Wednesday, May 22, 2019

To Write or Not to Write: A Cantor's Wandering Pondering

I'm thinking about writing again. Yeah, I know, I'm writing (and presumably thinking about it) as I type, but I mean really committing to writing on regular basis and posting what I have to say.

Where is this coming from, you might wonder (if not, by all means feel free to move on). Those of you who know me well know that for 8 years I served a congregation as both Cantor and Rabbi. I was the sole-clergy on hand, which basically meant I did everything from overseeing the office and the religious school to planning all worship services to preparing the liturgy (music and non-musical portions), chanting Torah, and writing sermons. It was a great experience. A really great experience. It was in a congregation I had already served for just under a decade as Cantor, so I knew the place well - I knew the congregants and they knew me. I was helping them out while they were in a tough spot. They never grew out of their tough spot and sadly folded, but I grew immensely in the process. I learned very quickly how to prioritize competing tasks, how to lessen my perfectionistic impulses (perfectionism can be a good thing, but it can also hold up getting things done and put a halt to creativity), and I learned how to deal with crisis and keep me and the congregation going (a well-loved accompanist taking his own life just hours before Erev Rosh Hashanah tops this list). But, as much as I cherish those years and especially the relationships built within the congregation and the community, I don't miss it.

Or, at least I don't miss most of it. Don't get me wrong, there were great perks of working solo. The Rabbi and Cantor rarely disagreed (ba-da bamp). Seriously, if I wanted to change something mid-way during a worship service, I could. My vision was paramount. The expression of liturgy was easily seamless, none of that Rabbi reads, Cantor sings ping-pong ball effect that many clergy teams try to avoid. It all came from me. Luckily for me, I'm good at planning and executing worship. I'm told it's one of the things I do best in my job. That and Torah chanting. That's why, though I may have Rabbinic Smichah (thanks to my doctoral work), I'm first and foremost a Cantor. Cantors historically are masters of the liturgy, the prayers, which historically in Judaism were fully a musical endeavor. And, music is how I best express myself. But, I digress. Here is what I hated about being solo. My vision may have ruled the day, but there was no team to collaborate with and to be challenged by, and to rely on.

So, I'm no longer working as Kol Bo, as we Jewish clergy call it (a Hebrew short hand for "doing it all"). A synagogue is stronger, its worship more dynamic, its programming more thoughtful when there is a team of professionals involved in planning it, especially when the individuals on that team bring different strengths and weakness to the table. The challenges of working as a team makes the product better (assuming everyone on the team can be open and respectful of each other's skills, strengths, and ideas even as they are bantered back and forth). Which leads me to a huge but important tangent: this is why synagogues rely on members to pay "dues" or offer contributions. This team, the staff, and the building they work within and the materials used, cost money. It's amazing work, but please remember that for those of us who do this amazing work, it is our livelihood. It's how we pay our mortgage among other things.

More on that topic later - perhaps a future posting? Back to the point.

There is one element of working solo that I didn't think I'd miss, but I just may. Writing. The constancy of writing. Being expected to say something new and fairly intelligent week after week, more often than not two times a week as we had both Friday evening and Saturday morning services; this constant demand to be thinking of what to say, writing it down, and sharing it(!) in addition to any funeral eulogies, Bar/t Mitzvah charges, or wedding remarks that may have popped up during the week, was both a dreaded chore and a great discipline (funny how those two things often work hand in hand).

Growing up, I hated "English" class. I loved math and science. I love working through problems that had a clear answer at the end. I loved working through the logic in order to solve the puzzle. English (as any literature or writing class was called back then) was too open ended for me. The answers weren't black and white. Music, of course, offered the perfect balance of rule following and creativity. Follow the notes and markings to solve the puzzle, and then add the creative interpretation to make it lift off the page in flight. No two performances of the same piece need be exactly the same, yet they start from  the very same notes on the page.  As a young teen, I couldn't see that this same process could be applied to writing. I could be creative with musical notes. Words intimidated me. And, frankly sharing my ideas scared the hell out me - what if I was wrong and no one agreed with me? If you know the notes, you can't be wrong with music. A performance may not be great, folks may not like what you offer, I may not succeed in making a connection, but the music and my performance of it is still a valid endeavor. How couldn't I see that the same could be said for putting words together and then sharing them? My ideas might be bad and poorly formulated, folks may indeed disagree with me, but that doesn't make the endeavor of sharing what I have to say invalid.

Writing a dissertation (whew!) and then regular sermons for 8 years (and folks actually asking to re-read them which led years ago to the creation of this very blog) cured me of this intimidation. And, surprisingly, I actually miss expressing myself with the written word. This realization is actually more than surprising to me. It's more like a hit me over the head mid-life eye-opening realization about myself.

My music isn't going anywhere. I joyfully get to be immersed in music virtually every single day as a synagogue Cantor whether it's teaching songs to pre-school students, leading a volunteer choir, teaching a Bar or Bat Mitzvah student, intoning the words of the Jewish prayer book, chanting Torah, or simply* going to voice lessons and practicing to make sure I continue to be good at what I do. But as I continue venturing forward and pondering what lies ahead (retiring from synagogue life isn't really all that far off in the grand scheme of things), I wonder if I should get back to doing some regular writing.

So, there you have it. I may start writing again. Perhaps I already have. We will see.
Would anyone read my words? Do I care? Good questions.

* "simply," by the way, is incredibly misleading when applied to the task of maintaining the voice for professional use as it provides the foundation for everything I do. It's the bread and butter of my work, and it's damn time consuming and tedious. That being said, how awesome that maintaining and improving my instrument and my art is part of my job. Yeah, pretty cool.

-- Rhoda

No comments:

Post a Comment