When I celebrated the birth of my children, it was with that community. I became both a Bar Mitzvah and a groom with that community. When I mourned the loss of family and friends, I have been comforted by that community. 

Despite this deep connection, I’ve never actually been what one could call "a regular" — one of those among the synagogue membership who participate in services on a regular basis. Nor have I been totally comfortable with my depth of knowledge around Hebrew or Torah texts — meaning that I find the prompts from our rabbis to be helpful during services. 

Now, however, as president of the synagogue, I find myself in a role that regularly places me on the bima (pulpit) during Shabbat morning services. There I sit, among the clergy of our community, nearly every week — and because of the experience, I’ve learned a few important lessons I’d like to share with you.

The first is that familiarity does breed comfort. I may never become a Torah scholar or be fluent in Hebrew, but that doesn’t mean I can’t derive value from the texts of our ancestors, or the language of modern Israel. In fact, the repetition inherent in regular attendance sparks new knowledge when I’m least paying attention. 

A great example of this relates to the prayer book. I have always enjoyed singing along when it’s chanted during the musaf (afternoon) prayers. But recently I’ve noticed how meaningful that prayer can be for those of us living in the cold, dark regions of this country as much of the language focuses on the importance of light — now I can truly appreciate the meaning of this prayer — especially during the darker winter months of the year. 

I’ve also learned to anticipate the familiar gathering of small groups of friends throughout the sanctuary each week. The natural clustering of these weekly Shabbat groupings provides form and substance to the services themselves. For me, it shows the intrinsic value of praying in  community. There’s added warmth within these clusters that, when combined in the sanctuary as a whole, provides an amazingly strong pattern that is powerful to both watch and hear. 

I’ve also learned what a blessing wonderful clergy can be to a community. Our rabbis bring fun and playfulness to the pulpit. The effect of this gift is to engage a group of overinformed, too-busy congregants by way of new innovative techniques that hold our attention: tag-team sermons; whispered yet clearly audible "aside" conversations; and excellent storytelling all are used to connect the events of today with the wisdom of our texts. 

And finally, I’ve learned that kiddush is more than just a nosh after services. The deepening of relationships and the exchange of information over coffee cake can be vastly underestimated in its impact on the broader community. 

Naturally, I don’t support the conducting of financial business in shul, but the flow and spark of ideas that result in future Shabbat dinners, play dates for the children, new community buildings, and trips to Israel strengthen the bonds that hold us together. And in today’s society, any bonds that hold people together are deeply valuable in my mind. 

You don’t have to sit on the bima to learn any of these lessons — but you do have to get over the natural reluctance to head to synagogue on Friday evening after a long work week, or to wake up earlier on Saturday morning and come to synagogue instead of hitting the snooze button. 

I encourage all of you to join me in making room for your own observations in your own synagogues. Take your preconceived notions and historical contradictions and set them aside for a few months to make space for new visions and revelations. 

Soon, I hope, you’ll find that like me, services on Shabbat provide you with both an anchor to life and a springboard to greater meaning. 

Jeff Stein is the Principal of his financial services company. He lives with his wife and two daughters and is the current President of Beth El Synagogue in Minneapolis. He welcomes your response to this article at jstein@steinfg.com.

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