Talking During Tefillah:
Understanding The Phenomenon
Irving N. Levitz Ph.D.

Introduction

For the majority of Orthodox Jews, social conversation during synagogue services is an indigenous part of tefillah be'tzibur, communal prayer. Talking in shul has become the de-facto norm to such a degree, that in the minds of many an Orthodox worshipper it is precisely this casual combination of prayer and camaraderie that differentiates the "warm" Orthodox davening from the cold decorous temple service of their non-Orthodox coreligionists.

    The widespread practice of combining prayer with social camaraderie, however, is an enigma. Orthodox Jews do not, as a rule, blatantly violate or openly ignore halachic imperatives. Commitment to halacha is, after all, Orthodoxy's most distinguishing characteristic. Orthodox Jews are, therefore, particularly conscientious about halachic standards pertaining to the sanctity of their synagogues and are fastidious about such matters as the height of the ,mechitzah, the placement of the bima, the prescribed order of the liturgical service, the flawless precision with which the Torah is read and the exacting requirements with which the scroll is written. Yet, despite the most decisive halachic prohibitions against talking or socializing during the. synagogue service itself, the vast majority of Orthodox Jews see nothing disturbing or incongruous about praying in a social environment.

    Why, despite centuries of rabbinic censure and halachic prohibition, has socializing become so embedded into the fabric of Jewish communal prayer? How is it that Jews who so value prayer jeopardize its very performance by engaging in social talk during services? The answers are rooted not only in historic precedents, but in several salient psychosocial factors as well.

    The purpose of this paper is to explore these questions from an historical, halachic and psychological perspective. The intention here is not to formulate a definitive strategy for solving what is known as "the problem of synagogue decorum,' but rather to describe, conceptualize, and understand the dynamics of this puzzling enigma — the phenomenon of talking during tefillah. [Top of page]

The Halachic Perspective

    The Kaf Hachaim suggests, therefore, that for the habitual synagogue talker incapable of controlling his social urges it is better for him not to come to the synagogue at all, and to pray at home instead.⁶  Given the harsh rabbinic characterization of the synagogue talker, praying at home certainly seems the more prudent option.

    With regard to the synagogue precinct itself, the Mishnah Berurah, reflecting the prevailing rabbinic view, warns that grievous consequences are destined to befall synagogues rife with talking, in that they will ultimately be destroyed.^{7 8}

    During the tragic years of the Chmielnicki persecutions of 1648-1649, for example, the renowned sage Ray Yom-Tov Lipmann Heller, known as the Tosafot Yom Toy, introduced a mi she bairach prayer into the synagogue service which was not only meant as a special blessing for those who refrained from talking during synagogue prayers, but was also a reaction to the Chmielnicki massacre itself.⁹ The massacre and destruction of hundreds of synagogues and houses of study was apparantly viewed as Divine reproof for the widespread practice of talking during tefillah.

    Yet, despite centuries of rabbinic censure, talking during tefillah has remained. This is the crux of the enigma, an understanding of which requires not only an exploration into the history of the synagogue, but insight into the psychology of the worshipper, and the social dynamics of Jewish communal life itself. [Top of page]

Prayer in a Social Milieu: Historical Perspective

    The synagogue may have always combined both sacred and social functions, even from its very inception. One of the earliest prototypes of synagogue life was the beit ha-am, house of the people,' where Jews would gather to pray, discuss communal affairs, and listen to the words of the Prophets.¹⁰ These institutions were evidently not used exclusively for worship, but as communal meeting places and social centers as well.

    Whereas at the time of the Prophets the beit ha-am appeared to be a sanctioned institution, over time it underwent a negative transformation and came to be viewed by most rabbinic authorities as an halachic anomaly.¹¹ In talmudic times it had already become a contemptuous reference to a place of social vulgarity, where the multitudes would gather primarily for social purposes and engage in lascivious behavior. ¹² The Maharsha not only censured the beit ha-am as an halachically-defective institution, but depicted it as an antithetical model for the synagogue whose prototype is the kodesh hakodoshim (the great sanctuary).^{13 14}

    For the vast majority of halachic authorities, in fact, the synagogue is unquestionably rooted in the kodesh hakodoshim, and not in the beit ha-am.¹⁵ Yet, in the sense that it typically combines both sacred and social functions, most contemporary Orthodox synagogues have apparently retained some of the most fundamental characteristics of the beit ha-am.

    The casual, seemingly irreverent social ambience of today's Orthodox synagogue, however, is clearly not unique to the twentieth century.⁶ A social environment for synagogue prayer already existed in talmudic times, soon after the destruction of the Temple. In recounting the glory of the great synagogue of Alexandria, the Talmud notes that it was organized into homogeneous groups according to occupation.⁷ Goldsmiths, silversmiths, blacksmiths, metalworkers, and weavers each sat in their own designated sections. If anyone sought employment in a specific trade he would simply go to the synagogue section specified for that particular occupation and inquire.

    Synagogues were not only organized by occupation, but by country of origin as well. The Talmud frequently makes reference to the separate synagogues of the Roman Jews of Machoza, the Babylonian Jews, the Alexandrians and the Tarsians. This trend toward homogeneous grouping indicates that even the most ancient of synagogues considered social compatibility to be an important component of communal prayer. These early synagogues were apparantly formed not only for the purpose of prayer, but also to meet communal social needs as well. This explains the requirement of social compatibility.

    Over the centuries, the synagogue not only served as a communal center, but under the insufferable conditions of ghetto life, punctuated by frightful episodes of persecution and exile, assumed an even greater role in providing an all- embracing and supportive social function. The 18th-century rise of Hasidism even further reinforced the social component of synagogue life. The Hasidim dispensed with much of the traditional synagogue formality, stressing instead spiritual excitement and devout fervor. The venue for prayer changed, as well. Instead of conducting prayer in a traditional synagogue building, Hasidim created the shtibl, a small room or house. This informal physical arrangement, usually smaller, more spartan, spatially cramped, and furnished with tables and benches in place of formal pews, tended to both encourage and enjible easy social interaction. Intense prayer became interwoven with casual conversation, creating a combination of sacred fervor and social warmth.¹⁸ In addition to prayer, the shtibl served as a community meeting place and beit midrash. Communal meals with the rebbe, seudot mitzvah, especially the seuda shelishit and melaveh malka meals, were also held there. The whole atmosphere which blended impassioned prayer with social camaraderie added yet another powerful historical precedent to the practice of conducting prayer in a social context. A common expression, in fact, for a synagogue that is particularly tumultuous, is that "it is just like a shtibl."

    The prototype of the synagogue as a social center, from talmudic times to the present, undoubtedly serves as a striking model for the Orthodox synagogue today. In a sense, this longstanding historical precedent helps explain the widespread perception that talking in shul is not only of minor consequence, but may in fact be an indigenous component of tefillah betzibur itself.'⁹ Furthermore, the memory of cherished parents and grandparents talking during tefillaJi is difficult to discredit, and in the traditional mindset of the Orthodox worshipper, the way things have always been, is the way they must continue. [Top of page]

    The fact that synagogues have always needed to rely upon the benevolence of community patrons for their sustenance and survival is another critical factor which affects the social milieu of the traditional synagogue. There were times when it was prevalent for individuals to own personal synagogues and control every nuance of synagogue life. Although it is more common today for synagogues to be communally owned, an individual Jew could still develop a sense of proprietorship by purchasing his own seat or block of seats in the synagogue.

    A contemporary form of ownership, albeit less overt, is that of synagogue membership. Given the appreciable costs of annual dues, building funds, and frequent appeals, members tend to develop a sense of proprietorship along with a perception that the synagogue is a democratic rather than a theocratic institution. There is a sense that not only do members belong to the synagogue, but the synagogue belongs to its members, who are therefore entitled to determine whether the ambiance of their synagogue should be sacred or social. The effect of this perception has more often than not weakened the halachic authority of the rabbi.

    The prayer environment is entirely different, however, when rabbinic authority is empowered to enforce halachic standards. Prayer in a yeshiva beit midrash, for example, tends to be both spiritually endowed and religiously inspired. The context of prayer is halachically prescribed and enforced by the worshippers under the compelling guidance of the rebbeirn and rosh yeshiva. Typically, when worshippers in a yeshiva setting come together for tefillah, they become socially disengaged and remain so until the end of the service. Should anyone attempt to socialize during tefillah, his behavior is viewed as aberrant. Davening in a yeshiva setting tends to be a model of a sacred prayer context, not only because its worshippers are generally more attuned to the halachic requirements of prayer and therefore more inclined to follow halachic standards, but also because they do not have a sense of proprietorship as do baa lei batim. Empowerment of the rosh yeshiva to implement the halachic standard within his domain is implicit and unchallenged.²⁰

    The result of generations of lay control over synagogue life may have led not only to the establishment of the synagogue as a social center and a frivolous prayer environment, but to halachic disregard, and as some rabbinic authorities assert, even sacrilege. [Top of page]

Common Beliefs and Assumptions

    Several commonly held assumptions help sustain the belief that talking in shul is, at most, no more than a minor halachic infraction. One of these beliefs is that one is, in fact, permitted to socialize in the synagogue except for times of Iiefsek (when it is strictly forbidden to interrupt the service for any reason).²' The popular conception is that socializing at other times is halachically permissible. 22 Halacha, however, does not support this contention.

    The Mishnah Berurah, for example, decisively rules that socializing is prohibited even at times other than hefsek periods.²³ The types of social intercourse most commonly observed in Orthodox synagogues include every variation of halachically prohibited engagement: Kalut Rosh— jesting, laughing, playful taunting, joking; Sicha Beta ila — idle chatter (e.g. sports, politics), Dibu rim Asu rim— gossip, rumor, derisive arguments, and Divrei Chol— business discussions.²⁴²⁵ These are at all times halachically prohibited within the precincts of the synagogue.²⁶ In the milieu of the Orthodox synagogue, however, where social intercourse has been the accepted norm for generations, halachic rulings seem at times to be eclipsed by the entrenched social norm.

    Another common belief frequently promulgated in support of praying in a social environment is that " a shul is not a church.' The synagogue service does not necessitate passivity, silence, or prim formality from its worshippers as does the traditional Catholic or Protestant church. The synagogue, this rationale maintains, unlike the church, is not merely a sanctuary for solemn prayer or passive silence, but a gathering house for communal purposes as well.²⁷ It is, in fact, its very informal social milieu that not only differentiates it from both the church and the non-Orthodox temple, but is the distinguishing characteristic of the Orthodox synagogue itself.

    That "a shul is not a church" is apparently a longstanding argument frequently quoted and rebutted in rabbinic literature.²⁸ One typical rabbinic retort to this longstanding argument asserts that those who talk in. shul should, in fact, "take example from the Gentiles who... in their houses of worship stand in awe of their false gods... We who stand before the King of Kings, should certainly do so in awe and fear."²⁹

    According to the Derech Moshe it is precisely because in comparison to the Gentiles, Jews do not respect their houses of worship, that Satan, the prosecuting angel, can successfully accuse the Jews of sacrilege before G-d.³⁰

For every satanic accusation leveled against the Jews, the Holy One with a measure of mercy is able to silence him. For example, if the Satan says that Jews are thieves, the Holy One responds to him "who says that if the nations would have received the Torah that they would not have been worse thieves than the people of Israel?" But if the accuser says the people of Israel are disrespectful and talk in their synagogues, to this the Holy One (figuratively) does not have a response, because, indeed, the Gentile nations do, in fact, stand in awe and respect during their worship.

    The Derech Moshe further suggests an allusion to this dialogue between G-d and the Satan in the biblical passage "Hashern yilachern lachern, ye-a tern tacharishun"— "The Lord will go to war on your behalf [against the Satan and his allegations] but you will need to be silent [in the synagoguel."³¹ [Top of page]

Psychological Factors

    For many an Orthodox congregant the primary value derived from synagogue attendance, and the essence of the shuI experience, is the camaraderie, fellowship and esprit de corps derived from being part of the social collective. As such, tefillah betzibur has evolved as the social touchstone of Jewish communal life. The ceremonial trappings of ritual and liturgy are often no more than a legitimizing framework, which allows community members to meet, socialize, and reaffirm their sense of belonging while under the guise of a commitment to shared religious objectives.

    Most worshippers have a distinct but muted sense that talking in shul is not in accordance with halachic standards. This awareness, however, tends to remain vague, because individuals need a way of psychologically protecting themselves from feelings of discomforting guilt that arise when beliefs and behaviors conflict. Were the religiously committed synagogue talker more fully cognizant of the halachic ramifications of his behavior, he would likely experience what is known to psychologists as "cognitive dissonance" - a form of psychic conflict which would require the individual to find a way of reconciling both his belief in the efficacy of halacha and his halachically antithetical behavior.³²

    Even a muted awareness of halachic prohibitions still arouses some degree of inner conflict necesitating a strategy of psychological defense. An habitual synagogue talker might, for example, choose to minimize the seriousness of talking in shul by rationalizing it, joking about it, justifying it, or simply avoiding halachic study of the topic altogether. One could also reduce the psychological tension of cognitive dissonance by changing one's behavior in the synagogue to conform with the halachic standard. Avoiding conscious awareness of these halachot or minimizing their significance, however, is a strategy more comfortable psychologically than changing one's behavior. To change one's behavior from social talker to one who is non-compliant with the synagogue's established social norms is to risk isolation and rejection from fellow congregants. For most individuals, conforming with the group norm while maintaining no more than a vague awareness of the halacha is simply the path of greatest psychological comfort and least social risk. The alternative, which is to view one's own behavior as halachically aberrant, or more ominously, as an act of sacrilege (Chilul Has hem) and a desecration of the synagogue's sanctity, is as unsettling as it is threatening. [Top of page]

Motivational Factors

    One of the reasons that socializing 'has become such an indigenous component of synagogue life is because it meets so many essential social, psychological, and communal needs. Worshippers, however, are not always conscious of all the factors that motivate them to specifically socialize in the sacred precincts of the synagogue.

    These motivating factors exist on three distinct psychological levels of awareness. There are explicit motivations that are both conscious and easily revealed to others, implicit motivations that are conscious but socially concealed, and motivations that are for the most part unconscious even to the individual himself.

    Since tefillah betzibur, congregational prayer, is one of the most fundamental tenets of Jewish life, the most explicit motivation for attending synagogue is evidently to pray. This motivation is both in the worshipper's conscious awareness and is readily shared with others. It is, after all, axiomatic that one goes to shul todaven.³³

    Attending synagogue for reasons other than prayer or study would not be in keeping with the synagogue's raison d'etre, or the community's explicit religious standard. One is less likely, therefore, to acknowledge going to synagogue primarily for reasons other than prayer. Yet, for many congregants a primary motivation for attending synagogue is, in fact, simply to meet friends and socialize.

    This may be especially true for those who harbor doubts about the efficacy of traditional prayer, or who are unable to connect with either its meaning or motifs. Inner skepticism, spiritual detachment from tefillah, and the need to attend synagogue primarily for social reasons, however, are not readily shared with others, for there is a tacit communal understanding that the primary purpose of the synagogue is for prayer and other sacred matters. To admit candidly that one attends synagogue primarily to socialize is to betray the synagogue's sacred purpose. Since this would not reflect positively on the individual's religious commitment, his social motivations need to be concealed. Individuals might spend their entire time in the synagogue engaged in social conversation and nevertheless insist that they have come to shuI to dave n.

    Halachic standards aside, the power of this social drive is compelling. In a time-pressured world, where opportunities for socializing with friends tend to be limited, the social component of synagogue life serves as a bulwark against alienation and isolation by providing communal affiliation, emotional support, and a social presence. One entering a socially-oriented Orthodox synagogue eager for social contact has a ready environment to meet these psychosocial needs.

    In addition, a supportive social network can effectively assuage the many life stresses that individuals normally experience as part of their daily lives. Any social situation that allows individuals to vent, laugh, share concerns, derive encouragement and become momentarily distracted from personal pressures not only helps to relieve stress, but prevents it as well?⁴ A socially-oriented synagogue is likely to provide just such a stress reducing potential. [Top of page]

Unconscious Motivations

    Talking in synagogue may also be unconsciously motivated by a need to avoid the intense emotional investment required for authentic prayer. At times of personal crisis, individuals tend to be very conscious of the need to pray for Divine intervention and solace. At other times, however, when life is seemingly tranquil and crisis free, it is disconcerting to become conscious of one's essential vulnerability, for this can evoke the discomforting feelings of existential anxiety. It is an anxiety aroused by an awareness that man is inherently lonely, finite, and that his life and those of his loved ones is always precarious. According to Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik it is precisely because uncertainty and vulnerability is a constant, and life itself a time of perpetual crisis, that Maimonides decreed prayer to be biblically mandated, for man is perpetually in need of Divine intervention.³⁶

    The genius of traditional Jewish prayer lies in its ability to simultaneously evoke both an awareness of existential vulnerability and a sense of comfort in experiencing the Divine presence. Intense and authentic prayer not only tends to assuage anxieties emanating from existential loneliness and vulnerability but also move the worshipper toward a more spiritual and meaningful perspective of life and purpose.

    The mind-set for authentic Jewish prayer (tefillah), however, is difficult to achieve. Tefillah not only requires a focused concentration (kavanah) on what one is saying and to Whom one is praying, but a heightened consciousness of one's vulnerability and dependence on Divine providence.³⁷ When not in crisis, however, individuals often find it difficult to evoke the deep emotions required for authentic tefillah. To socialize with friends and enjoy a sense of personal confirmation, community affiliation, a perception of well being and even a temporary respite from vulnerability, however illusory, is yet another way of keeping existential anxiety at bay. [Top of page]

Breaking the Cycle of Rebuke, Resistance, and Resentment

    Several halachic authorities assert that it is the responsibility of the congregation to self-manage the environment in which it prays. Based on the premise that idle talk during tefillah is a public transgression (chait rabim) which desecrates the sanctity of the synagogue, each worshipper bears responsibility to deter others from talking, and help foster a sacred rather than a social prayer environment. Thus, Rabbenu Yonah maintains that one is required to admonish a talker in sliul for it is "the obligation of the entire congregation to reproach him," and prevent him from violating the sanctity of the synagogue.³⁸ The Shulchan Aruch similarly entreats others to rebuke one who talks during the cantor's recitation of the Shemoneh Esrai, "for his sin is too great to bear."^{39 40}

    In a context that defines itself as essentially social, however, even the most diplomatically couched expressions of disapproval tend to be viewed as socially inappropriate and are at best ineffective. At worst they are seen as intrusive, offensive and provocative. Attempts at religious instruction or moral entreaty (mussar) similarly tends to be viewed as condescending. So long as the implicit social contract of the synagogue is social, any personal appeal, in fact, aimed at restricting the socializing of fellow worshippers tends to evoke either a humorous dismissal or an angry rejoinder.

    In most Orthodox synagogues, when the cacophony of noise from adult socializing and the clamor of children playing, crying and scampering about has reached some unacceptable decibel level, rabbis and synagogue presidents will stop the service in order to scold, admonish, and even threaten the offending worshippers. Protests from the pulpit tend to affect no more than a temporary respite, however, and within moments, the congregation resumes its social agenda.

    Recurrent admonitions from the pulpit to be decorous seem no more effective than the myriad strategies attempted by synagogue Decorum Committees charged with the challenging task of bringing order to chaos. Ushers appointed to control fellow congregants either find themselves succumbing to the lure of socializing themselves, or run the risk of social censure. Ushers who rebuke fellow worshippers for talking often suffer the consequences of angry retort, or become the target of mocking resentment. Unequal relationships in a social context are not well tolerated, and the burnout rate of ushers as well as decorum committees is notoriously high. Successive failures to create decorum often bring despair, anger, and increased reprimand which in turn leads to an even greater resistance on the part of congregants to change. Worshippers resent being lectured to, yelled at, or chastised from the pulpit by those who themselves engage in social conversation when not in positions of leadership. Anger from the pulpit begets anger from the pew as congregations become embroiled in a cycle of rebuke, resistance and resentment. [Top of page]

The Process of Change

    The social milieu of the contemporary Orthodox synagogue may differ little from the 17th century synagogues at the time of the Tosafot Yom Toy, who introduced his special blessing for those who refrained from talking during tefillah. The problem of decorum," as it has come to be known, continues unabated. The many attempts by synagogues to effect a change in their social milieu so as to create an halachically conducive environment for prayer, generally end in failure and lead to a sense of despair. Frustrated rabbis and lay leaders, in their struggle to create decorum, all too often become ensnared in a tense pattern of anger, rebuke, and resistance. Ultimately, the will of the congregation to maintain a social environment prevails.

    To change the social milieu of a synagogue into a spiritually conducive environment for prayer requires not only good intent, but a clear understanding of the psychological dynamics of how people change. It is particularly important to understand that congregants cannot be coerced from without, only enabled to change from within. It is akin, in many respects, to the change process that occurs during teshuva or psychotherapy. Talking in shul is, after all, an act driven by dynamic internal factors. It is psychologically motivated, socially reinforced, historically modelled, conceptually rationalized, and halachically misunderstood. Individuals are not likely to change their pattern of behavior if admonished from the pulpit, coerced by decorum committees, controlled by ushers, or rebuked by fellow congregants. These are external forces against which individuals will psychologically defend themselves. Change, when it does occur, takes place as an internal process.

    This is not to say that behaviors cannot be temporarily suppressed by external control. Unless internally motivated, however, the individual will soon default to his previous pattern of behavior. This is why a congregation can be momentarily quieted from the pulpit, but as soon as pressure from the pulpit is suspended, there is a return to the previous level of talk and turbulence.

    Change is a process of several sequential phases.⁴' The first phase of change requires a degree of discomfort with an existing situation or condition. It is often a troubling recognition that a given situation is problematic, or a current state of affairs intolerable. This is always the driving force that precedes change, for without discomfort, change would be unnecessary.

    During the second phase of the change process one gains insight into the nature of the problem, understanding why it evolved, how it is being maintained, and that there are options and choices. Insight alone, however, does not suffice in bringing. about change. There needs to be a wilful commitment to make change happen, or one is simply left with an understanding of the problem and nothing else. The third phase of change, therefore, requires a will and determination to change.

    When determination is followed by action, change begins to occur. The addict stops taking drugs, the overeater begins a diet, the couple stops bickering and starts communicating, the synagogue membership agrees to change its prayer environment from social to spiritual, and decisively takes upon itself the commitment to refrain from talking during tefillah.

    Since individuals tend to fall back on old habits, the final phase of change is that of maintenance. Ingrained behaviors are always subject to regression. It is only after an appreciable period of time, during which a new norm has been created and stabilized, that one can say with some degree of certainty that change has actually occurred.

    In the context of synagogue life, any attempt to change the prayer environment from social to sacred must similarly go through these sequential phases of the change process. A congregation cannot even begin a process of change unless it is sufficiently uncomfortable with its social milieu during tefillah. So long as talking in sh u I is perceived as an acceptable norm there is no cause for distress. For congregants unfamiliar with the relevant halachot, there is no reason to expect either psychic discomfort or inner conflict when there is talking during tefillak. For those able to rationalize talking in shul as being of only minor halachic import, there, too, conflict or guilt would be an unlikely consequence of synagogue socializing. It is only where a congregation is both religiously committed and fully conscious of the halachic imperative and its gravity, that discomfort can lead to a new group ethic. If a congregation is to change its prayer environment, therefore, enough of its members need to experience a sense of crisis and uneasiness about the discrepancy between halacha and their existing social milieu. It is here that the role of the rabbi as teacher and discomforter par excellence becomes central.

    That a synagogue is supported by patron members does not preclude a rabbi from moving his congregation to a higher spiritual plane. The power of the pulpit lies in a myriad of factors which include a congregation's respect for its rabbi's scholarship, his skill as a teacher, his personal relationship with the members of his congregation, and his perceived integrity as a person. The reverence and affection with which a congregation holds its rabbi can render him immensely powerful in affecting his synagogue's prayer environment. Provided that he does not diminish himself by becoming a minister of angry rebuke, a rabbi can most effectively launch a process of change from his role as respected teacher and halachic authority.

    In a variety of settings, from the pulpit to the classroom, through the written word, halachic discourses, small group discussions, and special learning programs, a rabbi can create myriad opportunities to teach the relevant halachot pertaining to synagogue deportment, raise community consciousness, and create the psychic discomfort necessary for change. Additionally, congregants would need to be made aware, in a sensitive, non-judgmental way, of the psychological (implicit and unconscious) motivations for talking during services. Making the unconscious conscious has always been a psychoanalytic catalyst for change.

    A skillful harnessing of the communal will and the kindling of group determination to change the synagogue's prayer environment characterizes the next stage of the change process. Only if change is perceived as a manifestation of the communal will, rather than the imposed dictates of a select few, can it have a chance for general acceptance. If change in a synagogue's prayer environment is informed by halacha and psychological insight, driven by discomfort, manifested in a communal will, and implemented by a congregation's desire to establish an halachic standard for prayer, its chances for success are high. Once a prayer environment is established and a new set of expectations for synagogue behavior is in place, the majority of congregants tend to conform.

    In synagogues that have successfully created spiritual prayer environments, it has generally been the result of a determined rabbi skillfully working in~, concert with informed and committed baale batim. The critical role of a rabbi able to impart halachic knowledge with a sensitivity for group dynamics and an adeptness for community organization is a sine qua non for successful change.

    Few Orthodox rabbis, however, are formally trained in these requisite skills.With the understandable emphasis that rabbinic schools need to place on imparting Torah knowledge, there is often little room in the smicha curriculum for the formal study of psychologically based courses. Despite the clear need for a more formal knowledge base in pastoral psychology, community organization, and group processes, most Orthodox rabbis assume rabbinic positions depending for the most part, on their own intuitive sense alone. Unfortunately, despite the innate intelligence, scholarship, and idealistic inclination of most Orthodox rabbis, intuition alone rarely suffices when it comes to skillfully affecting change in such a deeply rooted norm as talking during tefillah. The task becomes overwhelming, and frustration often leads to either anger or capitulation. Once a rabbi capitulates, his acquiescence itself becomes tacit confirmation that talking in shul is of only minor halachic consequence.

    The enigma of the Orthodox synagogue, then, is a function of many dynamic forces with historical, psychological, and social factors coalescing to create a norm that is self- perpetuating. Although the psychological principles of how people change have long been understood, their effective implementation within the framework of synagogue life is still a rarity.

    For those who believe that the Final Redemption is dependent on halachic standards of communal prayer, redemption itself may have to wait until the collective conscience of the Orthodox community can be awakened to feel a discomfort with the current norm, and a determination to change it. [Top of page]

Note

I gratefully acknowledge the Journal of Halacha and
Contemporary Society, its publisher Rabbi Jacob Joseph School,
Editor Rabbi Alfred S. Cohen and Editorial Committee — Rabbi
Yaakov Feitman, Rabbi Israel Polyeft Rabbi Bernard
Weinberger, for allowing this reproduction.

I also extend my thanks to Dr. Irving N. Levitz Ph.D., the author of this pamphlet, for his inspiring words of Torah and inspiration.

My thanks also go to Mr. Manny Spero of Cleveland Heights, Ohio, for his lithograph reproduction which graces the front cover.

Max Safrin
Elizabeth, NJ 07208

Mishaberach

     In response to the great suffering the Jews of Central and Eaatern Europe experienced in 1648-49, Rabbi Yom Toy Lippman HaLevi Heller, author of the Tosfoa Yom Toy, felt that the Jewish community needed to colectively raise itself to a higher spiritual level through prayer and, therefore, composed a prayer for those who refrain from talking during davening.

He who blessed our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Moses and Aaron, David and Shlomo — may He bless everyone who guards his mouth and tongue and refrains from talking during the prayer service. May the Holy One, blessed is He, protect him from every trouble and distress, from every plague and illness; may all the blessings written in the Torah of Moses and in the books of the Prophets and Writings be applied to him; may he merit seeing his children alive and established — may he raise them to Torah, the wedding canopy and good deeds; may he serve Hashem, our G-d in truth and integrity; and now let us respond Amen.

 [Top of page]

Footnotes:

1. Tractate Megilla Ii, 28a , Shuichan Arucli, Yoreh Deah, 246:7;Ibid. Orach Chaim, 124:7; Mishnah Bert~rah,151:1; Rambam,Hilchot Tefillah, 11:6; Zohar, Parshat Teruniah, 13 Ia. See Sefer Dover Shalom, chapter 13, R. Avrohom Meshi Zahav, Jerusalem, 1980, for a compendium of rabbinic commentary on the issue of talking in the synagogue during t efi II a h.

2. Zohar,Parshat Terumah, 131a.

3. Rokeach, Hilchot Teshuvah, siman 26.

4. The severity of this classification is underscored by the belief that a choteh umachti loses his portion in the world to come. Veharai zeh bivchinat chotai umachti et harabim, she-am lo chelek le-olam habah," Kuntrus Shomer Emunim, 63, as cited in Sefer Dover Shalom, p.80, ibid.

5. Derech Moshe, Hanispach le-sefer Hagan, bema-amar leyom 26.

6. Kaf Hachaim, Orach Chaim, 151:8.

7. Mishnah Berurah, ibid.

8. In a similiar vein, the Chatam Sofer, noting the talmudic opinion (Megilla 28a) that synagogues of the diaspora will one day be established in Eretz Yisrael, added the proviso that this is true only if they are sanctified by prayer. If, however, they are desecrated by idle talk they will become Tamei (impure), and simply lose their sanctity.

9. May He who bestowed blessings on our forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob... .bestow His blessings on everyone who guards his tongue and refrains from talking during the time of tefillah. ..May he merit to see his children grow up and flourish, and may he raise them to Torah, marriage, and good deeds.. ..and let us say Amen.

10. Jeremiah, 39:8, refers to the beit ha-am, which both Rashi and Radak interpret to mean Synagogue.

11. See Mso Melo HaRoim, R. Yaakov Zvi Yollish (d.1825).

12. See Rashi's comment on Beit Ha-am, Shabbat 32a.

13. Ma/ia rsha, (R. Shmuel Eliezer HaLevi Edels, 1555-1632), Tractate Shabbat 32a, it was as though it were designated fonly] for the people and their needs, land that] there was no divine element in it. these people were punished for perceiving no distinction between a 'people's house' and a synagogue--that the latter is a House of G-d, a sacred place, while a 'people's house' designates a secular place, where men and women gather for all occasions, but not for prayer. These ignorant men made a people's house out of the synagogue.

14. Ray Menachem Kasher in underscoring the contention that the Beit Ha-am was the halachic antithesis of the synagogue, wrote that those responsible for its creation, "destroyed the basic character of the House of G-d, and substituted in its place a house of the people." Kasher, Ray Menachem M., "The Hallowed House of Worship," in The Sanctity of the Synagogue, Chapter VI, p. 258.

15. See Mishnah Berurah 151:1 — "Ki haim nikraim mikdash me-at, kemo dichtiv, 'va-ehi lahem Iemikdash me-at."'

16. In 1663 Samuel Pepys, an eminent non-Jewish diarist, visited a synagogue during holiday services and made the following entry into his famous diary: "Lord: to see the disorder, the laughing, sporting and lack of attention, . . .there is such confusion in all their service Samuel Pepy's six volume diary was written between 1660-1669, and translated between 1819-1822.

17. Sukkah, Sib.

18. Minkin, Jacob S., The Romance of Hasidism, Thomas Yosseloff Publishing, 1955, pp.³²¹-³²³.

19. This prompted the rabbinic comment: "yes/I kania aveirot shebizrnaneinu she-ainom neclzeshavirn le-aveirot k/al, kegon seechat chulin bevait haknesset" — "There are some transgressions in our times that are not even considered transgressions at all, such as (non-sacred) talking in the synagogue." Hayashar Vehatov, daf 26.

20. Another example of where synagogue standards tend to be based on halacha rather than on the social needs and preferences of community members has been in those instances when the community was organized under the aegis of a kehillab. At those times when a kehillah had administrative responsibilities for all synagogues within its precinct and would administratively appoint rabbis, establish synagogue standards, and insist on halachic guidelines for tefillah in all its congregations, talking in the synagogue was generally not countenanced. Like the yeshiva setting, the prayer environment tended to be sacred and decidedly non-social. The German Jewish K e h ill a h is a case in point.

21. For example, during the silent Shemoneh Esrai, Kedusha, after Boruch Sheomar, etc..

22. The reasoning is reminiscent of the dictum "mitoch lay atab shomea ha in"— one is able to learn (by inference) what is permissible by knowing what is prohibited.

23. "Therefore a G-d fearing person should commit himself never to engage in deva rim beta ilim while in the synagogue or study hail. That place should be exclusive for prayer and Torah study only.' Mishnah Berurah, 151:2

24. Heilman, S.,Synagogue Life: A Study of Symbolic Interaction, University of Chicago Press, Chicago 1976. In his classic study of synagogue life, Heilman observed that gossip, personal anecdotes, joking and humorous remarks, constituted a significant portion of the social interactions within the synagogue.

25. Laughter as an important component of social intercourse, acts to create a bond between individuals, and influences the tenor of a group by synchronizing the mood of those present.This helps explain the pervasive mirth and laughter among congregants in socially-oriented Orthodox synagogues. Kalut Rosh may be halachically prohibited, but from a psychological perspective, it is an integral part of social bonding

See Robert Provine's study on laughter in the American Scientist, Feb.1996.

26. Shulchan Aruch, 151:1; see also: Mishnah Berurab, ibid. Rambam, Hilchot Tefiflaft 11:6.

27. The conspicuous difference in the prayer environments of church and synagogue are even reflected in the etymology of "Church" and "Synagogue~^t . Whereas Church is derived from the Greek kyrakon meaning "lord's house", the Greek word for synagogue is based on the Hebrew Beit Knesset - (house of) "assembly".

28. Snza'k, mitzvah 11; Sefer Chasidim, sinian 11.

29. Sefer Chasidim, Ibid.

30. Derech Moshe, Hanispach le-Sefer Hagan, be-maamar Ie-yom

31. Exodus 14:14.

32. Festinger,L., A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press. 1957. According to this theory, when a person has inconsistent perceptions or conflicting beliefs, he will experience a psychological state of tension called "dissonance." This tension creates a state of discomfort which motivates the individual to reduce or eliminate it.

33. There are times when this motivation is particularly evident. When a congregation deems a moment to be of special sacred significance, (e.g. during the silent Shemoneh Esrai, Kol Nidre, N'eilah, Aicha, etc.) the synagogue atmosphere becomes both decorous and spiritual. Talking during those times even in the most social of synagogues is perceived as deviant. It is at these times that worshippers behavior tends to be most congruent with their explicit motivation and expressed beliefs.

34. Smith, J., Understanding Stress and Coping , Macmillan Publishing Company, New York, 1993. pp.²³-²⁵

35. Based on clinical information derived from the author's patients in psychotherapy.

36. There is a controversy between Maimonides and Nachmanides regarding the question of whether prayer is a rabbinic injunction or biblically mandated. Maimonides regarded prayer as biblically ordained whereas Nachmanides considered it a special privilege. Nachmanides conceded, however, that be'ait tzarah, at times of distress, the duty to pray is a Torah-mandated obligation.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, in an attempt to reconcile these disparate views, pointed out that both Maimonides and Nachmanides commonly believed that prayer is rooted in a sense of tzarah — distress. Maimonides, on the other hand considered man inherently vulnerable, his life always precarious, his condition essentially lonely and every moment of his existence a state of perpetual tzarah. He is therefore alv'ays obligated to pray. See Besdin A., Reflections of the Ray, Alpha Press, Jerusalem, 1979, p.80.

37. Rambam, Hilchot Tefillah, 4:15. 'Kol teffilah she -ainah bekavana ainah tejillahi'

38. Rabbenu Yonah, Iggeret Hateshuva — Yom Rishon.

39. Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chaim, 124:7.

40. The Gaon Ray Zelig Reuven Bengis z'tzl suggests, however, that the rebuke given the talker needs to be instructive rather than simply harsh or punitive reprimand.

"...each and every person has the obligation to eradicate this transgression of talking in synagogue from among those who fail to observe its prohibition. This should be done in order to make theni au'are of the need to say 'amen', and so that they not engage in idle talk."

Kuntrus Shomrai Eniunim, p. 26, Michtevai Hagaon Ray Zelig Reuven Bengis z'tzl.

41. For a fuller understanding of the processes of change, see Whellis A., How People Change, Harper and Row Pub., New York, 1973, and Prochaska, J., Systems of Psychotherapy: A Transtheoretical Analysis, Brooks/Cole Pub. Pacific Grove,Cal.,1994, pp.11-19.

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