A COVID silver lining: shul hopping has never been so easy

Mit eyn tukhes ken men nisht tantsn af tsvey khasenes – you can’t dance at two weddings with one tuches (rear end). Although this Yiddish expression offers sage advice, I’ve often tried to prove it wrong by doing too many things in one day. Well, in December I finally succeeded, thanks to Zoom. I attended three bat mitzvah services simultaneously.

Under normal circumstances, my family and I would have attended only one of these simchas (celebratory events), because they were in three different time zones. Lela – a camp friend of my daughter – was in Madison, Wisconsin (Central Time); Salome – a close family friend – was in Phoenix, Arizona (Mountain Time), and Avriella – my daughter’s classmate – was in Los Angeles, California (Pacific Time), where we live.

From our home, the start times were staggered: Wisconsin at 8am, Arizona at 8:30, and California at 9:15. But for much of the morning, our living room was graced with three 13-year-olds showcasing their Judaic skills on three electronic devices. The experience increased my sense of connection to Jews across the country, as well as my appreciation for the pandemic’s silver linings. And it led to musings about multitasking and musical rounds.

As Conservative services, all three followed the same structure and used almost identical liturgy: Shacharit (morning service), Torah service, dvar torah (speech drawing lessons from the Torah reading), other speeches, and Musaf (additional service). (Had the services been Orthodox or Mizrachi, they wouldn’t have been livestreamed, and they would have differed in various ways. Had they been Reform, Reconstructionist, Renewal, or Humanist, certain parts would have been omitted or modified.)

At all three events, the bat mitzvah girl led much of the service, with participation from clergy and family members. The parasha – Torah portion of the week – was Vayeshev, about Joseph’s brother throwing him into a pit, and all three girls gave their divrei torah about sibling rivalry. Two of them cited “Chizkuni, a 13th-century commentator,” about Reuben saving Joseph. Some adult at each event spoke about making the best of a difficult situation and welcomed guests who were joining from afar, thanks to technology.

Even with their many shared traits, the three services were distinct. They used some different melodies, such as when Salome sang Hallel to several Chanukah tunes. There were also differences based on local COVID restrictions and weather conditions. At two of the events all leaders and attendees wore masks, and at the third only family members were present, so no masks were worn. Guests were allowed to attend the LA event only because it was outdoors (which would have been impossible in Madison, where there was a snowstorm that morning).

At some point while watching these three services, I came up with the idea to write about the experience. As a social science researcher, I have often used ethnography – observation, interviews, and analytic writing – as a way of understanding communities and their cultures. I started taking notes, writing down words I heard from the services and from my family members and noting my own observations. The next day I emailed all three families and secured their permission to write this article and use their names.

In some ways, my family was participating in shul (synagogue) as we normally do: I was wearing my tallis (prayer shawl) and davening (praying) – but without a siddur (prayer book) and without the choreography; my youngest daughter (who has since become bat mitzvah herself) was reading a novel; and my husband, Mark, was reading a Jewish nonfiction book – this time Mara Benjamin’s The Obligated Self. (Yes – their spiritual practice is to read in shul.) As when shul meets in person, my middle and oldest daughters came in and out of the service. And like usual, I was keenly aware of who was present – this time by scrolling through the participants lists.

At the same time, we did things we wouldn’t do at in-person shul. Each of us left the living room briefly to get breakfast, and we ate while watching the service. We discussed the proceedings aloud, not in a whisper. Two of the children wore pajamas, and I had to convince the third to put on pants. One daughter made shaved ice with the previous evening’s Chanukah present, and another mixed paints.

I did something I’d never done before: I took notes during a Shabbat service – an act forbidden in traditional Jewish observance. For my books Becoming Frum and Hebrew Infusion, I often conducted participant-observation on Shabbat, but, out of respect for the communities, I would remember details and write them down as soon as Shabbat ended. Now, in the comfort of my living room, with my (fourth) device not visible to other guests on Zoom, I felt comfortable taking notes in real time.

We experienced the three services as a musical round, a canon of our liturgical canon. Instead of each musician’s part separated by four or eight beats, the parts of this round were separated by 30 or 45 minutes. Here are some snippets (Hebrew and Aramaic phrases are not translated because their meanings are less important than the co-occurrence of prayers not normally heard simultaneously):

Wisconsin: “Yomar na yisrael ki l’olam chasdo”
Arizona: “Yitbarach v’yishtabach”

Wisconsin: “Ein kamocha”
Arizona: “Mi chamocha”
Me: “They both said “kamocha!”

Me to youngest daughter: “Come back! Lela’s starting her dvar torah!”

Mark enters the room: “This is like people who watch 3 football games on Sunday morning… It’s neat to see how they COVIDize their services.”

Wisconsin: “Etz chaim hi” (putting away the Torah)
Arizona: “Asher bachar banu” (6th aliyah)
California: “Serafim v’ofanim” (Shacharit)

Middle daughter enters the room: “This is so chaotic.”
Me: “Amen” (to someone’s blessing after the Torah reading, but also to my daughter’s comment)

Wisconsin: “Kadosh kadosh kadosh” (Musaf)
Arizona: “Misheberach” (Torah service)
California: “Or chadash” (still Shacharit)

Me: “Can I turn this one down? I want to hear Avriella for a bit.”

Mark, pointing to his book: “Hey, Sarah, here’s an interesting point about maternal obligation.”
Me: “Baruch hu uvaruch shemo. I’m trying to be present at three bat mitzvahs. Can you tell me later?” (He did, and it was interesting)

I wonder if the Phoenix guests notice when I gather up my tzitzit (fringes) and cover my eyes for the Shema in LA.

Mark (pointing at one device): “Which kid is this?”
Me: “Salome.”

Wisconsin: Mom’s speech
Arizona: Special maftir aliyah for Chanukah
California: “Gomel chasadim tovim”

Me: “They’re waving goodbye at Lela’s – did you turn on your camera?”
Youngest daughter, waving and smiling at the screen: “They said my name!”

Arizona: “Shetichadesh aleynu et hachodesh hazeh” (it’s Shabbat before Rosh Chodesh)
California: “The Torah portion for today is Vayeshev”

Oldest daughter enters the living room: “Why are you dancing at eight tucheses with one wedding?”
Me, smiling: “Just three bat mitzvahs.”

Arizona: Salome reads Ashrei responsively with a friend joining by Zoom.
California: Fourth aliyah.

I say the name of a friend who’s sick for the misheberachs.
Oldest daughter: “Is that what’s happening now?”
Me: “At this one” (California).

Oldest daughter: “Whoever’s doing this one is killing it!” (from a teenager, that’s a compliment).

Me: “They’re both doing the Chatzi Kaddish!” (Arizona was transitioning to Musaf, and California was in the Torah service.)
Mark: “Two Chatzi [half] Kaddishes – that’s a Kaddish Shalem [full].”

By the time I logged out of the third Zoom at 12:30, I was exhausted, and my thoughts were swirling.

“When we hear a musical round, such as “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” Pachelbel’s Canon in D, or the Chanukah song “Mi Yemalel,” we can’t fully understand all the lyrics or hear all the musical motifs. We might be familiar with them from having performed one part of the round, but the beauty of the experience comes from their intersection – the cooccurrence of notes that sound good together.”

When we hear a musical round, such as “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” Pachelbel’s Canon in D, or the Chanukah song “Mi Yemalel,” we can’t fully understand all the lyrics or hear all the musical motifs. We might be familiar with them from having performed one part of the round, but the beauty of the experience comes from their intersection – the cooccurrence of notes that sound good together. In our bat mitzvah canon, there might have been moments of (cognitive) dissonance, but we found beauty in the overall experience.

“Of course we would have preferred to celebrate with each family in person – to look around the sanctuary and exchange smiles with mutual friends, to pelt the girls with candy (actually, I could do without that part), to harmonize with the prayers, to get to know new acquaintances while waiting in line at the buffet, to hug our friends, and to praise the girls’ accomplishments face-to-face. However, under normal circumstances we would have attended just one simcha.”

Of course we would have preferred to celebrate with each family in person – to look around the sanctuary and exchange smiles with mutual friends, to pelt the girls with candy (actually, I could do without that part), to harmonize with the prayers, to get to know new acquaintances while waiting in line at the buffet, to hug our friends, and to praise the girls’ accomplishments face-to-face. However, under normal circumstances we would have attended just one simcha. Our only experience of the others would have been photos and written versions of the girls’ divrei torah and their parents’ speeches. It was only because of the pandemic that we were able to attend three simchas simultaneously.

The internet is filled with exhortations against multitasking during Zoom meetings or classes. As a professor, I share these concerns. I can see which of my students are paying full attention and which are texting with friends or working on another project. Their differences in attention are generally reflected on their exams and papers. (I look forward to reinstating my no-electronics rule once classes are back in person.) Attending three religious services simultaneously also entails split attention, but the stakes are different than work meetings and university classes. There was no discussion after the dvar torah and nobody tested us on which tune each girl used for “Etz chaim hi.” A triple-header bat mitzvah is more like a three-ring circus. If I miss the tightrope walker’s amazing flip because I was watching the lion tamer or the balancing elephant, I might be a bit disappointed, but I won’t ask for my money back. On the other hand, at a Shabbat service, I mostly know what’s coming next, whereas most people don’t attend a circus week after week.

“A triple-header bat mitzvah is more like a three-ring circus. If I miss the tightrope walker’s amazing flip because I was watching the lion tamer or the balancing elephant, I might be a bit disappointed, but I won’t ask for my money back.”

There were certainly drawbacks to our three ring circus. We missed parts of each service, most notably the father’s speech in Arizona (I got it from him later by email), and our own davening would have been more spiritual if we had given our full attention to one service (or to reading our books with the service in the background). Some might argue that we were only superficially dancing at three simchas and not fully present at any of them. However, I felt like I attended all three and have been able to engage with the families and with mutual friends about the experiences.

A month after this three-ring circus, my daughter celebrated her bat mitzvah – also on Zoom. I knew, based on my experience, that some guests were likely multitasking – perhaps even attending multiple simchas – and may have missed parts of the service. But I also know that we had over twice as many guests as we had at our other daughters' bat mitzvahs, not just because we were able to expand our guest list but also because people had fewer scheduling conflicts and nobody had to buy a plane ticket to attend. I would certainly do this again – in fact, we have since attended two double bnai mitzvah, this time all in our time zone.

In many ways the pandemic has slowed down life, limiting the number of activities we participate in. At the same time, it has enabled more. My colleagues and I used Zoom and other video conferencing technology before 2020, but now it has become central not only to professional activities but also to Jewish communal and religious life. Even when pandemic restrictions are lifted, I expect that non-Orthodox services and lifecycle events will offer an option of joining via video.

Coronavirus – this terrible virus that has caused so much death and misery – has brought new opportunities. Now we can dance at multiple simchas with just one tuches, as long as that tuches is surrounded by multiple electronic devices and reliable WiFi.