This week we read, as Etz Chayyim puts it, “The Initiation of Formal Worship”, how to offer sacrifices and the ordination of Aaron and his sons. The entire sacrificial system was set up to recreate the experience of Sinai and to allow the people to draw close to G-d. Even the name of one of the offerings, “Korban” shares a root with “draw close.”

It was smelly, messy, bloody. I can’t imagine Moses—or my ordaining rabbi—anointing me with oil and then smearing blood on my right ear. I can’t imagine that G-d wants the burnt offering with its pleasing odor, a gift to the Lord-as the Lord had commanded Moses. (Lev. 8:21)

It is not how we do it today. It is important to talk about this chapter this weekend, precisely because it is this weekend. Christians believe that Jesus is their sin offering. That somehow, Jesus’s blood atones for their sins. The language is rooted from the Hebrew Scriptures. From right here. It is essentially Christian midrash. But there are some important differences as the two religions continued to evolve.

And that is important. When Jesus was killed, he died a Jew. Christianity emerged later. My colleague, Rabbi Evan Moffic, has just written a book about the Jewishness of Jesus. I have read several of these and this one has an interesting twist. He explores Jesus from within his Jewishness with more of a spiritual vantage. Shortly after Jesus was killed, Judaism went through its biggest transition ever, from a religion of sacrifice to a religion of prayer and study.

Today, in Judaism we don’t need an intercessor. You do not have to pray to Jesus or through Mary or the saints to have a relationship to G-d. In Judaism today you don’t need sacrificial offerings. You don’t need blood. In fact, since the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, there has not been animal sacrifice. And as I often say, I am not planning to start having weekly barbecues in the synagogue parking lot—although they might be tasty and the Men’s Club does own a Weber Grill.

Instead we need deeds of lovingkindness.

The story is told that Rabban Yohanan Ben Zakkai and Rabbi Joshua were walking by the ruins of the Temple. Rabbi Joshua said, “Woe to us that the place where the atonement for the sins of Israel was made has been destroyed!” But Rabban Yohanan Ben Zakkai replied, “Do not be grieved, my son. Do you not know that we have a means of making atonement that is as good as this? And what is it? Gemilut hassadim – acts of loving-kindness, as it is said, ‘For I desire hesed – lovingkindness – and not sacrifice!'” (Hosea 6:6). Avot d’Rabbi Natan 4:21.

Instead we need prayer. We need prayer because it offers us a way to connect with something bigger than ourselves. We need prayer because it can be centering, grounding, balancing. We need prayer because it brings hope. We need prayer because it offers community.

Now prayer can be a very difficult topic. I am currently reading a great book, Making Prayer Real, which lays out what some of the difficulties are. For him, “When I participate in a typical traditional service most anywhere in the world, I have two problems:
1. The prayers are said too fast.
2. It takes too long.”

We want to make sure we are doing services right. We can’t miss any word. So we tend to rush through services because while we want to do it right, we have lots of other places to be. I actually had people get up and move around the room. Using the four corners, I asked people to select one of these statements:
I come to synagogue for services:
1. Because I have to…a sense of obligation, commandment
2. Because I like to connect with the community
3. Because I want to experience/connect with the Divine in some way
4. Because I want to experience some balance in my life. It centers me. It grounds me.

The groups were pretty evenly split. Why do you come to synagogue?

__I come for the rabbi’s sermon
__I come for the words on the page in the Siddur
__I come to say Kaddish or Misheberach
__I come to make sure others can say Kaddish
__I come for the Torah
__I come for the music
__I come for the cookies

While the book, the siddur, is a wonderful historical document, and many of the prayers were crafted 2000 years ago, it was not meant to be the only form of prayer. The prayer book is the structure, the keva. The kavanah, the intention, the thoughts/words behind the words maybe even more important. The words that the heart prompts. But for Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, the keva provides a framework to see him through the days when he is just not feeling it. “How grateful I am to God that there is a duty to worship, a law to remind my distraught mind that it is time to think of God, time to disregard my ego for at least a moment! It is such happiness to belong to an order of the divine will. I am not always in a mood to pray. I do not always have the vision and the strength to say a word in the presence of God. But when I am weak, it is the law that gives me strength; when my vision is dim, it is duty that gives me insight” (“Man’s Quest for God,” page 68).

There is much, much more to be said about prayer and sacrifice and we will do that as we work our way through Leviticus this year.

At the end of Making Prayer Real, there are a series of exercises that can help with individuals who are searching for something and not finding it in their synagogue worship service. If that is you, you are not alone. Only 17% of synagogue members join in order to attend services. And those who do come regularly, come out of a sense of obligation, to make sure others can say Kaddish, because they want to say a misheberach, to hear Torah, (thankfully) for the sermon, but mostly to be part of community.

There is a delightful children’s book where the grandmother takes her granddaughter to services for the first time. The young child gets squirmy. The grandmother assures her that “G-d loves cookies too.” Many of us show up, not expecting to meet G-d or connect with the Divine, but to enjoy a little nosh and some good conversation after the service is over. And that is OK.

But what will it take to make services inspiring, so that people want to be there for the service itself? Stay tuned. That is what we will continue to explore.

In the meantime, I had just such an experience this weekend, knowing that I was going to be talking about this very topic. I had a clergy colleague friend come Friday night. Three weeks ago he unexpectedly and suddenly lost his wife while they were traveling back to Elgin from seeing family. His grief has been profound and public. His faith has been real and poignant. His courage extraordinary. But it surprised me that he would be coming to synagogue on Good Friday, one of the holiest days of the Christian calendar. I introduced him and his mother. Then I began services like always. Talking about the two angels as we sing Shalom Aleichem to welcome each other and Shabbat. Thinking about what peace really means to someone who works for the Church of the Brethren, a peace church. On the day his wife died, a Friday, I paid a condolence call on her boss, my neighbor. The first thing I saw when I walked in their house was a giant wood sign. Just one word. Shalom.

When we got to the first Mourner’s Kaddish I was moved to tears. Written in Aramaic, the vernacular of Jesus’s day so that everybody could understand it, it never mentions death. Instead, it praises (and extolls, and glorifies) G-d for life itself. How profound to be able to say these very words any time–but especially with my friend there on Good Friday.  That is what prayer is all about. I hope he found some comfort in it too.