It is not easy to make room for God in today’s world. Distractions, divisions, and drudgery are in opposition to awe and wonder. With mixed messages about the possibilities of the future, the present fills with work and stress, pushing aside recovery and gratitude. There are moments when it may be easy to feel blessed or to offer thanks, but too often those moments do not abide long enough to feel God with us.
In welcoming the Jewish Sabbath last week, I was struck by an insight of the 16th-century mystics who developed much of what Friday night services look like in the Jewish world. At the end of the 15th century, the Jewish world was turned upside down by Inquisitions. A world of poetic, philosophical, and scientific exchange with Muslim and Christian neighbors became a world of persecution, exile, and isolation. In that difficult space, Rabbi Isaac Luria and others drew on the Jewish spiritual tradition. They imagined Shabbat as a wedding between God and the Jewish people, dressing in white, and walking out of doors to offer greetings to the Sabbath Bride (God). They, who had so many reasons to turn away from God, went and brought God in.
What made me realize that their devotions were from a place of pain? I always knew the history; but when thinking through the liturgy and practices, I would somehow forget the context. Last week, though, I could not forget. Last week, before services started someone shared that they had a hard week and thought synagogue might help. Last week, I was thinking about someone else who was struggling and found help in a crowd.
Last week, Kabalat Shabbat (literally, receiving the Sabbath) — the service on Friday night created by those mystics — felt like a standing ovation. The very idea of going out to receive Shabbat, especially when God’s presence has felt negative or absent, felt parallel to the effort by Phillies fans to lift up Trea Turner during his slump. Both efforts more than worked.
Not only has Trea Turner improved immensely over the homestand that started that Friday, but the whole team has also been boosted. The folks who attended services with me that Friday, all of us felt better about our week having spent time making room for God and each other. It reminds me of Exodus 25:8 where God tells Moses, “Let them make me a Holy-Shrine that I may dwell amidst them.” Everett Fox chooses “Holy-Shrine” as a translation of mikdash (“caused to be holy”) rather than sanctuary to make clear it is less about a physical space. The text nods to the importance of not being focused on the place since God indicates God will dwell amidst them, the Israelites, not it, the sanctuary. So, too, a standing ovation makes room for holiness and for the Divine to dwell among people connected to one another.
I happened to be at Citizens Bank Park on Wednesday night, Aug. 9, when the Phillies made history again and again. After the game, I watched the replay on tv. Being at the Bank was much louder and much more moving. The fans, myself included, were overjoyed for Wes Wilson when he hit a homerun in his first at bat. Ditto for Nick Castellanos hitting his 199th and 200th career homeruns. And every out of the seventh and eighth inning and every strike of the ninth inning pitched by Mike Lorenzen was greeted with cheers that increased in volume. I lost my voice, and I found my soul screaming. Lorenzen said the “fans are a part of the team.” I believe more than ever in the power of being a fan, of my team, of my people, and of God. Being part of a fan base willing to give a standing ovation, even or especially when things are bad, is like making a Holy-Shrine; that is when God dwells in us.
About Rabbi Jeremy Winaker
Rabbi Jeremy Winaker is the executive director of the Greater Philadelphia Hillel Network, responsible for West Chester University, Haverford, Bryn Mawr, and other area colleges. He is the former head of school at the Albert Einstein Academy in Wilmington and was the senior Jewish educator at the Kristol Hillel Center at the University of Delaware for four years. Rabbi Winaker lives in Delaware with his wife and three children.
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