Bulgarian Blessings B'yachad

The chairs are set up in a square, a table laid with green tablecloth and Torah stand in the middle of the room. People flow in, quickly filling up the seats, despite the fact that services do not start for another ten minutes. By six thirty, the room is full, yet the service handout has not arrived in the hall. As soon as it appears, we begin singing, a building round of Shalom Alechim.

Oddly, the beautiful synagogue with elaborate Sephardic artwork and woodwork, stood cold and dark, empty but for the side chapel where three men and just as many women, many not even Jewish, sat rushing through the Kabbalat Shabbat service. I left quickly, eager to join in the magic of what would soon follow. The Bulgarian synagogue remained a museum, frozen in the chasm that segregates the community and closes their hearts.

Between translations, I lead the congregation in worship. We follow the outline of the service, only bare bones for these people who have not stepped foot in a synagogue for maybe sixty years. We are the Judaism they haven't experienced or don't know how to identity with.

 

When V'shamru comes up in the service, dad and I belt out an off-key version of the traditional. Yet, the congregation sits silent. An older gentleman speaks up, saying now they will do the Bulgarian traditional prayer. A singer in the congregation begins and immediately everyone chimes in. Dad and I sit there awestruck. This congregation not only knows the liturgy, they can sing it! Were we to give them an opportunity to open their hearts and sing, who knows what would come from their beautiful voices!

 

As the service comes to a close, dad suggests that individuals mention the name of a family member of friend who they are remembering. Every person minus the children in the room said a name. Each name was a family member, a friend. As my father's hand and eyes passed around the room, each person first met his eyes, then mine, demonstrating their desire to connect. Yet each name had not been said, had not been remembered with Kaddish for many years, if not ever. It brought tears to my eyes, making me recognize the importance of community, of helping people open their hearts and their minds. And, coming to the words of Kaddish, the rest of he congregation stood with us and recited what they knew from memory. The words washed over us and seemed to lift up the congregation, buoying us into the conclusion of the  service. This was truly beauty at its finest.