermarriage, which had been the focus of many Rabbinical presentations fifty years ago, established itself as common.  In the Conservative communities, threats of shunning and a measure of hostility to the parents of intermarried shifted membership toward the Reform congregations.  Attrition of membership poses a financial threat so congregations shifted into more of an acceptance framework, enabling conversion programs through either the synagogues or through cooperative efforts of regional rabbis.  And those partners who did not choose to convert still had a place in the congregation, while their children could participate in Hebrew School and youth programs, though with some restrictions.  Moreover, as intermarriage became more common, the couples tended to remain in Jewish population centers.  It was the more isolated congregations in Alabama, central Pennsylvania, or the midwest whose Jewish populations depleted, more from migration of offspring than their intermarriage.  Moreover, Jewish university graduation of the next generation became the norm, with job offers far removed from the hometown, lucrative enough to accept despite the distance, and with synagogues benefitting from their newcomers.  Women also obtained advanced schooling with the job offers creating career couples of high salary but time constrained by the diligence required for career advancement.  Late Friday Night services continued to serve as a focus of Jewish affiliation amid these cultural shifts.

It is unclear why the crossover point away from this half century congregational staple occurred, perhaps even when it occurred.  Yet its utility became apparent during my year of Kaddish for my father.  By 2009, only the Reform congregation offered a service at 8PM.  My own shul started at 6PM on Friday evening, mincha during Daylight Savings time, Kabbalat Shabbat during Standard time.  The Conservative congregation had discontinued its late service as well.  Not attending either, I do not know if minyanim regularly materialized, or even if that is the optimal metric of synagogue success, as there always seemed something minimalist about eking out only ten people for what should be a week's highlight.  But as a secular professional, I usually found myself doing the week's final consults or sometimes beginning weekend call for colleagues when my turn arose.  I could get home by 7PM, have supper heated by my wife whose occupational predictability and priorities enabled her to be home by candle lighting, then drive the fifteen minutes in time for the Reform service.  The Union Hymnal had given way to Mishkan Tefillah prayer book, which allowed diversity of liturgy each week.  A security guard greeted me as I entered, then an usher handed me the program as I entered their sanctuary.  Attendance seemed about 50-70 adults most weeks, supplemented by about a dozen children, mostly pre-Bar Mitzvah, who would be called up to the Bimah for Kiddush, then blessed with Birchat Kohanim, as the Rabbi and congregation extended their hands in their direction.  A congregant was assigned candle lighting, irrespective of sundown.  The people there seemed to know the tunes that the congregation used.  Most Friday nights the Rabbi spoke, though on occasion that honor was delegated to a congregant of special knowledge or an outside guest of notable accomplishment.  Kaddish had a certain solemnity, with the Rabbi asking mourners to rise in sequence, from shiva, shloshim, kaddish year, yahrtzeits, and lastly those who want to say kaddish for those who have nobody present to represent them.  Then closing hymm, which varied from one week to the next.  Finally motzi from the Bimah, followed by Oneg in an adjacent room.  If there were to be a Bar Mitzvah the following morning the boy was invariably present and recognized.  As an observer and as a participant, people seemed to enjoy being there.  It also afforded special events, from community partnerships for  MLK Day to an annual Purim Shpiel pageant, which they held the shabbos before Purim.  There was liturgy, but there was also community.  There was a place where members could come at a convenient time for their yahrtzeits, and they did.  We could all enjoy the Cantor's impressive musical repetoire which changed weekly.  And at the Oneg, I could usually anticipate a neighbor or professional colleague in attendance who I had not seen in a while.

This weekly option has mostly disappeared from my community, in toto for several years, but recently reinstated on a limited basis by the local United Synagogue affiliate.  Not having been to any evening service outside of the Holy Days in a while, attending seemed like an opportunity to reacquaint myself with once was, a shift from the formalities of my usual attendance at my own congregation on shabbos morning.  I was not at all disappointed.  There really are things that lend themselves best to the informalities that follow supper for most of us, which may be why at my professional dinners or charitable receptions the keynote speaker arises after everyone has eaten.  Guest speaker highlighting Veterans Day, along with recognition of congregants who had served, common at one time, less so as the military shifted away from conscription.  Musical instruments accompanied the Cantor, who helped memorialize Shlomo Carlebach on his yahrtzeit by incorporating some of his melodies into the Friday night liturgy.  Attenace seemed ample, both in person and via Zoom, something difficult to duplicate when people have to juggle their TGIF with a hastened dinner to worship at the customary times.

Seeing the Late Friday Night shabbos gathering move from the non-orthodox norm to a designated event makes me wonder if its current rarety diminished what suburban congregations once were.  Shabbos is indeed about family dining together in a special way and seeing flaming candles in attractive candle holders.  Motzi over challot is probably common as is kiddush.  But for many families shabbos ends right there.  Doubt the meals include traditional songs as they did at camp or if the children get to learn who Ephraim and Menassheh were as the sons are blessed, though the daughters probably knew of their matriarchs, assuming the blessings are given.  Birchat HaMazon likely not the conclusion of the meal.  And then leisure ends.  Early service before the special dinner so that the meal could be open-ended or compete with the urgency of the TV schedule?  Doubt it for most families.  It would be interesting to poll some of those in attendance at Late Friday Night which I attended to see how their shabbat's compare on the other weeks.  There are just some things Jewish that require removing distractions.  Shabbos in America is probably among those things, with no greater distraction than making shabbos services the first rushed appointment after the work week concludes.  The service times of my youth were chosen to avoid that.  They probably still would.