By Cantor Elias Roochvarg
I am a cantor. In addition to being interested in Jewish music, I love to travel to unfamiliar communities to observe Jewish life. Recently, my wife and I were in Copenhagen. Knowing well in advance that we would be there on a Sabbath, I asked if we might visit the Great Synagogue. I was asked to send a copy of our passports, which I did. I eventually received an email that Linda and I were welcome to visit.
So on that Friday evening, after dinner, Linda went back to the hotel while I walked to the Great Copenhagen Synagogue. As a sign of the times in which we live, there were auto barricades on the corner and two Danish guards in front of the synagogue. They directed me to a side entrance and told me to ring the intercom. After a few moments, a non-uniformed Israeli checked my ID and let me in.
(Jewish geography story: Within a moment of conversation, we discovered that he had grown up on the same street in Jerusalem where I had lived as a student!)
It was 7:55 and I was the first to arrive in the sanctuary for an 8:00 service. The words high above the ark are the Hebrew for “Know before whom you stand.”
When I arrived, a mechitza ( divider ) had been set up in the center aisle so that the few women who would show up would not have to climb all the way to the balcony.
At 8:00., when the service was scheduled to start, I was still the only person in the sanctuary. But within a few minutes, several
people began to arrive. I got a good look at each of them when they came in, and they were all in their teens and 20s. By the time the service started at about 8:15, there were about 20 men and 20 women besides myself, and none of them over about 30.
The rabbi, who led the Friday service, looked to be in his mid-30s. The actual Sabbath service was led by a layperson. To my pleasant surprise, I was able to participate in most of the service. I had assumed that they might use a lot of unfamiliar ( to me ) Danish melodies, but most were either Israeli or composed by Shlomo Carlebach, so I was able to sing along. The main part of the Sabbath service was highly participatory, and I was gratified that I could join in.
After the service, I introduced myself to the rabbi and asked him ( in Hebrew ) how it was that almost all the congregants were so young. ( Actually , the way I put it was , “ Where are all the old people ?”) He asked if I would be coming back in the morning, to which I responded affirmatively. He said the situation would be reversed at the morning service, which is their main service, and at which there would be a much wider spectrum of ages.
But once again, as a sign of the times, just as the service ended, the rabbi received a message ( in Danish ) that we should not yet leave the building. Apparently, toward the end of the service, some people outside the synagogue had shouted antisemitic remarks, and the Danish guards wanted to ensure it was safe before we exited. Five minutes later, we got the all-clear and left. Saturday, June 28.
The rabbi's prediction proved accurate: There were about 100 worshippers at the morning service, including Linda. ( The sanctuary's seating capacity is probably 300 or 400 .) Because this service was better attended, the mechitza had been removed, and women had to sit upstairs. There was no air conditioning, so Linda tells me it got uncomfortably warm. They also don't use a microphone on Shabbat, but the prayer leaders and rabbi projected their voices well.
Shortly after I arrived, I was approached by the person giving out honors. It would have been natural to offer a visitor an aliyah ( which involves reciting two short blessings at the Torah ). But I was offered the maftir aliyah, which involves chanting four blessings and the haftarah ( prophetic portion ). I was flattered and accepted. I walked to the rear of the sanctuary, searching for a chumash, the book that includes all the Torah and haftarah portions. There were none — just books with the Torah portions. The honor-giver must have seen the look of consternation on my face — did they expect me to chant the haftarah by heart ?— and handed me a book ( apparently not available to the rank and file ) that included all the haftarot in large print. Nice!
The rabbi led the entire shacharit ( morning ) and Torah services, plus all the full-length Torah readings and a 15- to 20-minute sermon. I cannot critique the content, because it was in Danish. But his delivery was animated. One gentleman who had an aliyah was celebrating an anniversary. After his aliyah, the rabbi addressed remarks to him and his wife in the balcony, after which the congregation stood and sang a lively setting of Psalm 150. Mussaf ( the additional service ) was lay led.
Something really remarkable: In many Orthodox congregations, when the Torah reading stretches to about 200 sentences — each needing to be chanted with ancient cantillation — there’s often someone beside the reader giving hand signals to indicate musical shifts. This morning, that person was the rabbi’s 12-year-old son. Pretty impressive!
Once a month, instead of a modest kiddush of wine and pastries, the service is followed by a luncheon. We lucked out. After the service, we adjourned to an adjoining building and sat down to a lovely meal of meat ( including some vegetarian faux meat ), vegetables, soft drinks and hard liquor.
Linda learned that for several years, shechitah ( kosher slaughter ) has been prohibited by the Danish government, likely due to false claims of inhumanity. All kosher meat is imported, mostly from France. That makes serving a meat kiddush expensive.
I was invited, as part of my Danish Jewish experience, to sample some genuine Danish schnaps. I am not a schnaps maven, so I can only say it was strong. Any more than a jigger and I wouldn’t have been able to find my way back to the hotel — even with Google Maps.
The people near us spoke English and made us feel very welcome. The meal was followed by spirited communal singing
of zemirot ( Sabbath table songs ) and birkat hamazon ( grace after meals )— and, much to Linda’s and my surprise, the same melodies are sung in American shuls and summer camps.
One big surprise: During zemirot, the rabbi made an announcement in Danish, and I caught a mention of the Beach Boys. Sure enough, when the congregation sang Dror Yikra, one of the zemirot, it was to the tune of “Sloop John B.”
We walked back to our hotel feeling very welcomed and gratified. Being able to participate in a Jewish service thousands of miles from home will do that to you.
Sunday, June 29
We walked to the Danish Jewish Museum. Very nondescript on the outside. There was no visible security, but visitors had to be buzzed in.
If you look closely, both the door and the plaque beside it feature the Hebrew word mitzvah prominently. That word was very important to the architect, Daniel Libeskind, who also designed the Jewish Museum in Berlin. We were told the floor plan contains the four Hebrew letters that make up the word — but we couldn't figure out how.
(If you do, let me know.)
Through audio, video, and dioramas, the museum tells the story of the Jewish community here, from its beginnings in the early 1600s through the Holocaust. (The brochure says “through the present day,” but I saw nothing post-Holocaust .) We were told Danish schoolchildren come here to learn about their Jewish neighbors.
Perhaps one of the most remarkable things about the museum is not so much its content as its architecture. The walls are angled. The ceilings are old brick, the walls Danish birch. And most remarkably — the floors are slanted at odd angles that make visitors unsure on their feet. One recording explains this is deliberate. It represents :
1. The boats used to help thousands of Danish Jews flee to Sweden — small, unstable, and constantly in motion
2. The uncertainty faced by all Jews — even (especially?) in the 21st century
All in all, it was a memorable visit to a unique museum.
The Great Synagogue of Copenhagen