A Fun <i> Schlep</i> for a Higher Holy Service

Shortly after arriving from the East Coast seven years ago, I attended my first Jewish New Year’s service, Southern California-style.

Back in Boston and New York, I was long accustomed to rabbis sermonizing about hard work, philanthropy and guilt. But at the sun-soaked South Bay synagogue where I bought a seat for the High Holidays, the message proved far different.

Here, the rabbi suggested that his flock enjoy the blue skies, the cool ocean breeze and the laid-back lifestyle--in essence, to have a nice life. By doing so, he said, we would emit good vibrations that might bounce off our loved ones and the less fortunate, thus enhancing their lives.

Deciding that this rabbi’s approach veered closer to selfishness than selflessness, I did not return.

But the experience opened my eyes to the staggering diversity of Jewish religious life in the Southland. And it set in motion an unceasing but enlightening search for the perfect High Holiday service.

Since 1983, I have wandered into temples featuring a female rabbi, a rabbi-soap opera actor and a guitar-playing rabbi (this gray-bearded Jerry Garcia look-alike strummed some mean chords on the prayer, Shmah Yisroael).

I have attended an ultra-orthodox service at a modest temple across the street from a horse feed store in Lomita. And I have gone to a high-tech service in the plush auditorium of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. (There, game show host Monty Hall, a congregant, was called to come on down to the pulpit to open the Ark holding the Torah. We couldn’t help but ponder whether he was about to choose Door No. 1, 2 or 3.)

Each synagogue has had its positive aspects. But each had limitations. While many of the rabbis imparted uplifting messages, none of the services seemed to combine the precise blend of tradition and warmth I was hoping to find.

This month, preoccupied by work, I did not begin thinking about the New Year until the last minute.

Then my wife spotted an unusual poster on a Beverly Boulevard telephone pole: “No tickets, no appeals,” it read. “For conservative, Reform, nonaffiliates, and any Jew that moves.”

Why not, we thought. At the very least, it had to be a kick to pray to God in the glitzy Bel Age Hotel, where Rabbi Shlomo Schwartz had rented a function room.

We scheduled our arrival on Jewish standard time--halfway through the service--just in time for the reading of the Torah and the traditional blowing of the shofar (ram’s horn).

The turnout was astonishing--at least 400 people, a standing-room only crowd.

We were even more astonished at the approach of this unorthodox orthodox rabbi.

Rabbi Schwartz, a former leader of the Chabad group of Hasidim, had recently broken from the fold and started his own independent religious center (“a very nonprofit organization,” according to his literature). Seeking to serve Jews who would not deign to join any congregation that would have them, Schwartz, who has a flowing brown beard, leavened his service with jokes and stories.

There was his explanation of the shofar blowing ceremony as a traditional call to prayer. “Jewish People’s Exhibit A,” the rabbi said, as he held the horn aloft.

Later, Schwartz asked the crowd to join in the singing of “a prayer for an endangered species--the Jews.”

Whenever a few seats became vacant, the rabbi halted the service to implore congregants to participate in what he termed “the Jewish version of ‘the Wave.’

“Raise your hands, if there’s a seat beside you,” he said. “Let someone sit down. Don’t be shy.”

As in Orthodox temples, a barrier had been set up to separate the men and women. But here, anarchy reigned. Some men stood on the women’s side of the hall; one couple held hands across the barrier.

Rabbi Schwartz hardly seemed to care. Laugh a little, pray a little. But spend the holiday together in a communal Jewish experience.

The congregation responded warmly.

When the shofar blower, a stick-like young figure introduced as Rabbi Munchkin of Brooklyn, finished his chore with a series of raspy peeps, the crowd broke into hearty applause.

Strangers regaled each other with stories. A 60-ish man in a toupee told me how he used to frequent a Westside temple where show-biz personalities including Jackie Carter, Lainie Kazan and Barbra Streisand occasionally led prayers. Unfortunately, he said, the rabbi may have gone too far when he introduced a pair of Italian entertainers. “What I came for was a Friday night service,” the man told me. “What I got was ‘Volare.’ ”

Even the harshest critics seemed satisfied with Shlomo Schwartz. “I bet this service is just as good as what my sister’s getting--and at the price she’s paying. . . “ sniffed one woman.

By noon, the lobby of the Bel Age was so crowded that a fire marshal was called in to assess the situation. Not to worry, Schwartz said. For Yom Kippur this weekend, the service will be moved to a larger facility: a 900-seat hall in the downtown Biltmore Hotel.

“It’s worth the schlep, “ beamed the rabbi.

At this point, however, I haven’t quite decided.

I enjoyed the free-spirited nature of his service. And I loved the polyglot mix of people. Middle-aged men with ponytails. Young women in sleek dresses and ornate jewelry. Ultra-Orthodox Hasidic men in knee-length coats. An elderly woman pulling herself across the room with a walker. All gathered together in one large community of prayer at the holiest time of the year.

Yet Schwartz’s service contained only a modicum of traditional structure. I may not be as pious as some people, but I deeply respect my heritage.

So as the skies turn dark today I’ll probably wait until the last minute to decide my destination.

Perhaps I’ll try Mishkon Tephilo, an unpretentious Venice temple with an enthusiastic female rabbi.

Or perhaps the temple in Hollywood that a friend of mine keeps raving about. The rabbi there has a warm heart, the congregation is marvelous, I’d probably love it, he said.

Maybe so.

But secretly, I hope not.

The best part, I’ve come to believe, is in the search.