A Conversation with Tradition

I haven’t written a September essay on “What I did on my summer vacation” since middle school. But I want to share an unanticipated result of ten weeks of working on my music theory textbook.

The book teaches the music theory behind the chanting of the traditional Jewish service. As part of the book, I created a chart listing the liturgy for weekdays, Shabbat and holidays, and described how the various elements of each service are supposed to be chanted. It was a tedious process, singing literally for weeks in my basement “office” with prayer books and books of liturgical music spread out everywhere, turning each one page by page trying to discern the traditional melodies. My goal was not only to name the Jewish prayer mode being used, but also to include little snippets of music in the chart so that a person thumbing through it could “hear” how each part of the service should sound. The textbook is called The Sound of Sacred Time and those sounds came alive for me in a new way this summer.

As I sat, quietly chanting different versions of the prayers, I entered into a conversation with our tradition. Chanting our liturgy is not simply reproducing the notes on a page. Rather, it involves an intimate understanding of the texts and the subtleties of the melodies. And it means understanding the aesthetics of both words and music — a tradition that has evolved and been transmitted from generation to generation of cantors for centuries.

I could hear in those prayers the voices of my teachers at the School of Sacred Music and their teachers before them. I could hear hundreds of years of the experiences of our people, shaping our relationship with God, with each other and with ourselves. The dull-looking chart in front of me became a story — a story insisting that I add my own voice.

Jewish prayer demands a great deal from us. It is not merely a collection of words on a page that we recite mechanically over and over throughout the year. As we step into the text, it asks us questions: How do we live our lives? How do we want to live our lives? How do we reach beyond ourselves to others? To God? How do we elevate ourselves and the world around us?

The melodies of prayer bring those questions into focus. They create an atmosphere that highlights and enhances the meaning of the words. Some describe sadness and longing. Others evoke awe and celebration. The melodies teach us that honesty about our lesser selves and the majesty of God’s presence are one in the same.

As we begin the month of Elul, the period of preparation for the High Holy Days, these lessons seem more urgent. Tradition tells us that this is a time for self-examination. We think back on the past year and look deep into our souls. We are buoyed by our growth and accomplishments, and we are humbled by the task ahead. We are humbled, but not discouraged — for our tradition teaches that honesty with ourselves is the first step to becoming better people. And in becoming better people, we find harmony with the divine.

Of course, being honest with ourselves is often intimidating. But our musical tradition gives us strength and hope. Did you know that the music for the confession of sins and the music celebrating God’s faithfulness to us are one in the same? Growth and change are difficult — but we do not make the effort alone, and we become aware that the goal brings abundant fulfillment.

This month of preparation for the High Holy Days will be different for me this year. The words of our tradition and the voices of the past bring new vitality for the work ahead. May each of us find our own way to engage our Judaism in this sacred season.

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor