O PINION
The Pandemic Disrupted the Morning Minyan. When Will
Non-Orthodox Jews Like Me Gather Again for Daily Prayer?
BY NEIL KURSHAN
I LIVE IN ONE of the most
concentrated Jewish commu-
nities in the United States, the
Upper West Side of Manhattan,
and I no longer have a daily
morning minyan to attend in
person. Th e pandemic disrupted
the morning minyan. When
will non-Orthodox Jews like me
gather again for daily prayer?
It seems that in my neigh-
borhood, as well as many
others, COVID-19 snuff ed out
the live morning minyan —
the daily prayer service that
needs a quorum of 10 Jews
— in non-Orthodox settings.

Pre-pandemic I had a choice
of multiple minyans I could
attend in a variety of egalitarian
Jewish settings — synagogues
and schools — but none of
them is operating in-person
now. I worry that the minyan
muscle has atrophied in my
community, and the habit has
been lost of rising early in the
morning, getting out the door
with prayer shawl and tefi llin,
and making it inside the beit
midrash in time for prayer.

It’s not that non-Orthodox
Jews in my neighborhood
aren’t praying each morning.

Many are, both alone and
online, where services moved
for non-Orthodox Jews last
March. Zoom services were a
I worry that the minyan muscle has atrophied
in my community, and the habit has been lost
of rising early in the morning.

Be heard.

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letters@jewishexponent.com 14
NOVEMBER 25, 2021
necessary accommodation to
a public health crisis, and it is
unquestionably easier to tune
in to services from home, but
it hasn’t worked for me. Fift y
disembodied faces on a screen
feel less like a community to
me than the 15 bodies draped
in prayer shawls who huddle
around the amud (leader’s table)
at a typical in-person minyan.

Th e on-key solo voice of the
shaliach tzibur, the leader of the
service, inspires me less than the
multiple off -key voices of those
gathered live for prayers.

As Shabbat and holiday
services have resumed, with
precautions, in person, I thought
the morning minyan would,
too. But they have remained
resolutely online. I am sympa-
thetic to the reasons why, and to
the diffi culties of reconstituting
the in-person morning minyan.

It is hard work in many
non-Orthodox synagogues to
assure that 10 people will be
present early in the morning six
days a week. It is much easier
and more convenient to get
out of bed, hit a button on the
computer and be transported
instantly to the minyan. And
without question Zoom has
made it possible for those unable
because of physical limitations
and other reasons to attend an
in-person minyan.

Yet there is so much that has
been lost and that I miss. I miss
my fellow “minyannaire” who
each year before Rosh Hashanah
brings me honey from the
beehives on the rooft op of his
apartment. I miss the frail elderly Russian
gentleman who stands to say
Kaddish for himself because he
is convinced that none of his
children will say Kaddish for
him aft er he dies.

I miss the mother and her
grown son who start their day
together sitting side by side and
who kiss one another goodbye
as they leave the minyan and go
JEWISH EXPONENT
their separate ways.

And I miss the easy banter
with my fellow minyannaires
with whom I share vacation
plans, exploits on the pickle-
ball court and the most recent
achievements of my grandchil-
dren. I miss how the in-person
morning minyan magically
imbued the minute details of the
mundane with the signifi cance
of the sacred.

But above all, I miss what
Abba Kovner, the late Jewish
resistance fi ghter, called “the tug
on the sleeve.” Kovner would tell
the story of going to the Western
Wall his fi rst week in Israel aft er
the end of World War II. He was
about to leave when he felt a tug
on his sleeve as he was asked to
join a minyan that was forming
for prayer. He tells of being
inspired, not so much by the
prayers, but more by the sense of
belonging. More than anything
else, I miss knowing that my
physical presence is needed to
make a minyan.

For more than 40 years, I
was responsible for making the
minyan happen in my suburban
Long Island synagogue. Th ere
were many nights I did not sleep
well worrying that 10 people
might not show up the next
morning, and I took too person-
ally the days when only nine
people attended and a mourner
was unable to say Kaddish.

Looking back at all the worry
and frustration, I nevertheless
feel that I was engaged in worthy
work. Many people, religious and
not, yearn for places where
they can gather, connect and
socialize with other people
outside of the home and
workplace. Sociologists call
these settings “third places,”
and so many of them closed
during the pandemic — bars,
coff ee shops, gyms, libraries —
that experts fear the impact on
people’s mental health and social
well-being. As a psychology professor at
the Graduate Center of the City
University of New York put it
at the height of the pandemic,
“What’s lost is the sensory sense
of being with other people. I
don’t think we know yet what
the consequences of that will be,
except that I think people are
going to remain more fearful
and anxious.”
Many years after Abba
Kovner was called to be the 10th
for a minyan at the Western
Wall, a museum known as Beit
Hatefutzot, the Museum of
the Diaspora, was built on the
campus of Tel Aviv University.

(It has now been overhauled and
renamed Anu — Museum of the
Jewish People.) Kovner designed
a corner in the museum known
as “Th e Minyan” represented by
a variety of fi gures preparing to
pray together.

Just before the museum
opened its doors for the fi rst
time someone noticed that there
were only nine fi gures in the
model. Th e museum frantically
reached out to Kovner, but he
calmly responded that nine was
the correct number: Th ere was
supposed to be a missing person.

Th e missing person was a call
to each person who visited the
museum to become the 10th.

When I do join the Zoom
minyan of my synagogue
community, I note the faces and
names of my fellow participants.

When it is a day I am observing
a yahrzeit, the anniversary of
a loved one’s death, I dutifully
tap the “raise hand” button so I
can be called upon to mention
the name of the person for
whom I am saying Kaddish. But
I yearn to feel again the tug
on my sleeve, and to be told to
come inside because there are
nine people who need me as the
missing 10th. ●
Neil Kurshan is rabbi emeritus of
the Huntington Jewish Center in
Huntington, New York.

JEWISHEXPONENT.COM



O pinion
My Teenage Son Wasn’t Surprised When Antisemites
Attacked Him on TikTok. That Makes Me Angry
BY JESSICA RUSSAK-HOFFMAN
“WHY DOES everybody hate
us?” My son Izzy asked me
this question after a man with
a machete attacked Jews at a
Chanukah party in Monsey,
New York, in 2019. Izzy was
12 years old when he flopped
onto the couch, kicked up his
A few weeks ago we went to
New York for a wedding and
stayed with my sister Melinda
Strauss, who shares videos about
Jewish life and kosher food with
more than 420,000 followers on
her account My Orthodox Jewish
Life. Some of her followers had
asked to see a video of someone
putting on tefillin, the black box
and leather straps used by Jews in
their weekday morning prayers.

When she saw Izzy about to
daven, she asked if she could film
him as he wrapped the tefillin
around his head and arm.

Izzy and his aunt joked all
the time about her TikTok and
how if he ever stayed at her
house, he’d want to be featured,
so he gladly obliged.

At first the comments were
the Jesus-specific comments
that included: “Does he have
to wear that to apologize for
killing Jesus?” “Repent and
believe in Jesus Christ!” “When
do y’all crucify Jesus? Ah. Wait.

Y’all already did that.”
Izzy’s sense of humor is
perfectly suited to this classic
Jewish coping mechanism of
mocking antisemitic accusa-
tions. I recently read Sholom
Aleichem’s “The Bloody Hoax,”
and laughed with recognition at
the description of Jews coping
with a blood libel accusation by
having faux-Talmudic debates
about the halacha, or Jewish
law, of slaughtering Christian
children to use their blood for
matzah. (Halacha does not
deal with this issue because it
I spoke to him about the history of antisemitism, how it’s always
irrational, and how when we’re hurt for being Jewish, we need to be
even more outspoken in our Judaism.

feet and asked the question no
Jewish parent wants to hear.

I spoke to him about the
history of antisemitism,
how it’s always irrational,
and how when we’re hurt
for being Jewish, we need to
be even more outspoken in
our Judaism. That to really
be a “Bear Jew” — like the
Nazi-hunting character in the
revenge fantasy “Inglourious
Basterds” — we stand up and
fight back with pride. As Elsa
says to Jojo in “Jojo Rabbit,”
“There are no weak Jews. I am
descended from those who
wrestle angels and kill giants.

We were chosen by God.”
So when the antisemitic
comments started to pour in
after a TikTok video of Izzy
laying tefillin went viral
earlier this month, he was
somewhat prepared and, sadly,
unsurprised. JEWISHEXPONENT.COM
a combination of sweet and
curious. Some people thanked
her for sharing the beauty of
her faith, and some wanted to
learn more about tefillin. A
week or two went by.

And then Izzy wandered
into the living room with a
half-smile on his face. “Mom,
I’m famous,” he quipped.

He told me there were over
3 million views and he’d
scrolled through more than
2,000 comments and found
... lots of antisemitism. He sat
down next to me. I opened
the app and looked through it
with him, mocking the really
dark comments that included:
“That’s it! To the gas chamber.”
“Should of died in the gas
chamber.” “Gas them allllllll.”
“Yo! Hitler is behind you.” “I
snitched on u to the Germans.”
“Zey are in ze attic.”
We also made jokes about
is not part of Judaism, despite
what antisemites throughout
history have said.)
It is almost a rite of passage
to be welcomed into this
centuries-old tradition of
using humor to respond to
the irrational accusations the
world throws our way.

The comments included
plenty of judgmental cracks
accusing Izzy of being brain-
washed, and those were the
ones that bothered him the
most. Because while he’s used
to hatred against Jews, he can’t
understand why anyone would
think it’s wrong for a Jewish
kid to be brought up keeping
Jewish practices. “I’m not
indoctrinated. I’m Jewish,” he
said with frustration.

I’m kvelling with pride. But
I’m also angry.

Izzy doesn’t feel unsafe or
shaken in his Jewish identity.

JEWISH EXPONENT
He knows his parents have his
back, that we keep him physi-
cally safe and protected. And
he isn’t surprised that there is
antisemitism, not even at 14.

And that is why I am angry:
As a mother and as a Jew, I
am angry that Izzy was not
surprised, and I am angry that
this is the norm.

I am angry that TikTok
allows antisemitism to thrive
in videos and comments, and
rarely takes down reported
videos — with notable excep-
tions being videos created by
Jews that were bombarded with
false reporting from antisem-
ites. Melinda’s account has
been suspended on multiple
occasions for videos about
Shabbat and keeping kosher.

I am angry that I have to
help my children develop
their coping mechanisms. I
am angry that even though
we managed to report and
successfully remove a couple
of the most vile comments,
more have replaced them. The
TikTok of Izzy laying tefillin
now has more than 8 million
views and more than 13,000
comments. And yet I cling to a tiny
glimmer of hope, thanks to the
non-Jews in the replies defending
Jews and defending Izzy. And
to Bear Jews everywhere, laying
tefillin every morning and
refusing to cower. l
Jessica Russak-Hoffman is a
Seattle-based author.

KVETCH ’N’ KVELL
Coverage Could Help JWV Membership
I AM A JEWISH VETERAN and longstanding proud member
of a JWV post in the metro Philadelphia area. Your article in the
Nov. 18 issue (“Veterans Deal with Shrinking Post Membership”)
left me sad on two levels.

First, as correctly noted throughout the article, our posts,
mine included and like those of other veterans’ organizations,
are indeed shrinking and struggling to engage more current
veterans. The legacy our fathers and forefathers left us in creating
these organizations to advocate for veterans — Jewish ones in
particular — when discussing JWV, is rapidly declining. This
finds its consequence in the public failing to speak up where we
need it most and supporting veterans’ programs and needs with
legislation and funding.

The second level is the subject matter that the Exponent chose
when covering JWV, and the posts in our communities. I, and
others have frequently submitted stories and coverage oppor-
tunities to the Exponent to little or no avail. There are many
positive stories you might have chosen in the past but apparently
remained quiet about or considered them a low priority. In the
future, you may be more receptive to running positive coverage
of post, regional and state JWV programming. l
Sanford M. Barth | Newtown Square
STATEMENT FROM THE PUBLISHER
We are a diverse community. The views expressed in the signed opinion columns and let-
ters to the editor published in the Jewish Exponent are those of the authors. They do
not necessarily reflect the views of the officers and boards of the Jewish Publishing
Group, the Jewish Federation of Greater Philadelphia or the Jewish Exponent. Send
letters to letters@jewishexponent.com or fax to 215-569-3389. Letters should be a
maximum of 200 words and may be edited for clarity and brevity. Unsigned letters will not be
published. NOVEMBER 25, 2021
15