Station #05 on the OC Pilgrimage was the Temple Israel Long Beach.

“Waitaminute,” you say, “Long Beach isn’t in Orange County!” And you’re absolutely right. Long Beach really should be its own county. I can’t afford to not write about my first experience with a Jewish service. My OC Pilgrimage just put on a few pounds–I’m appending Los Angeles and San Diego Counties and if I go to China, I’ll do some pilgrimaging there, too. I’ll have to think of another name for this�

With this visit, I really began to step out of my native tradition. If you’re Jewish maybe you can help keep me honest, or at least enlighten me on the fuzzy parts.

(Apologies in advance for the poor quality cellphone camera images. I may see if I can go back and take a few decent pictures of both inside and outside of the Temple.)

Jana and The Boy and The Girl joined me on this visit. We were invited by a friend of ours who is a Jew, a cantor and just an all around cool guy. He was a guest cantor for this service, and several of his music students were playing as part of the service (The Boy is privileged to receive his tutelage in the cello).

We arrived a bit early, not entirely sure what to expect. The building was old–I think it was built in the twenties (which is old for someone who lives and worships in a thirty-something planned community). The woods and hallways were dark. The squarish worship hall was well lit, with some of the light coming through stained-glass windows depicting Moses and David. I knew these guys. I felt the comfort of the familiar.

In fact, much of the experience for me was the familiar spiced with the exotic. There were pews, and there were longer ones in the center and shorter ones on the sides, much like many LDS and Protestant churches, but carved on the sides were Stars of David. There was a pulpit and behind it was the main symbols of worship, but instead of the sacristy and crucifix, there was an ark (a special cabinet) with glass doors, with four elegantly adorned scrolls of the Torah on display (our friend informed us that this continual display was somewhat controversial, that generally the scrolls remain hidden behind opaque doors). There were prayer books and bibles in front of us; opening these, we found that there was Hebrew on every page, and you read through the pages from right to left (as someone who reads Japanese, this wasn’t so strange).

I wish I could adequately describe the service–it was a carefully choreographed weaving of English and Hebrew, of prayer and scripture, of words spoken and chanted, of music and silence, of standing and sitting. The rabbi and the cantor led the service, with the congregation responding to the appropriate cues, and the strings and the organ seamlessly inserting themselves at certain points.

Here’s one (English) excerpt from the service:

The soul that You have given me, O God, is pure! You created and formed it, breathed it into me, and within me You sustain it. So long as I have breath, therefore, I will give thanks to you my God and the God of all ages, source of all being, loving Guide of every human spirit.

There were two highlights: One was hearing our friend’s chanting and singing bass voice resonate through the temple. I wonder if I’m spoiled now–I’m sure that not all cantors measure up (down?). The other was the removal of the Torah scroll and its subsequent procession about the hall. Certainly there is nothing quite like this in Mormonism, and perhaps not in Protestant Christianity. After lavishing praises on the Lord and adoring his Word, the doors were opened and the Rabbi held the Torah high and paraded the scroll up and down the aisles of the Temple. He is joined by a small entourage. The scroll was adorned like a king or queen, with silver crowns and breastplates and ornaments tinkling. The congregation quickly repositioned themselves so that they could touch their prayer books to the scroll (many then kissed these books).

Jana wasn’t quite sure what to do when the rabbi presented the scroll to her. She just smiled big and the rabbi looked at her quizzically before moving on (I escaped embarrassment by standing deeper in the pew than Jana, who was on the end).

There was much more that I should describe, such as the kaddish for those who are bereaved and mourning, the reading from the Torah, the yarmulke and prayer shawls, but unfamiliarity makes it hard for me to recollect and to accurately describe much of what happened (I became so absorbed in parts that I neglected my note taking). I feel the need to learn some Hebrew, to expose myself to more of Jewish ritual and prayer.

In one part of the service, we in the congregation chanted, “Let the stranger in your midst be to you as the native, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” As a Gentile among the Jews, I appreciated the sentiment and felt comforted. Certainly the rabbi made us feel welcome as he greeted us warmly after the service, and our friend the cantor, too, as he patiently answered our many questions. Maybe with each exposure like this, with each each personal and respectful association, I can become a little less of a stranger.