Why Synagogues are always Local and Self Governed

The Roman destruction of Herod’s magnificent Jerusalem Temple had one good outcome. The local synagogues that had developed in the diaspora outside the Land of Israel became the ongoing universal centers of Jewish life. Unlike the words church or temple, which mean “House of God,” the Hebrew term for a synagogue is beit knesset, which means “a house of people gathering.” Synagogue is Greek for the Hebrew term Beit Knesset which means a Place-House of gathering or Assembly. It’s a place of worship and Torah study for the whole Jewish community and often does meet in a person’s house.

Unlike the words church or temple, which mean “House of God,” the Hebrew term for a synagogue is beit knesset, which means “a house of gathering.” Whereas the inauguration of a temple might involve offering sacrifices and anointing oil to introduce holiness into the space, there is no ritual or procedure for inaugurating a synagogue; all you need is to gather and pray there.

As the Rabbis teach, when ten individuals pray together, their togetherness itself transforms the building structure into a holy place. No additional rituals or functions are required. As the  Talmud teaches: “The Divine Presence rests upon every gathering of ten people.” A synagogue is a space whose function is not only to connect people with God, but with each other, as well. For truly, nothing is more precious and holy to God than His children coming together, for matters sacred or mundane.

While many prayers may be recited alone, some of the most important Jewish rituals, such as reading from the Torah, reciting the Mourner’s Kaddish, or performing a marriage ceremony, cannot be enacted without a minyan—a quorum of ten. We don’t gather in a synagogue because it is holy; a synagogue is holy because that’s where we gather.

In one way the synagogue does carry on the open outlook of the Jerusalem Temple. Non-Jews were welcome to join the praying Jews inside. These are the words of Prophet King Solomon at the dedication of the Jerusalem Temple: “Whatever prayer, whatever plea is made by any man or by all your people Israel, each knowing the affliction of his own heart and stretching out his hands toward this house,

39 then hear in heaven your dwelling place and forgive and act and render to each whose heart you know, according to all his ways (for you, you only, know the hearts of all the children of mankind), 40 that they may fear you all the days that they live in the land that you gave to our fathers.

41 “Likewise, when a foreigner, who is not of your people Israel, comes from a far country for your name’s sake 42 (for they shall hear of your great name and your mighty hand, and of your outstretched arm), when he comes and prays toward this house, 43 hear in heaven your dwelling place and do according to all for which the foreigner calls to you, in order that all the peoples of the earth may know your name and revere you, as do your people Israel, and that they may know that this house that I (King Solomon) have built, is called by your name.” (1 Kings #:38-43)

I would like to share a fable about events that may never have happened the way it was told, because it always happens in various other ways. The fable’s theme is the power of a pure hearted, simple person’s righteous plea should, and sometimes does have:

Once there was a great drought. A rabbi called all the Jews of his village to the synagogue. They prayed day and night, but still no rain fell. Then the rabbi declared a fast, and asked God to answer their prayers.

That night he heard a voice from heaven, saying, “God will send rain only if Rahamim, who always sits in the back corner of the synagogue, prays for it.” “But he’s an ignoramus,” protested the rabbi. “and I am not sure how kosher his home is.” Silence was the response.

When Rahamim came to the synagogue the rabbi said, “Tomorrow you will lead the congregation in prayers for rain.”

“But I do not know how to lead prayers,” said Rahamim. “There are so many others who know more than I.” “Nevertheless,” said the rabbi, “it is you who must lead the prayers.”

The next day the rabbi called all the people together to pray. The synagogue was filled to bursting. All eyes were on the place where everyone expected to see the rabbi leading them in prayer. How great was their amazement to see poor Rahamim standing up there before the Holy Ark, holding a clay jar with two spouts in his hands. “Now I ask that you pray with all your heart,” he told the congregation.

So they opened the Ark, where the Torah scroll was kept, and the people poured out their hearts to heaven, wailing bitterly and beating their breasts. Then Rahamim lifted up his jar, first placing one spout to his eye and then the other to his ear.

There was a rumble of thunder and then the sky opened up, drenching the earth with rain.

The rabbi later asked Rahamim, “Why did you bring that jar to the synagogue? What did you do with it?” “Rabbi, I’m a poor, ignorant man,” Rahamim replied. “What I earn as a shoemaker barely feeds my many children. Every day they cry for bread and I have little to give them. When I hear their cries my heart breaks, and I too cry. So I collect my tears in this jar.

When you asked me to come here to pray, I looked into the jar and said, ‘Master of the Universe, if you do not send rain, I will break this jar in front of the whole congregation.’

Then I heard a voice that said, “Ask again when you stand before the congregation. So I did and I heard a voice say: ‘Do not break the jar’.” And then it began to pour.