Secret Shul-Goer No 32: Stanmore and Canons Park Synagogue

Size of community: 1000-1500 member households

We are all of us a little bit prejudiced. None of us can completely set aside our personal preconceptions or assumptions, no matter how hard we might try. And so, while I endeavour at all times to disregard my own preferences when attending a new synagogue, I freely admit that, for the purpose of secret shul-reviewing, I enter some shul buildings with a greater air of trepidation than others.

The synagogues that fill me with the most dread are those that meet in large buildings, and which have an upstairs gallery for women. This isn’t for religious reasons; I’m a firm believer, if you’ll pardon the pun, in the right for religious institutions to practice in the way that they wish. I have, in my own life, been a fully paid-up member, and regular attender, at such synagogues. But, as a female reviewer attending for the first time, these shuls are the most difficult to accurately review. I find that sitting upstairs, often with a restricted view of the service, makes for a rather distancing experience, and I’m aware that I often miss a lot of what goes on. 

I mention this here because, truth be told, I was a little nervous about visiting Stanmore and Canons Park Synagogue. I thought that it would be another morning of sitting upstairs in a cavernous space, far removed from the proceedings, and without much opportunity to engage with other congregants.

As it turns out, my preconceptions were entirely incorrect.

I arrived at Stanmore Synagogue just after 10 am. I was warmly greeted at the front door by a woman in a hi-vis vest, and then, seconds later, I was greeted again by a middle aged man standing in the foyer, who asked me if I was there for the Bar Mitzvah. (I wasn’t).

“Would you like to go to the main service, or the Ladies Service?” he asked.

Before I could answer, the woman in the hi-vis vest said “It’s a Women’s Service.”

“That’s what I said. The Ladies’ Service.”

A rather comic conversation then took place between the two greeters, conducted over my head. I stood there, trapped in a verbal game of piggy-in-the-middle, looking from one to the other.

“It’s a Women’s Service.”

“I know. I was just telling our guest about the Ladies’ Service.”

“Women’s Service”

“Yes, Ladies’ Service.”

Now, I hadn’t come for a Women’s Service or a Ladies’ Service. In fact, until that moment, I hadn’t imagined that there would be a women’s service at SCPS. (Those prejudices that we all carry are notoriously hard to shake off.) But, in the light of this game of linguistic ping-pong I was now in no doubt that the women’s service was where I needed to be.

The middle aged man kindly walked me through the shul building to the side hall where the Women’s Service takes place, and when I walked in, I was promptly greeted again, for the third time that morning, by one of the female participants. She showed me where to sit, and handed me a siddur, two parasha sheets, and an Order of Service.

At the top of the order of service it said, in bold letters: ‘Women’s Learning Experience’. So, it seems that both greeters were wrong; it’s neither a women’s service nor a ladies’ service but a Women’s Learning Experience. I later discovered that ‘Women’s Learning Experience’ is the only title the participants are permitted to use. But, in my book, if it quacks like a service, and waddles like a service, it’s a service.

But it was also, without a shadow of a doubt, a wonderful learning experience for me too.

There were 25 women in attendance when I arrived. By the end of the morning there were a few more. We sat in the room which is used for mid-week services; chairs were laid out in two blocks, with the ark against one wall. There was a mechitzah on one side of the room, but obviously nobody was sitting behind it.

Each section of the service was led by a different woman and, with only minor departures, it ran in much the same way as a regular Orthodox Shabbat morning service might run.

The major difference was the reading of the Torah. No Torah scroll was used – I am guessing for reasons of halacha. Instead, the women read from the chumash, using the standard Ashkenazi tune. While each woman read her portion, the room was silent. You could hear a pin drop. In fact, throughout the service there was a profound sense of respect in the room, both for the prayers being recited, and also for the woman leading them. I have never before attended a service where there has been such overt encouragement and support shown by the congregation for those participating. Some women were leading prayers or reading from the Torah portion for the first time. In her concluding announcements, the woman who runs the service mentioned these women by name, and celebrated their achievement.

Of course, no service is perfect, and there were elements that rankled. For example, the final few portions of the Torah reading had to be rushed because the guest speaker was scheduled to deliver her Dvar Torah at a particular time, and the men, who are invited to join for that part of the service, were getting restless outside. So we had to stop and start, and send someone in and out, to liaise with the waiting menfolk. When they did arrive, they initially sat behind the mechitzah. But when the guest speaker began her talk, they all moved into the main section of the room, one of them explaining that “I can’t see anything from back there.” Well, quite.

But, interruptions aside, it was a very moving, even beautiful experience. It’s easy to fall back on lazy stereotypes, and explain away the atmosphere in the room to the small size of the congregation, or the fact that they were long-time members who know each other well. But as a visitor to this Women’s Learning Experience, I have to say that there were elements of this service that we can all learn from.

For example, the Prayer for the Welfare of the State of Israel and its Soldiers was read by a woman whose son is currently serving in the army. A few verses in, her voice faltered, and she began to cry. Two women in the congregation moved to stand beside her; one put her arms around her, and we all joined in to recite the prayer with her. Another woman offered to read the commemoration prayer. She explained that she was thinking of her aunt, whose yahrzeit fell that week, and who had left no children. So there we all were, 30 women, remembering the life of a woman who, in the normal course of events, would have nobody to mention her name in a service.

After Adon Olam, one of the women led kiddush, and we stood around and chatted for a few minutes, until most of the participants went back into the main service to re-join their families. Before they did so, the woman who runs the service came up to me and explained the history of the WLE, telling me how they first started meeting almost 25 years ago and how they currently meet three or four times a year. (She admitted that the women would like to meet more often, but that isn’t currently possible.) Then, in a secret shul-goer first, she took my name, and gave me clear instructions on how to contact the synagogue office so that I could put my name on their mailing list, and personally invited me to come again when they next meet.

Of course, orthodox women’s services, or, if you prefer, ‘learning experiences’, are political hot potatoes. And this isn’t the place to wade in on either side of that debate. But what was abundantly clear from the service that I attended was this: sometimes, there are things that women can do, collectively, in a prayer service that is impossible to find in the main service. When women are allowed to engage in Jewish prayer, they bring a sense of empathy and compassion that is both profound and necessary. Whether it’s the anxious mother of a serving soldier who is literally and metaphorically held by the community around her, or the niece of an otherwise unmentioned aunt who is able to mention her name, or simply the 65 year old woman who has attended shul for her entire life and has, for the first time ever, raised her voice and been heard in shul, these are profound and moving moments. Upstairs, in a cavernous gallery, I would never have been able to spot that.

 

Warmth of Welcome 5*

Decorum 5*

Service 5*

Kiddush N/A

 

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