The Wrong Nusach

The wrong Nusach is like eating ice cream with a Fleishig spoon.

The mood of a weekday service is hardly the same as Shabbat or a Yom-Tov; how can the music be the same then for all those times? And each part of a day has music associated with it. The morning is not the same as the afternoon, which may not be exactly the same as the evening. Just as we have words in the morning to express what is best suited to that time of the day vs. words at evening, the music which brings them to life must also reflect for the greatest impact on an individual or a community. Many of our religious / liturgical moments are often defined in great part by music.

Many lay people are of the opinion "what's the difference, isn't it fine that we're singing the prayer?" It's true the incorrect Nusach does not invalidate a service. But is every day of our lives identical to each other? Is every Shabbat or Yom-Tov exactly the same as every other one? Let me share with you the comment of a rabbi on the difference between the roles and challenges facing rabbis and Chazzanim. He said, "Rabbis are fortunate; every week we have different Torah and Haftarah portions from which to try and inspire people through sermons and discussions. But Chazzanim are faced with a greater challenge. Chazzanim generally have the same prayers to recite and lead every week, but somehow they must find ways to keep them alive, fresh and meaningful, lest they become stale and mundane." Sometimes freshness can be through a new solo, other times through a rotation of congregational tunes or a varied offering of a familiar melody. We must not allow our musical tradition to become stagnant; we run the risk of our heritage decaying, becoming out of step and our prayers mere mechanical recitation.

There is an interesting e-mail community called HAZZANET. It's comprised entirely of members of the Cantors Assembly. We are mostly Conservative cantors, but there are many Reform Chazzanim among our members. Recently a "fill in the blank" question went out. Complete this sentence: "Using the wrong Nusach is like ______.” Here are some of their replies:

  1. Painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa.
  2. Eating sand.
  3. Wearing a tuxedo to soccer practice.
  4. Using the wrong fork in a dinner course: you still get to eat, but you miss the intended experience.
  5. Accidentally walking into the wronggendered restroom. It jars you and makes you want to retreat.
  6. Wearing a bathing suit to a formal wedding.
  7. Wearing a tux to the beach.
  8. Nails on a blackboard.
  9. Et cetera.

You get the picture. There were a dozen or more variations on these answers (food and clothing choices seemed to predominate), but the essence boiled down to this: Using the wrong Nusach is inappropriate. It sends the wrong message about where we are and what we are doing. There's a story about Honi HaMa'agel, a 6th century rabbi/sage/wonderworker. His specialty was rain-making. There are many tales about him traveling around, being begged by the locals to ask God for rain. But in one story Honi, a kind of ancient Rip Van Winkle, falls asleep on the back bench of a little synagogue. And he sleeps a hundred years! (So considerate were these congregants that no one woke him!) When he wakes up, he hears the sound of the davening, and he knows instantly if it's a weekday or Shabbat or a holiday. He even knows if it's a morning or an evening service by the sound of the Nusach! Chances are he woke up outside of a Conservative synagogue. No other modern Jewish religious movement has done more to preserve and enhance synagogue music than the Conservative Movement - there is little regard for Nusach in either the Reform or Orthodox worlds. If we are truly Conservative Jews whose motto is "Tradition and Change," then not only should we have innovation in the music by which we participate in communal worship, but we must also maintain our connection to the past and synagogues around the world.

Synagogue music is a kind of calendar, a way of locating ourselves in time. Just as we have the music of the holidays, Shabbat, and Rosh Chodesh to navigate the big spaces, we have the internal music of the services to navigate the smaller distances, the spaces between morning, noon, and evening. In the same way that we acknowledge the reality of seasons, planting and harvest, a time for dew or for rain, we are grounded in the reality of the clock. Prayer is not something vague or ephemeral. It emphasizes our real, physical connection to the creator of time. So, though you can eat ice cream with a Fleishig spoon and pray with the wrong style of music, there is just something not “kosher” about it.

Gleaned from comments on Hazzanet, a listserve of the Conservative Cantorate.