Open the Windows

On the last שבת of רמה סמינר (yes, in Hebrew those words should be flipped), I made it to יקר for Friday night davening, and I found a home. (I guess I'm pretty into things at first sight ....) Ever since, in spite of all my issues with מחיצות and my seemingly endless ability to martyr myself for my ideology, I try to get to יקר every Friday night I can when I'm in ירושלים. On נתיב, Ben Block and I were there as often as possible, and now my weekly chevre often includes Rabbi Rob and Avinoam Kahn.

I've heard many people complain about the style of the גבאי-cum-ש"ץ-cum-דרשן, but I absolutely adore him. My father leaned over to me the first time he was at יקר this year and said, "this guy would be a great ראש עדה." Exactly. I spend my life looking for ראש עדה types and, if I think you would make a good ראש עדה (or if I know that you did), it's likely that we're going places (I won't list names - many of you know who you are).

The Wexner Foundation's weekly newsletter has given me an opportunity to write about my admiration for this guy (whose name I still don't know, and who wasn't there when I was on סמינר or נתיב - he's too young - and I don't actually know what happened to the guy who was there when I was younger) and, irony of ironies, a week or two after I submitted the piece (reproduced below), I looked around in the middle of קבלת שבת because it felt a little stifling and, wouldn't you believe it, the windows were closed and he hadn't noticed. It's all about the details.

On Shabbat, from a man whose name I do not know, I learn a simple but fundamental lesson in effecting charismatic leadership: Leave the windows open.

I am reminded most Friday afternoons what a pleasure it is to remain firmly planted on “the balcony” as we watch others exercise leadership. In a raucous second-floor room in Jerusalem, I observe as a man whose work I admire goes about his diverse duties with remarkable efficacy; the experience routinely rejuvenates me spiritually in a way I have not been able to replicate anywhere these last twelve years.

His mind must be constantly working on multiple levels: modulating the volume and pace of the singing; finding the right pearl of spiritual wisdom to extract from the weekly parashah; warmly welcoming the diverse constituents of this minyan in any given week; making sure children, the elderly, and infirmed have access to the limited number of seats; choosing the right niggun to match his vision for our time together to the reality of the mood in the room. He tells us each week not to worry if we need a place for Shabbat dinner, but I wonder if he finds himself worrying who will step forward and offer a place at their table. He keeps an eye on both sides of the mechitzah to gauge if it needs to be moved a foot left or right to accommodate the swelling numbers – the women’s side usually fills up much faster than the men’s.

Every few weeks, especially in the winter, I am amazed when, in the middle of whatever it is we might be doing at that given second – listening to his words of Torah, singing a Psalm, making announcements – he will reveal what else is on his mind, asking someone in the back of the room quite forcefully – and with his voice dripping with frustration – to open the windows and to make sure they stay open for the rest of the evening. He assures them that, though they might be quite cold, preserving the ventilation is a necessity as the room fills with more bodies and voices. The ventilation metaphor itself is a powerful one, and yet I choose to take it quite literally: As he consciously raises our spiritual fervor, he keeps a constant eye on the most mundane of details, ensuring that the physical temperature will not rise.

I adore this anonymous friend who allows me to so enjoy t’filot every Friday night. He is a model for me, someone I hope my employees, colleagues, and bosses can strive to emulate. He walks confidently the fine line that allows for a welcoming environment to also be an efficient one, and understands that leadership is both planning for the moment and, often, sacrificing an immediate, personal comfort for the long term good of the collective. He knows that his lofty goals cannot be achieved without a firm grounding in basic realities.