Accessibility and Inclusion

Divre Harav – Summer/2020

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Even an optimist has to face reality now and then. And as much as I want to believe that life is going to switch back to normal this summer, I have accepted that there is a real possibility that we’ll be making significant changes to our Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur services this fall because it will not yet be safe for many of us to gather together.

Our Zoom services this spring have been a much needed opportunity for connecting with other people in real-time conversations through the windows on a computer screen. We’ve successfully convened a minyan every day, Monday through Friday, from the end of March to the beginning of May, and counting. But creating an engaging zoom experience requires my hands on the keyboard, turning on and off microphones, scrolling pages and announcing page numbers, as Stuart and I take turns leading pieces of the service. For Jews like me who believe that Shabbat is a time to refrain from turning on and off electricity and using devices, using a laptop or a mobile device is a violation of the sanctity of Shabbat.

In addition, convening a minyan normally requires 10 people in the same physical space. During the pandemic, when face to face contact carried life and death risks, I’ve used the concept of pikuah nefesh (saving a life) to allow for an expanded definition of minyan to include ten Jews in a zoom meeting, with near real-time audio and visual connection. When we can again gather in person, however, we’ll go back to requiring a minyan of 10 in the same physical space, although I expect that we’ll also continue to include additional participants via zoom. 

I’ve begun investigating different methods of broadcasting streaming video of our service on Facebook Live, Youtube, and other platforms, either with a scattered minyan present in the sanctuary or with no one present but Stuart and me. The central question in anticipation of an altered High Holiday experience is, how do we create an engaging, online experience that feels traditional and also respects traditional Jewish Shabbat and Festival practice? I’m hoping you can help me with that.

When you think back on your years of Rosh Hashanah experiences, what do you remember? What parts of the service feel essential to you? What part or parts of the service would not feel engaging to you if you were to consider watching a High Holiday service on a screen. How long could you see yourself sitting in front of the screen? An hour? Two hours? In such an experience, would you prefer a traditional 15 minute sermon or would you prefer a 30 minute teaching format with a text sheet provided in advance? Finally, what kinds of messages would you like to hear this fall? Have you had enough of coronavirus, or would you expect the service to focus on casting a theological frame around your fears, anxieties, frustrations, and ongoing sense of isolation?

Have I missed anything – what else should we consider that is important to your spiritual experience? Please let me know. Leave me a message at the synagogue, send me an email (Rabbi@ahavasisraelgr.org). I need to know what you are thinking.

Hebrew Words of the Month:

  • pikuah nefesh – saving a life
  • masakh – screen
  • hazramat media – streaming media 

Psalm 142

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“No one cares about me.” (142:5)

In the course of a busy life, there are times when we might feel invisible, as if others are passing us by as if we don’t exist. It may not be malicious, just our busy family and coworkers engaged in their day, but nonetheless the feeling of being ignored hurts. As we go through our day, might we make it a point to notice and acknowledge the people we pass by? Perhaps make a point to smile, exchange a greeting, or ask a question that shows that we recognize and care about them. Show that you care.

Psalm 115

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“They have hands, but cannot touch, feet, but cannot walk.” (115:7)

Those people whose bodies don’t function in typical ways are objects of curiosity, pity, and sometimes fear. People who walk on artificial legs, who pick up their silverware with artificial hands, who use a cane to see what is in front of them, or communicate with their hands and arms, remind of the fragile nature of our lives. They are us, one step away from the accident, illness, or aging which will take away some of our mobility or sensory function. They, like us, can thank God for their bodies which uniquely express the gifts of their souls.

Psalm 111

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“Accessible to all who desire …” (111:2)

Accessibility means making a place for everyone who wants to participate. This means providing ramps and wide doorways, Braille materials, hearing amplification, and presenting a fully inclusive, welcoming presence to all. When an institution begins selectively narrowing down the type of person who is welcome in its midst, it creates an atmosphere of privilege. Members evaluate each person who enters against a list of criteria. Those who measure up are welcomed, those who do not are turned away. For newcomers, entry becomes an unpleasant experience of being judged worthy or not. An accessible institution is one which opens its doors to all who desire to enter.

Psalm 104

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“Wrapped in a robe of light…” (104:2)

Light represents purity. Light contains the complete range of colors in the spectrum; therefore, purity also embraces a diversity of colors. To extend the metaphor, it also embraces a diversity of genders, orientations, religions, political positions, and all of the other differences in humanity that contribute light. From this I exclude acts of hatred, aggressive violence, and any other evil which takes light away from the world. The entire world will be enrobed with light if and only if we achieve the messianic vision of destroying implements of war, sitting down with our historic enemies, and building a Temple of peace at which all people can gather and be thankful to the Source of their wisdom.