One of the Mi Sheberach prayers recited in synagogues worldwide immediately before the Mussaf service on Shabbat is one said for “all this holy congregation.”
The prayer asks for God’s blessing for the entire congregation, their families, their co-congregants, those who contribute to the synagogue, those who give charity, “and all who faithfully occupy themselves with the needs of the community.”
As much as I hate to admit it, and I really do, that last line – which I take to mean the good and decent folks who take charge in synagogues, serve on school and workplace committees, and handle communal matters in apartment buildings – does not apply to me.
I wish it did. I wish I were among those whom thousands pray for each Shabbat, included in the category of those who care for the community’s needs – but I don’t fall under that umbrella.
At least not voluntarily.
Some folks are leaders. They understand that all communal institutions – from schools to synagogues to apartment buildings – need volunteers to make sure things hum. They understand that, and – for various reasons – they step up. Some out of a sense of duty, some because they like to be involved, some because it comes with a bit of status.Others don’t. I fall into that latter category.
OVER THE years, I’ve done my share: a stint as a gabbai (beadle) at my synagogue, a term as one of the heads of a workers’ committee; and a co-chairman of my apartment building’s va’ad bayit (building committee).
Each time, I hated it. Each time, I counted the days until it ended. Each time, I kicked myself for ever accepting the role in the first place.
Why? Because whatever satisfaction comes from working for others is dwarfed by the aggravation of having to deal with them. Or, more precisely, dealing with the annoying ones.
Take my time as one of my synagogue’s gabbaim. My relatively minor job – many, many years ago – was finding people to lead the services on Friday night and Saturday morning.
Simple, right? Wrong.
First, many people, when asked to lead the service, would cluck their tongues and wave me off with a flick of their hand, as if I were an annoying fly, as if by agreeing they were doing me some kind of favor.
Second, there was always someone who would be unhappy with my choice. Once, a fellow congregant berated me for the person I chose. Who needs it? Why do I need the aggravation: begging someone to step up, and then catching hell when someone finally does?
The role, which on paper seemed so simple, turned out to be highly confrontational. And I asked myself, why bring more confrontation into my life? There is enough out there as is – just take to the roads or wait for your turn in a doctor’s office or stand in line at a supermarket – without looking for more.My gabbai stint was, needless to say, short-lived.
BUT WHILE my shul was large enough to manage without my prayer leader selection skills – there were other people, perhaps with thicker skin than mine, willing to step up – my apartment building is a different story.I live in a building with 12 units. Someone has to head the va’ad bayit, and you can’t always look to the other guy to step up because, simply put, there are not that many other guys.
And what does it mean to head the building committee? It means finding someone to clean the stairwell, to change light bulbs, to coordinate with the municipality or utility companies when repairs are needed, to ensure that the roof doesn’t leak, and to collect the va’ad bayit dues from all the other tenants.
In short, who needs it? Who wants to confront neighbors if they don’t pay, or hear them complain that the cleaner is not doing a good job? Who wants to spend time finding an exterminator or have to stay home when they set a time to come? No one. But someone has to.
And now that someone is me. Again. And by default, which makes me even more resentful.
YOU SEE, I did my turn just four short years ago and completed a two-year stint with another co-chairman. The day I turned the va’ad bayit position over to one of my neighbors was one of the happiest days of that year. “Free at last,” I muttered. “Free at last.”
No more schlepping checks to the bank, no more worrying whether there was enough money in the account to cover the electric bill. No more paying cash out of pocket for the floor cleaner because the va’ad didn’t have any cash on hand.
It wasn’t as if the duties were that burdensome, but there was always this overhanging worry that something would go wrong – some pipe would burst in the hallway – and the responsibility to fix it would fall on my head.Now it was someone else’s headache, and it would be a good 10 years before I would have to do it again – 10 years during which I could pursue other interests, chase other dreams, and run after other goals.
BUT IT wasn’t to be. Three of the apartments are rented, so you can’t expect renters to take on the job. One apartment owner is brand new and deserves a grace period. Another guy flat out refuses. And just like that, my 10-year reprieve turned into four.
The neighbor whose turn was next and did accept the responsibility approached me when the apartment owner he was supposed to do it with copped out. When I complained and said I just did it four years ago, he responded: “Given the situation in the country right now, is this really something worth getting worked up about?”Talk about a way to win an argument. How do you answer that? So I caved.
By caving, I not only took on a job I don’t like but also felt like a freier (sucker) for taking it before it was rightfully my turn. On top of that, I couldn’t shake the guilt of making a fuss over such a trivial matter when my country and my people are going through so much.
“Oh, stop kvetching,” The Wife said with great sensitivity when I bemoaned my fate. “It really isn’t that big a deal.”
“Yeah,” I shot back, “then why don’t you do it?”
Which, of course, ended the discussion.