It came out of my disappointment about finding only a scant handful of programs or networks dedicated to reinvigorating worship and music, and my belief that leadership development for clergy in the field must include evolving worship leadership, being agile and dynamic as spiritual music leaders, and support for the long term work of building much-needed pipelines of music and prayer leaders. Check it out.

I recently had the opportunity to sing with the Moral Voices Choir of the Poor People’s Campaign Mass Poor People’s & Low-Wage Workers’ Assembly, Moral March on Washington and to the Polls in Washington DC.

I want to share two things I learned from this experience, and two things I felt.

Learned: When music as meaning-making is seen not just to matter but to be central to the design and success of any gathering, the overall content, the intended message, and the whole experience is enhanced and elevated. There is no doubt.

The Poor People’s Campaign (PPC) provided three meals a day, hotel rooms for 4 nights, and some travel costs for about 70 people who came from across North America to sing in the choir. Most were connected to local PPC communities and many choir members were themselves impacted; poor or low wage workers, struggling with inaccessible health care, injustice, racism, or inequality of some kind.

The gathering had the musical support of a full band and a choir conductor. Reverend Dr. William Barber II, co-chair of the PPC,called in multiple times during our rehearsals to share blessings, to remind us how much we mattered, to invite us to lead this movement with him. Before we started the Rally, he blessed us individually, as we were called to minister with him and Reverend Liz Theoharis - to bring healing to the broken hearted, to call the nation to look, to see, and to hear.

The music wasn’t just entertainment, it was ministry in a real and authentic way, and was treated as crucial to the work. Rev. Barber said to us, “You don’t sing, I can’t preach.”

Learned: Relationships create power, “harmony”, and beauty.

Because I am local and my daughter had surgery the day our rehearsals were to begin, I had to miss a few choir rehearsals to attend to her recovery. But it was clear to me as the March approached, that the power of the voices, the depth of what we offered was growing in relation to the number of days and hours the choir spent together.

In each rehearsal, someone would be moved to spontaneously sing a song, to tell a story, to share about the loss of a loved one who had died, who did not have access to health care, or who was struggling to put food on the table. And then we’d sing - but the song had changed. Our parts, the notation was the same - but our hearts were more broken, or more full, or more attuned, more connected to the other hearts - so our voices connected to our bodies and spirits in new ways.

Having meals, taking breaks with the other singers, connecting our own friends and family around the country to those we met who live near our friends made the network stronger, and to sit in fellowship with folks from diverse backgrounds, gender identity expressions, economic resources, faith and cultural expressions - made singing even more rich, because we had opportunity and cause to listen. We had to really hear what these songs and stories meant to one another- no more abstract assumption that “we all experience this the same way”. It was evident the song was unique coming out of each mouth - and together the individual stories blended into a single harmonious - (not perfect, messy, spontaneous, improvisational, heart-full - chorus.

Each person brought their unique musical talent, too. Some folks read the music that was handed out, others did not and learned by ear. We learned our parts, were corrected and showed how endings would work and where tempos changed. And then we stopped thinking. Then we only watched and listened. We had built a solid foundation that gave us confidence to just be in the moment.

We were reminded that we would go where the spirit led us, led the speakers, led Reverend Barber. If he said something a certain way, we might break into something we’d rehearsed - but faster, or much slower, or build from a hum. We listened. We breathed. We were reminded that, while any of us can turn on the radio or open Spotify and hear great professional music, what truly transforms lives is being together in one place and seeing and hearing human beings giving their hearts, lifting their heads, opening their arms, and being a vessel and a conduit for our shared humanity.

It was a good reminder. The notes don’t matter after a while - authentic sharing, being present, and being at-one with the group is what makes holy noise.

Now here’s what I felt.

Humbled.

I have never sung with such a group; I haven’t walked into a room where I didn’t know a soul (well, I knew Yara Allen, but she was busy holding all of us), and where no one knew me nor cared about what I could influence, or who I knew, or how well I sang.

They saw me as a fellow traveler, bringing my love of song and commitment to the work. I could learn, make mistakes, laugh, cry with everyone else. It was some of the most moving singing I’ve ever done.

All songleaders should strive for a mindset that doesn’t just rely on shorthand or familiarity with the collaborators or those gathered to listen, but rather looks for that fresh, raw perspective that enlists bravery and requires courage and generosity.

Inspired.

I don’t yet know how to translate what I experienced into my own work, the work of Sing Unto God, the support I give to communities to deepen commitment to communal singing and prayer. Is it resources? Sure. Is it ample/equal time in any gathering for singing (and not just 5 minutes at the beginning and 3 at the end if we don’t run over?) Sure. But maybe it’s also being present to what matters. Maybe it’s about music making as deep time and relational work. Maybe it’s less frontal singing/leading and more group/choir as anchor/communal singing? I’m not sure yet. But I do know that I’m forever changed by the experience.

I am ever learning from Repairers of the Breach and their co-directors of Theomusicology* and Cultural Arts, Yara Allen and Charon Hribar, and am hopeful to share them and their teaching with others in the near future.

One last note, so to speak: our world is in chaos. Basic rights and protections are being stripped away, despair and fear are prevailing moods, people are hurting. Know that what I’ve talked about here is transferable; for me, it is made manifest in singing with a group that is part of calling people to action, to bringing everyone together with a shared purpose. What communal actions do you participate in? What kinds of groups do you gather with? All can benefit from deep listening, mutual respect, generous giving of each person’s unique talent - and, of course, a little music, too.

*Theomusicology is musicology as a theologically informed discipline. Borrowing thought and method from anthropology, sociology, psychology, and philosophy, it has as its subject the myriad cultural worlds of ethical, religious, and mythological belief. Theomusicological research into cultural/intercultural reflections on the ethical, the religious, and the mythological involves the study of music in the domain or communities of the sacred, the secular, and the profane

I am a relentless optimist. That does not mean that I am not aware of the challenges in the world or oblivious to the sadness and suffering of so many. Rather, I believe with my whole heart that hope can always be replenished, healing is always possible.

2021 was a year of chaos. Our most basic civic processes and structures were threatened, we seemed to come out of a year of disease only to go right back, and little systemic, sustainable progress has been made on social justice issues.

This is why I have hope: because also in 2021 numerous voices broke through and helped us to look up and ahead. From Amanda Gorman’s thrilling reading on the steps of the Capitol, to the thousands of employees who are demanding a different way to create safe and healthy work environments, to Brandi Carlisle interpreting Joni Mitchell at the Kennedy Center earlier this month, we just needed to adjust the dial and tune in to a new frequency of promise and possibility.

This past year, our Jewish music community enjoyed a virtual Hava Nashira and Shabbat Shira that brought new people into our sacred fold. I had the opportunity to sing, worship and create new vision with congregations across North America, both online and on site. I got to vision with Rabbi Larry Hoffman, one of our great thinkers, about reforming worship. I helped preside over the installation of a Rabbinic friend and colleague I have known since we were summer campers at GUCI all those years ago. My nephew and his fiance--both rabbis in training--celebrated their nuptials in person. (It was so thrilling to see so many “baby” clergy singing and praying that weekend!) I taught students at HUC who were both receptive and pushed back in all the ways you would want our next leaders to do so. I sang with my dear friends Dan Nichols and Cantor Ellen Dreskin in front of a live audience.

In 2022, I am committing to the power of voices, both individually and collectively. In the coming weeks, I’ll be launching a non-profit organization that honors the best of our traditions while celebrating new ideas and innovations in meaningful worship and communal singing. Later this spring, I will be releasing a new book on songleading, entitled “Songleading: A Work of Art” from Transcontinental Music Publications.

None of this would have been possible without so many of my great colleagues and friends. Your hard work in and for the world makes me proud to be a part of this community of helpers and healers. You challenged me to do better and be better. Thank you.

I hear you. I am listening. The world may be in chaos but, as Debbie’s song continues, “with joy sing out from your hearts, oh sing praises to God!”

Presenting slides during Zoom or Facebook Live worship for congregants in their homes without prayerbooks allows us to share beloved readings and texts, offering access to our prayers in Hebrew, English, and transliteration. We can add in songs or videos, pictures or prayers and poems unique to our communities as enhancement to the prepared Visual Tefilah slides of the CCAR.

Now that many are returning to their buildings for some form of on-site worship, a number of congregations have dedicated the needed resources to make sure that Visual Tefilah continues. Whether it’s to ensure safety around touching books (while it appears this is safe, many are understandably hesitant), to allow the individuals on-site to see people on-line via zoom, or just that people have come to appreciate the creative flourishes, it has become clear that Visual Tefilah is here to stay.

I have had many questions since the introduction of Visual Tefilah, and while I have shared them with a few colleagues over the years, I was frequently a minority voice. Over time, I have come to appreciate so much of what Visual Tefilah has to offer, and how it is helpful in many ways. But I have renewed questions and concerns.

The congregation I serve in a part-time capacity has been singing Debbie Friedman’s (z”l) setting of Mi Shebeirach, the prayer for healing, every week since it was written almost without fail. Over many years and services, the congregation sang by heart with feeling and emotion while I did what I felt called to do – look each person in the face, slowly and purposefully as a way to connect and lift everyone. Together, we built the resilience, the strength, and the courage to face our own healing journeys or to support those who are struggling and need our loving care.

Yet, during the recent Holy Days and Shabbatot, I noticed something that perhaps those of you who have been using Visual Tefilah for a long time have already observed: on site, people stared at the words on the screens in the sanctuary even when they knew every word of Mi Shebeirach by heart. I was surprised and saddened to watch every single face staring up at the screen for each drawn-out word. They stared at the screens, whereas before they would look at the bimah, out the windows, at their beloved whose hand they were clutching, or into the faces of the clergy who were connecting with them visually.

Why is this, and what is agitating me about it?

In the sanctuary, they might not want to look away from the lovely visuals we put up. Whether it’s the simple art around the text or just the very large words, it can indeed be compelling to look at. Or perhaps we’ve become insecure; when we didn’t have words, we just went with the rest of the group – trusting we’d be led by the clergy. Now that there are words to look at, we lean on them. Of course, for many it has become a habit to look at screens throughout the day, and Visual Tefilah could fit into that pattern.

I do not believe we should pray without text; not only because it roots us in our tradition, but also because many seeing people use text to learn the Hebrew, to try the transliteration as support, to receive inspiration from translation. And, in the spirit of inclusivity, others who are not as familiar in our worship spaces should have access to all the words in order to feel a part of the experience that too often the “regulars” assume everyone knows. Text is important.

But I do believe that we use a prayerbook differently than a screen; we look into it and then look away. We have it open on our lap, or we put our finger inside to hold our place, and whisper to our neighbor, or let our hearts wander out the window. We use the prayerbook as a guide, not the main attraction.

I’ve considered that this is possibly just about my ego. The songleader in me has led for much of my life without text (who had time for those blue mimeograph machines?!) and has made a career (and am currently writing a book) about being able to support, lead, and cue a group with my face and body. Perhaps that is no longer necessary.

And I certainly believe and encourage our communities to think about less “leader led” worship. We want to empower the congregation to take charge of their own prayer experiences and not just wait for the clergy. So, isn’t the fact that they are no longer looking at me a good thing? Isn’t this the best direction to go?

If the group were leading themselves or relying on each other to lead I might indeed say, bravo! But I fear the pendulum has swung too far in the other direction, and we have replaced trusting the group, our instinct, our memory, and our voices—and, yes, our leaders—with large screens.

As we continue to learn how to make the most of multi-access worship as well as all the new technical tools we’ve acquired during the pandemic, I strongly encourage us to take a purposeful look at how we are curating the on-site experience. We want to be building relationships in the room, creating an atmosphere of spontaneity and free flowing prayer with appropriate give and take between the leaders and the congregants. I believe this is the future of how we pray.

I do not advocate tearing down the screens. I support Visual Tefilah. But this is the moment for us to find ways that it can complement the sacred shared experience, creating connection without distraction and new meaning without losing the old heart and soul.

Check out "Don’t call it hybrid: Multi-access is the future for Jewish communities."

Cantor Rosalie Will, Director Worship and Music, URJ, Worship Consultant and Coach Cantor Joshua Breitzer, Vice President, American Conference of Cantors; Congregation Beth Elohim, Brooklyn NY; Instructor, HUC-JIR Debbie Friedman School of Sacred Music Rabbi Sonja K. Pilz, PhD, Editor, CCAR Press

With COVID numbers decreasing across North America and increasing numbers of vaccinations giving us hope for an eventual end of social isolation, many of us have begun to think and dream about worship in the next chapter. We have begun to think about the new comfort and accessibility worship provided over the last months; we have observed that more people (at least by Zoom window counting) attend, and, even more interestingly, new faces, outside the regular pre-Covid Shabbat attendees, show up for our prayers and learning. We must acknowledge that many of us not only feel hopeful but also anxious to imagine the moment when we will be invited to gather again.

We consider our future gatherings, and realize that they will be both a product of the time BEFORE COVID as well as of the time WITH COVID. And we ask ourselves: What have we learned from the last months of online worship that might guide us on our next steps?

One of the things we learned is that praying, though we currently do it facing a screen, is not actually a visual activity. Praying is more like listening to the radio.

Reflecting on what we have observed during this year while also remembering the limits of our communal worship before lockdown, we are challenged to raise the simplest questions anew: Why do we pray? What kind of prayer do we really seek? What feels right? What makes space for God, for the transcendent, for the voices we usually do not listen to?

Over the last months, many of us have rediscovered basic truths. It feels good to mark time with Kabbalat Shabbat and Havdalah, when days seem to blur into each other. It is good to gather around Torah, read together , and engage in conversation when we are hungry for depth and connection. It is good to sing familiar melodies, when everything else has changed. It is good to cook and taste the most comforting food, when we are scared and feel a lack of control.

However, in some conversations, clergy have begun to wonder: Are our services meaningful? Were they before we went online? Do people pay enough attention? We see our people gather in pajamas in front of the TV; we see them preparing dinner; often, we don’t see them at all because they switched off their cameras. It might feel like watching our services on Zoom has become, for some, a mere background noise to their otherwise busy lives. And yet: they continue to come! What are our services to them, while they focus on other things or nothing at all? Is that much different than communal worship anywhere and at any time?

One Shabbat morning, Sonja went with her baby for a walk to Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. The cemetery is old and large; artificial little lakes, Canadian Geese, old trees and marble family graves spread over hills make up the scenery. At 10 AM on a weekend, almost no one was around--and so she entered the Zoom room of her congregation, and listened to the familiar voices and melodies while pushing the stroller and singing to her baby and breathing in the air and looking at trees, birds, and water reflections… and this is when she realized, and we began to talk about it: PRAYER IS NOT LIKE WATCHING TV. IT IS MORE LIKE LISTENING TO THE RADIO.

Often, when we pray, we are not consciously focusing on the content of the words or the pacing of the melodies. When we used to sit in shul, we did not focus on every word we spoke or sang; we did not follow every twist of the sermon; we often spent minutes, sometimes hours, looking at small details in the synagogue architecture. We let our minds wander. We let go. We thought about whatever came up--sometimes feeling guilty about it, but unable and unwilling to stop us from drifting along the flow of our rising thoughts. When praying, we are like dreamers…(Psalm 126:1).

The idea is not new: The Maggid of Mezrich has taught us that prayer is like dreaming; it opens us up to listen to the letters of God. Praying and dreaming, we connect with the voice too still to be heard in the busyness of our lives; our minds are drifting to realms we do not enter when checking the next box off our to-do lists. We do nothing--and yet, we do everything. We return to ourselves; we return to God.

One of the great gifts of virtual worship has been the addition of visual content. Many participants have shared that only hearing words and watching faces isn’t enough for the diversity of experiential intelligences, and that the opportunity to see beautiful scenery, or photos of familiar places, or faces of loved ones in our community has been a powerful addition to our virtual worship. And yet the visual content, particularly as many feel the need to increase creativity or volume of visuals in order to keep people’s interest, is not always helpful in reaching the dreaming phase of prayer Sonja and so many others feel when they are both within and with-out the prayer experience. Too often our eyes are inviting us to grasp, to understand, to reflect critically, and to move on to the next object or impression.

One of the beauties of the radio is that our imagination is allowed to wander. Some preferred the radio hours of the 40s over the same TV shows of the 50s. When listening instead of watching, we could embark on our own imaginary journeys, while at the same time being aware that we are connected to other people listening at other places. It is in music and in the rhythm of the calmly spoken word that most of us are able to get into that drifty space most easily. It is when we listen to music or news on the radio; when we hum to ourselves in the shower; when we sing our babies to sleep with the same old, familiar melodies, that we enter a state of drifting, of openness.

How often do we enter this state when we sit, focusing, in front of a screen? Perhaps rarely, if ever.

When our congregants shut off their cameras, they might take back what the screens deprived them of: the possibilities to let their eyes wander aimlessly; to rest on a little detail of furniture or clothing; the possibility to sway back and forth, to close their eyes, to stop listening and observing, and to begin drifting and dreaming….

The next step is to ask ourselves, and our people: What can we do, we who create online worship together with our communities, to help us all to become dreamers?

Speaking with colleagues and friends over the last week in response to my hybrid piece led me to pause and wonder, are we are getting ahead of ourselves? For now, maybe we set aside the conversations about “hybrid” and take small steps to open safely. Things people desire – masked face-to-masked face connection, school engagement, lifecycles, or just being seen and seeing others--can happen safely in due time, in many contexts within a synagogue.

For now, why don’t we keep our worship on-line? Despite expectations and with so much credit to dedicated clergy and staff, it appears to be working. Many more people than pre-COVID are attending virtually, even if it’s just to connect – they’re not getting Zoom fatigue, and they’re not watching Netflix during those hours.

Instead of planning “hybrid” worship, or how we could pray safely, let’s take this opportunity to figure out what worked about our in-person worship and what didn’t – and envision something altogether new.

Yes, people say they miss singing together maybe most of all. I feel this longing acutely, as well. But, singing remains one of the riskiest behaviors in the spread of COVID. Taking that into account, and considering the worship challenges we had pre-COVID, let’s take a step back and courageously and boldly ask real questions about what the “in-person worship” could be.

For sure, worship is an enduring and important symbol of Jewish life. It will make us all feel like we’re “back to normal” if there are worshipers with us in a sanctuary on a Friday evening. But for our new Zoom participants, why would they come to our building now if they didn’t come before? And, for all our regulars who have come to appreciate the unique experience of virtual worship, shouldn’t we be giving them something that is inspired and reinvigorated by what we learned online? Why are we so anxious to restart the thing that too few in our communities were interested in previously?

In order to answer these questions, we have to really look at our worship pre-COVID; why people came in the first place, why people didn’t – and consider this in the context of why people are praying virtually. We have to take a good hard look at how we prayed in our sanctuaries, about where the barriers were, about where the connections and relationship building did or did not happen, and what it is we want to accomplish with our liturgy, our communal theology, and our time to reflect and pray as a community. What do we want it to mean? How do we make it matter in 2021 and beyond?

I’m not suggesting we never pray in person again! I am only suggesting a thoughtful pause.

I am well aware that the fatigue and complications of this time make the idea of a worship overhaul seem so daunting. But I know many of our congregational leaders are already re-visioning education, reflecting upon how we govern, and talking about how we connect to one another more meaningfully. How could we not do the same for the way we pray?

And, here’s the good news: we have time.

Our faith has some of the most inspired, dedicated, and compassionate clergy and lay leadership anywhere. Let’s take a deep breath, take a step back, and dream.

While I do not have solutions right now, I believe the answers to our questions will come with focused, carefully-directed conversations that will help each congregation organically discover the most meaningful reasons for hybrid worship. I firmly believe that the clearer you are about what you hope to achieve out of your communal prayer experiences, the better you will be positioned not only to answer the critical questions, but to avoid asking questions that aren’t relevant to your worship vision.

To consider:

Is our hybrid worship designed to give those joining virtually AND in-person separate but similar experiences? Or are we aiming for “one worship”?

What adaptive considerations must we take to ensure that we still feel a part of a single congregation (if that is indeed our goal) if people pray in diverse ways?

If we recognize that the remote experience and the in-person experience of the same worship will be different, what matters to us most? What do want people to have experienced, both within each cohort, and as one community? And why?

An example of starting with why:

: We should offer a virtual option even if we decide to gather in person soon. : Why?

: Because people want to pray at home.

: Why? (the previous response isn’t yet a real answer to the first question)

: Members of our community who won’t feel comfortable gathering in person should still receive worship options.

: Why?

: They too want meaningful connections. It’s hard to be isolated, and we hear that our people feel hopeful when they are connected to each other. Virtual worship will do that.

: Why?

: It will allow people to connect to each other, and by knowing other people and being seen and known, perhaps they will feel more hopeful and see their Jewish life as a doorway to that hope, and that’s ultimately the reason we have sacred community.

Through thoughtful inquiry, we discover that our desire for remote worship was more than “because people on at home should pray”. Instead, when we allow people to connect to each other, they will feel more hopeful, will appreciate Jewish life as a doorway – that’s the reason we have sacred community. The answer was deeper, and, therefore, our Why.

Here are a few examples of some of the many questions that have arisen, but which will take the deeper thinking to find the answers that best serve each individual community’s needs:

A common core question: How do we have in-person worship in the sanctuary and have folks on Zoom at the same time?

If we use large screens to project the people on zoom into the sanctuary, questions arise.

For the people in person in the sanctuary?

• Will they spend a lot of time looking at the active movement within the boxes, will it be distracting?

• Can the people in the congregation interact with the Zoomers?

• Do the people seated in the congregation get given the same opportunity to “respond in the chat” as it were, as the people in Zoom? And do we have the technology (wireless mics, more mics on longer chords) to go out into the congregation to illicit the responses we so love on Zoom?

For the people on Zoom?

• Will they watch the clergy, or watch the congregation? Or see each other still?

• Will they only hear a feed of the clergy/musicians, or will they also hear the congregation, if the congregation speaks or shares into microphones?

Clergy/leader questions?

• Should we look only at the congregation, or into the camera for zoom? Or both – and how, when do we decide?

• Do we need an additional staff member/clergy/leader to monitor the zoom from a position in the sanctuary (to let people in, answer the chat?) Does that person read the chat responses out loud to the room, or are the zoom responses only for the people on zoom?

• What do we do with our visual prayerbook? If we use screens (already installed or choose to install them), how do we see the zoom and the visual prayerbook?

If we do not use screens in the sanctuary, but invite people at home to zoom into what we stream out from the sanctuary, questions arise.

If the zoom and in-person sanctuary participants don’t see each other, then how do we encourage a sense of one community and not two parallel ones?

Would the clergy look at the cameras more than they did for general “streaming” before the pandemic, because the zoom participants appreciated the intimacy? Will the cameras be so far away that in a tiny zoom box it’s inaccessible?

Ultimately, these questions will not only have no simple answers, but we will have to be prepared to keep trying, changing, being in relationship with our communities, and sharing our thoughts and experiments with full transparency to our people so they understand the WHY of things we are trying. This transparency will help them navigate the reboot of our congregational worship and connect them deeper to our congregations and our traditions.

A year into virtual worship, it is clear we aren’t going back to exactly how things used to be, nor are we completely reinventing. Instead, we are tasked with a sacred and unique opportunity to bring the richness of our tradition, the best of our new learning, and the drive to find new ways to think about prayer and community building into the new “hybrid” future.

Even as many communities begin to explore what a long-term hybrid (both in-person and virtual) relationship to communal Jewish life might look like, the question if congregations can survive by creating their own “virtual” worship has already arisen. For example, perhaps smaller backyard prayer gatherings will replace endless Zoom boxes and glitchy PowerPoint worship slides. Or, perhaps we will see an increase in people who find the “megashuls” around the country the best way to receive high-quality and well-produced virtual content.

In the recent eJewish Philanthropy piece Covid-19 and the 5781 High Holidays: Return of the Chavurah, the Rise of the virtual “MegaShul,” or the End of Communal Worship? Brian Amkraut asks, “If we move to adopt these new modalities – either the backyard chavurah or the digital megashul, even if primarily out of momentary necessity, do they threaten to undermine the more established frameworks for communal worship on a long-term basis?”

At the Union for Reform Judaism, we are pleased to report we have observed a robust and healthy middle ground.

Gone is the model of “we will teach you how to pray because that is why you come.” Those congregational clergy and leadership who had previously not engaged in many meaningful conversations with their communities about their worship needs, are now learning what people hope to get out of worship, what is challenging them in their lives, and how our tradition’s wisdom can be applied to today’s challenges. We are asking members of our communities why they get on Zoom – and why they worship in larger numbers than they previously did in-person.

What we’ve discovered is that our congregants – our partners in the sacred work of figuring out this “communal prayer” business – want to be in conversation with their congregational leadership. In this isolating time, they want to feel seen and directly involved in their spiritual practice. They want to be part of something larger than them, but not so large that they are anonymous.

The “virtual” worship model we have been forced into over the past six months has opened new conversations about belonging. Further, our data shows indicates that those who have not previously “joined” synagogues are engaging in virtual worship, and that those long time “members” are finding new ways of engaging with each other and the community despite the lack of a physical worship setting. These individuals and families are participating in dialogue about what worship models will provide meaning and are creating home rituals in which they had not previously engaged.

In her piece Five Assumptions Failing Us Now, consultant, coach, and transition

expert Reverend Susan Beaumont writes, “During the pandemic, people are finding meaningful new ways to connect with us online in worship, programs, and service. These connections do not look anything like what we previously recognized as engagement [but it is]…People need to feel that they belong before they join.”

We are not so concerned about the megashul model, or congregations’ doors closing because everyone can join a highly-produced, popular worship model in another city, for the same reason so many of our colleagues had to decide how much High Holiday content to Zoom/livestream/pre-record: the members of our communities simply want to connect with one another. They want to share their lives, their hopes, their fears. They want to celebrate with people and clergy they know and see sanctuaries they have missed. They want to connect to a fellow traveler (via a Zoom breakout room) and share the prayers and reflections in their own hearts while opening themselves up to hear those of others in their community.

We are also considering what production values are good enough? What would congregational mission-based worship offer that a backyard havurah can’t provide because it’s too informal, and a virtual megashul can’t provide because it’s too impersonal? There are some who find meaning and uplift in the thoughtful, dynamic work of large congregations who have the capacity to create beautiful visual and musical content with high production quality; these experiences add to the fabric of our virtual experiences. However, congregations without such capacity can get mired down in attempting to recreate such content, given not only their limited resources but also the fact that members of those communities simply may not need those types of experiences. The outcome might be overly complex worship that doesn’t connect or inspire.

It is also true that many liberal clergy and lay leaders have not equipped or encouraged small groups to worship on their own. While adult education classes, lecture series, and religious school/family programs can thrive with small groups of like-minded individuals, communal worship is a component of synagogue life where entire communities unite to share in the inspirational power of communal voice, to strengthen shared values, and to deepen their commitment to meaningful Jewish living.

We will soon have to explore whether virtual platforms allow for this as we approach the real possibility of hybrid worship models. While nothing is certain, we believe thatbuilding deeper relationships with our members, learning more about what such future models could look like, and helping our participants to feel seen and heard in these isolating times have indicated a leaning IN to the “congregation”. To be sure, they are not leaning into the building, but they are re-connecting with clergy and lay leadership, and with members and friends near and far who have shared similar stories and journeys connected by geography or social and relational history. They are being invited to share in the creation of meaningful content for themselves, their families, and their communities.

And perhaps, while we are wise to be concerned about sustainability and financial support, if those seeking meaningful Jewish connection can belong through relational and personal worship – both virtually and in-person – they might give more of themselves in ways that we are only just imagining.

What we have learned:

Our community’s experience with High Holiday services was complex, evincing a range of emotions and responses. In all instances, it showed a deep commitment to Reform Jewish ritual, as well as a sincere wiliness to reinvent it together. After numerous conversations with clergy, staff, lay leaders and congregants – in partnership with the leadership of the CCAR and ACC, we are able to share some general findings.

Our clergy are tired. Many of them found not only the preparation exhausting, but the worship itself draining and not fulfilling in many of the ways it had been in the past. There was great loss in not being together in person. For many clergy, their passion is driven by (and fueled by) face to face relationship, by the endeavor of gathering communally.

And at the same time, many found the opportunity (and permission) to be creative, to partner in new ways with congregants and lay people, and to think about the texts of our liturgy in dynamic ways, very invigorating. They found the chance to connect one-on-one with many folks (via prayerbook pick up, gift bag drop-off, families doing solo recordings of honors or readings) deeply fulfilling and something missing in most years of Holy Day prep.

Their goals were as much to maintain the awe and the familiarity of the days, as they were to find new ways to connect hearts to our sacred texts and reach their members meaningfully. They pre-recorded and led live, they zoomed and live streamed to empty sanctuaries. Clergy felt deep integrity and value in the choices they and their teams made to meet the needs of their community.

At the conclusion of the Holy Days, we heard that members of our communities were moved as never before; despite the deep loss in not being physically present in sanctuaries, they felt connected, seen, linked to their community in new ways. We heard that personal outreach, hearing the stories and voices of their fellow members was deeply meaningful. We learned that people found being at home (comfortable to get up and down when needed, to sit with family, to answer questions of their kids who sat with them) a real gift, and created the environment for finding more meaning in the sacred rituals of the Holy Days.

How could this inform what’s next? What are the learnings we should be considering when thinking about communal prayer?

• Intimate and personal connection to clergy, leaders, and each other matter

• Worshiping from home provides accessibility, comfort and family connectivity for many

• The themes of the Holy Days are rich, and deeply inspirational and meaningful – and there are many creative ways to bring the liturgy alive. This is true for Shabbat as well.

• Clergy and lay leadership needed unrealistic amount of time to create meaning in this new modality;

• These new modalities did not necessarily create new relationships from outside existing communities – but made existing relationships “stickier”.

So, how do we think about what’s next?

It is tempting to focus on the how we engage in hybrid (virtual and in-person) worship, or how we keep zoom engaging, or how we use technology. But when we start with why, and keep asking why, we might find greater clarity in making choices that are in line with individual communal needs.

Here are some questions you and your leadership can consider as we continue to be adaptive about what’s next.

What do we still need to know?

What do the leaders (clergy, professionals) need to answer about their own spiritual nourishment in this time? What questions do we have of our liturgy and our relationship to our text– how will we make choices about content as we consider the difference of virtual and in-person worship? Finally, perhaps we have more questions or unpacking and relationship building to do with our people in order to continue to learn, to adapt and move through what we all hope to experience in communal prayer.

Why is each modality important to us? Why does it matter?

This question can help us get clear about what each technology, modality, space and place provides our community (and what is lacking?). Focusing on the question in this way will keep us from the trap of trying to just do each one “right”, but when we understand what each prayer modality can provide and why, we will make better choices about how to do it.

How can we communicate our values and share them with the community?

Instead of communicating how our worship will be moving forward, if we lean into sharing our values, who we are and how we want to connect meaningfully through prayer, we will be better poised to share different styles and access points, and help our communities appreciate when they continue to change and evolve as each scenario of our future state unfolds – on a time-line which will always be unclear.

Why? And still, Why?

When we get into the planning, if we can continue to ask each other amongst our team – why? -- we will better drill down into the essence of what our particular community hopes to achieve in communal worship – virtual or in person.

An example:

: We should offer a virtual option even if we decide to gather in person soon.

: Why?

: Because people want to pray at home.

: Why? (the previous response isn’t yet a real answer to the first question)

: Members of our community who won’t feel comfortable gathering in person should still receive worship options.

: Why?

: They too want meaningful connections. It’s hard to be isolated, and we hear that our people feel hopeful when they are connected to each other. Virtual worship will do that.

: Why?

: It will allow people to connect to each other, and by knowing other people and being seen and known, perhaps they will feel more hopeful and see their Jewish life as a doorway to that and that’s ultimately the reason we have sacred community.

Now we have a better focus of the “why” of offering a virtual option – and this final why can then dictate the “how” of that virtual time. If this is your ultimate why (and you could keep breaking it down), then it might lead you to focus on small groups, or story-telling, or time for socializing and mixing in addition to liturgical content.

However, at the core of the questions about the “why” of worship, is capacity: Will it take as long to be intentional and prepare diverse and meaningful worship options, as the clergy/worship leaders continue to experience working this way? If yes, what will congregations need to stop in order to maintain this investment, or will new forms of collaboration take shape in order to share the load across congregations?

Providing virtual content for worship won’t go away even when we move toward more in person engagement. Many people will want to access some portion of their spiritual life from their home, from others’ homes, while traveling, or as a way to connect with distant family. They will stay home because they can find deep worship when they are under the weather, or when there are too many people in a given space, or want to join an experience they can’t get to physically or because of their own family circumstances.

Going forward, we can give people who want to connect to our Reform Jewish worship communities the choice to do so in the way that is best for them, without sacrificing the traditional meaning and true purpose of our rituals. The next steps are, why – and, what will it take?