Every morning at Maimonides School, two minyanim meet for shacharit. The ashkenazi minyan meets in the main shul, while the sefardi minyan down the hall provides a forum for those students and faculty whose traditions are closer to edot hamizrach. The differences between the two minyanim become most apparent during this season, when the sefardi minyan recites selichot during the entire month of Elul, while the ashkenazi minyan only recites selichot for the short period preceding Rosh HaShanah. The style of selichot also differs significantly, with the sefardi minyan rotating reading responsibilities among the entire group, interspersing shofar blasts at seemingly (to the untrained ear) random points, while the main minyan is closer to the standard practice of an ashkenazi shul.
Last weekend the entire Upper School spent a few days together in the Catskills at our annual retreat, and both minyanim met concurrently in adjoining rooms. Thus on Sunday morning I found myself reciting the silent amidah, while next door the sefardim were blowing shofar, calling out responsively, and singing. One would think this would make it more difficult to concentrate and create a distraction to davening, but the effect was exactly the opposite. It felt like being at the kotel during peak minyan time, when you're surrounded by several minyanim, each located at a different point in the tefillah and praying from different siddurim. Clearly, the extra noise is far from distracting; it provides a boon to one's kavannah, a feeling of holiness and elevation of spirit.
And yet, there are times when silence is key to concentration. It can be impossible to say the amidah effectively while one's neighbors in shul are chatting, or even loudly praying to themselves. Though the loud give-and-take heard in a beit midrash is key to students' developing skills and understanding of sugyot in Talmud, one would never think to speak out in the middle of a lesson by a teacher, and sometimes a student needs a quiet place to read through and absorb the material.
Holiness and spirituality are found both in chaos and in pure silence and serenity. This brings to mind another seeming contradiction found in our prayers. G-d's presence is found in the context of קול רעש גדול, as we say each day in the Kedushah d'Sidra, where the praise of G-d is contained in a great noise. And yet in a couple weeks we will speak about G-d's presence being found in קול דממה דקה, a quiet and small voice. This hearkens back to Eliyahu's vision of G-d being found not in the wild storms or wind or fire, but only in the small voice following the powerful display.
We all experience holiness in both serene and chaotic contexts, and each is appropriate at different times. As a teacher, it is not always simple to straddle the line between chaos and silence. The learning process definitely benefits from energy and participation by all students. Yet sometimes instruction requires more order and control.
My rabbi, Rabbi Berel Wein זכר צדיק לברכה, was a gifted orator and writer, but was not known for his singing voice. He told us a story about his childhood, when his teacher had prepared the class to sing a song, as the principal would be coming to visit the room. After hearing Rabbi Wein's voice, she said "Wein, you just hum." Whether the story is accurate or not (Rabbi Wein used to say "all of Wein's stories are true – some just haven't happened yet"), it demonstrates the tension between an orderly classroom and an energetic, vocal classroom.
I have witnessed the rare teacher who manages to perfectly balance these two paradigms, and while nobody is limiting student participation, most of us tend toward one side or the other. Walking through the halls of Maimonides and hearing sounds of discussion and verbal sparring from most classrooms, it is obvious that our teachers lean more toward energy than restraint.
The gemara in Horayos concludes with a dilemma: Who is greater, Rabbi Zeira who keenly asks pointed questions, or Rabbah bar Masna who patiently delves into the sources to answer the questions? The Ben Ish Chai explains, in his commentary Ben Yehoyada, that the halachic process requires both characters to succeed. Learning happens through challenges; the patient delver needs pointed questions to spur him to action, and the sharp querier needs the answers to his questions. We all benefit from the results of these interactions, as halachot are derived from the discussions between these two points of view.
May we all merit to experience prayers of energy and serenity during the high holidays; a new year filled with controlled chaos, learning, and debate; and a beautiful, blended cacophony of voices representing all of our students.
