Secret Shul-Goer No 33: Ohel Charvona

I have mentioned before, in previous shulgoer reviews, that I often feel a little confused when entering a synagogue for the first time. Most shuls don’t make it particularly clear where you are supposed to go, and it can take a moment to get your bearings.

At Ohel Charvona, however, there was no such problem. On entering the foyer, I was met with two doors; each had a clear sign indicating which half of the congregation should enter which door. One door said BREXITEERS and the other said REMAINERS. Noticing my surprise, a congregant standing in the foyer explained that the tranquillity and calm of the Shabbat morning prayers had, over recent months, been blighted with rising hostility and acrimony, as members of the community from opposing sides of the EU debate took their political ire to the synagogue pews. The bitterness had become so heated that, a few weeks ago, the rabbi, Rabbi Hester Panim, decided to separate her congregation according to Brexit divisions. Consequently, a mechitzah now runs down the centre of the prayer hall, separating Brexiteers from Remainers. (Or rather, there will be a mechitzah, once the synagogue chairman has convinced the local Mexican restaurant to pay for it.)

Of course, there are moments in the service where complete separation is not possible, for example, on the bima during the Torah reading. But, as I later discovered, this was delicately managed by the warden who, after each portion of the reading was completed, shouted ‘DIVIDE!! DIVIDE!!’ at the assembled congregants.

Although the politics of western Europe have clearly impacted this synagogue, the congregation itself hails from much further afield. One member told me during the kiddush that most founder members arrived from countries stretching from India to Ethiopia, while another told me that members can trace their roots back to over 127 different regions.

The service itself was much like any other I have attended, with all the regular elements I’ve come to expect. A baby started crying at exactly the moment when silence was required, and the elderly women sitting near the struggling mother directed the usual glares of silent judgment while resolutely refusing to offer any kind of meaningful assistance. A man in dubious attire sat at the back of the synagogue, handing out boiled sweets to a queue of over-excited ten year olds, while the synagogue chairman no doubt made a mental note to update the shul’s DBS checks.

Ohel Charvona is a young community, and offers a range of children’s services. These were announced by the warden, who listed each service by name, a dizzying list of obscure Hebrew terms that gave no indication of the age group they referred to. But it was heartening to see that the shul is able to provide so many services for its young people, in addition to the informal activities it offers, such as screaming in the car park during the sermon, sliding down the banisters, and clogging the toilets with paper towels.

An innovation at this synagogue that I particularly enjoyed was the way the kiddush operated. At many synagogues I have visited over the past few years, kiddush has been a bit hit and miss. Often, it has been distinctly more hit than miss, as congregants push and shove their way through the crowd in order to reach the tables. There is nothing more unsettling after a morning of prayer than watching a 70 year old woman use her walking stick to knock someone over in order to get to the chopped herring. To avoid such unseemly behaviour, the Men’s Guild at this synagogue has instituted a pre-order system, on the model of interval drinks at the theatre. Congregants order their kiddush tipple before entering the service, and as we filed out of the synagogue and into the side hall, our kiddush orders were waiting for us in nice, neat rows along the tables.

The atmosphere in the kiddush hall was lively and friendly, and a number of congregants came to say hello, and ask who I was. They seemed particularly keen to ascertain whether I have pre-school age children. When I replied that I didn’t I was informed that between the months of February and June the synagogue is inundated with a growing number of people in the process of making school applications. To ensure that these people are not made to feel welcome, and to reduce the possibility that they might ultimately join the shul, the synagogue asks such visitors to wear “I’M ONLY HERE FOR THE CPD POINTS” badges at all times. It was then that I noticed a small group of such badge-wearers in the corner of the kiddush hall, one of whom was weeping silently into her plastic cup of Snowcrest lemonade, with a look on her face that said ‘I’ve given up my morning at LA Fitness for this.’

After chatting to a number of congregants, and sampling the kiddush food, I tried to make my way out of the synagogue, only to discover that I couldn’t open the kiddush hall doors. Luckily, just a few moments later, the warden shouted UNLOCK!! UNLOCK!!, and we were all able to file out and go home.

Warmth of Welcome 9*

Decorum x*

Service 42*

Kiddush √78*