Questions

I am grappling with these questions:

• What is the rabbi's role? For clarification's sake,  I mean in an orthodox North American shul. Is he just there to give a sermon on Shabbos and to show up for bris, bar mitzvah and funeral? Is he responsible for the well-being of his congregation? For its safety? For its children's education?
• What is the shul's role? To be a convenient location to discharge one's obligation of group prayer? A social shmoozing ground? A place of spiritual growth? A place to further Jewish learning?
• What is the community's role? To nod heads to each other in Kroger? To supply baby and mourner's meals? To have a gathering of like-minded individuals? To have a colorful diversity? To be a beacon of morality? To be insular, and divide the world into "us" vs. "them"?

If I hear another lovely sentiment of כל ישראל ערבים זה לזה followed by "but not like this!" I might puke. So please, give me your real answers. Give me what you think it should be. Tell me what it is. And help me brainstorm how to make it better.

garden woes

For the third time since moving to the current state, I have planted a garden: cucumbers, squash, tomatoes. We have grown these vegetables back in NY in pre-kid days. For the third time, squash-eating bugs have descended and consumed the vines. I got abundant leaves, beautiful flowers, and even some little zucchini growing. Then the caterpillars and burrowing bugs came and consumed the fruit overnight until only a pulpy mess remained. The stems keep holding out, producing more giant leaves, more flowers, giving me hope, but the insides are rotting. No fruit survives to maturity.

http://www.missouribotanicalgarden.org/Portals/0/
Gardening/Gardening%20Help/images/Pests/Pest2461.jpg

I keep thinking how planting and not reaping a harvest is a biblical curse. A lot of effort, care, maintenance goes into gardening, but a lot of it depends on Divine Providence. Zucchini squash produces only male flowers until it reaches a certain maturity, or the soil is moist enough, or there are enough sunny and rainy days in the precise combination. Most of the advice I got was wait and hope that the weather conditions will be just right for both flower genders to be produced.

Today I had enough of watching giant squash leaves take over the whole garden bed, not producing any fruit while sucking up resources from the soil. Their healthful appearance belied the vines that they grew on, sickly and rotting, consumed from within. I yanked them all out, giving more space and more sunlight to the basil, rosemary, and mint. The garden bed looked empty, while the compost pile seemed covered with lush green leaves as if thrown out by mistake. But I know that in order to plant successfully, you need to weed, and those rotting plants turned into unwanted weeds.

All of this seemed like a metaphor for what's going on in my life. So many things appear beautiful and appealing on the surface, healthy and beckoning, while rotting on the inside. They will never produce fruit, and one is better cutting them off than letting them fester.

I was told by the shul's executive board to either trust their leadership, or to seek utopian shul somewhere else. This was on the heels of being told that the shul is not liable for any wrongdoing legally (nothing happened on their premises), while the protection of children and members "not in the know" is not their concern. I was not even given an opening to discuss my concerns and wishes for the youth program. Funds are being allocated for learning. How it is conducted and what results it produces, and under which conditions is none of their business. It has to look right. When it is rotting from within and you expose that, you must be the troublemaker, because you just do not understand how much effort has been put into tending this garden.

Some gardeners will not have the strength to pull out the plants that have turned into weeds, seduced by their appearance. Some garden beds just need to be walked away from.

As for me, let me know where I can find an utopian shul that welcomes children, takes their safety seriously, and fosters women's learning.

patience

Today is Mother's Day.

Today my husband is on two calls: one during the day and another overnight.

No, we did not celebrate with breakfast in bed. Yes, he got the baby changed and dressed so I could finish my breakfast at the kitchen table.

No, I did not get a bouquet of flowers. Yes, I got a bunch of weeds hand-picked by my daughter.

No, I did not get picture-perfect brunch. Yes, I got cupcakes made from scratch by 9 yo. I also complained on Friday how I'm falling on my face and chocolate would be a nice pick-me-up. My hubby pulled out a box of Godiva truffles. He anticipated what I would have liked, but he decided not to wait till Sunday to hand them over.

On Shabbos, he was also on call, and there was no childcare in our shul. My husband took three older kids to shul with him. 2 yo was in pieces about being left behind. I kept telling him how we will go to shul later, once the baby wakes up. We walked, while I pushed the stroller with the carseat. 2 yo stopped to examine every rock, every flower, every leaf, every bird. The walk that normally takes twenty minutes took us an hour. I was starting to get impatient, but I bit my tongue. This is his exploration opportunity. How often do we take walks at the pace of a 2 year old? How often do we literally smell every single rose bush? How often do we pause to acknowledge the ants? I was patient with him, especially since he walked and did not complain that his stroller is occupied by the baby.

(I was not so patient once we rounded the corner to the shul only to be greeted by my exiting family. We missed everything, and now we had to turn around and head back home. I left 2 yo in care of my husband and rushed back, trying to get home before the baby would wake up).

I was patient today when 9 yo was searching for an activity to do with me, special for Mother's day. He wanted to do a hike; just the two of us. I demurred, since I'm tied to the baby and my husband can be called up anytime. He settled on cupcake making. I sighed internally: I know how these baking things go; they are all nice and dandy until there is a spill and then the baby wakes up, and you are either rushing, or putting everything on hold. But I decided to be calm and patient about it. 9 yo really did everything himself (with some assistance from his sister). He got out the ingredients and the mixer, halved the recipe, measured and mixed. He ran out of patience when it was time to fill up small muffin cups. I was rewarded with cupcakes.

What motherhood taught me is patience. The baby will fall asleep eventually, the children will sleep through the night eventually, they will walk and talk eventually, they will say "please" and "thank you" eventually, and they will learn to read and write eventually. It just takes time. I used to worry and freak out a whole lot more about a whole lot of things. Having all these tiny human beings around allowed me to focus on what is important.

To all moms out there, no matter how young or how old: I wish you the gift of patience.

"Kids nowadays" and grown-ups at kiddush

The line one always hears, especially from people of a certain age: "Kids nowadays..."

They are rude.
They are loud.
They are pushy.
They get away with everything.

We belong to a small shul. Technically, it's a start-up, so everything is small and DIY type of thing, including kiddush. I like that my kids are involved in setting up for kiddush, and that the woman in charge takes time to think of a weekly theme related to a parsha, making it fun and educational. But more that that, they are vested in setting up and cleaning up.

One of the things that annoyed me to no end about a bigger shul down the road is the total mess of a kiddush. There was a kiddush committee who set up kiddush in advance. I tried volunteering for it years ago, but I was told that I cannot bring my kids, as it would violate sanitary standards. Then, as davening was over, the doors to the social hall were closed until some predetermined time, and the stampede of people and kids stormed the tables, grabbing food like they will never be fed. Five cookies at a time, ten crackers, mounds of vegetables, globs of humms... Moreover, as people and kids finished eating, the food waste was apparent in piles of uneaten food left on plates for the janitorial staff to clean up. I lost my cool when I caught a bar-mitzvah-aged boy pouring soda from his cup straight onto the drinks tablecloth. "What do you think you are doing?!! And who will be cleaning this up?"

http://jewishexponent.com/blog/taking-the-kid-out-of-kiddush

I had high hopes for our smaller chevra (group). The rule is, grown-ups take food first, and then the kids. The place is small, so we are talking about a dozen of people.I hoped that once kids will be responsible for set-up and clean-up, they will not be inclined to make a mess, or waste food. I also hoped that there will not be scarcity, and civilized, well-mannered approach will prevail.

Today I realized that before we complain about kids nowadays, we need to take a look at ourselves. The kids who set up kiddush did politely wait, but the grown-ups disappointed.

It is rude to grab a quarter of a cake for yourself, when not everyone had a slice. It is rude to talk right by the table, blocking everyone else's access. It is rude to ignore the child who does grab half the donuts or candy, and not to stop them and tell them to put some back (I have done that, to my children's chagrin).  And it is rude not to clean up after yourself.

Meanwhile, my kids are being plied with candy and sweets (it is Shabbos!) against my express wishes. No, they do not need more sugar or food coloring, no, they do not need more sweets. And please stop testing willpower of a child by repeatedly offering him a treat. You will not be the one dealing with his refusal to eat lunch, or his off-the-wall behavior later in the day.

You will be walking home, shaking your head, and saying: "Kids nowadays..."

winter break or unschooling?

This week I am not doing formal schoolwork with the kids. 10 yo is on break from mishna, our coop classes are not meeting, and there is no taekwondo. I am sort of calling it a winter break.

However, it is shaping up to be a funny break. 1 yo has been sick, so I have not been getting a whole lot of sleep. I also scrambled all my plans. I arranged this whole outing for today, rallied a whole bunch of people to join me, and then had to cancel and stay home. Now, being shut in with four kids for a whole day, and no set schedule does sound like a recipe for disaster. A smart mom would have a back-up plan, with lessons and TV and other planned activities. A wise mom will play it by ear.

At 7 am, I was greeted with a detailed castle building plan, drawn up by 10 yo. I had to squint to see it, and could not process it without coffee. He was excitedly telling me how he is going to build this castle in Minecraft.

My husband took 10 yo and 4 yo yo shul with him. 8 yo ended up sleeping in till 9 am, which is unusual, but he said that he was up during the night, twice. Maybe the baby kept him up, just like he did to us. Thankfully, since we were not rushing anywhere, it was not a big deal. All the kids had breakfast with daddy, while I got dressed.

Then my husband learned with both boys before work, one at a time. He reviewed Vayigash with 10 yo, and then did three new pesukim with 8 yo. I helped 4 yo with her puzzles, and read to 1 yo his books. His favorite nowadays is "What's in There? All About Before You Were Born" by Robie Harris. He calls it "In there". We took it out of the library, and I do like it, although we do not always get to read each page. 4 yo called he brother a scoundrel, at a very appropriate moment. I guess we do not have to worry about SAT vocabulary prep.

10 yo moved on to designing his castle on graph paper, with detailed designations of which type of Minecraft blocks to use. Then I sent all three older kids out of the house, to play in the back yard. They came in appropriately muddy, with 10 yo carrying his hammer. I was told that there is a whole tool chest back there, mostly made out of sticks and discarded wood.

For lunch, the kids requested frozen Costco blintzes. We ate the whole double package. During lunch, somehow, we ended up discussing parts of speech. 10 yo gave a verb to 8 yo and asked him to add different prefixes and suffixes to it ( no doubt influenced by Lashon HaTorah). Then we switched to taking how some words can function as more than one part of speech, depending on the context. Funny how these things come up.

After lunch, I got started on trying to make a no-sew quilt from fleece squares. Unfortunately, I did not follow the instructions exactly, and 10 yo kept mumbling how if I would only let him use that borrowed sewing machine, he could sew a sleeping bag. I put my foot down, and said that he can sew by hand; I cannot allow him to use that machine. He sulked and told me all sorts of discouraging things about this quilt, which was not exactly turning out. I cut the fringes too short, so I could not tie them together. Meanwhile, 1 yo woke up, so I left this sulking kid to tie up the rest of the test side. It did look horrible.

So I let him go on Minecraft for an hour, He was able to log into his homeschool class, which officially does not start for another week. Then he proceeded to build his castle. An hour later, 8 yo got on, got into his class, read the first week's assignment, and did the quiz. All of that took place without any input from me. And this is the kid who might not test well. I guess when the material is interesting, and he is highly motivated, he can do it. Oh, and it was up to him whether to take that quiz or not. Maybe he does not understand about the stakes of testing. I do not know, but I am finding this to be a very interesting experience.

4 yo took a long piece of fleece, tied it around herself, and made a "baby carrier". Then she tied it in a different fashion, and demonstrated how her doll can be carried while awake, and while asleep. All she asked me to do was to save this piece for her. Then, later, she casually wrapped it around her neck as a scarf.

By this point in the afternoon, I decided it might be ripe time to load everyone in the car and head for a drive. 1 yo was raring to go outside. He is a funny kid: he is not flat out sick, he is still running around, just leaving a trail of snot. His eyes are teary, and he is a bit more subdued and moody than usual, but he does not sit still. We headed to the Museum of Design where boys had a workshop on Sunday, to pick up their 3-D printed creations from Minecraft. On the way over, I found out that the kids thought I went to "some prenatal dancing party" on my day off. I laughed. Mom got her groove! Watch out for that belly! I did tell them what I did, which sounded a whole lot less mysterious.

When we got to the museum, we found out that only 10 yo's sculpture was printed, but not 8 yo's. We were told that it is unusual, as they do not e-mail for pick-up till everything is ready. But there were 3 3-D printers right there in the lobby, with samples of work being printed on them. The boys pulled up chairs and watched the printers for a bit. 4 yo took up a designer challenge: design a chair for an astronaut on board a spaceship out of pipe cleaners. It had to accommodate a bulky spacesuit and work in zero gravity. She sat there, twisting and building, for good 15 minutes, till I pulled her away.

After we came home and had dinner, 8 yo suddenly remembered that my husband assigned him homework: to review ten pesukim. This is the first time I heard of it, but he opened the chumash and did it on his own. 10 yo used scraps of fleece to make himself a slingshot. He used juggling balls, and kept working on his design.

My husband sat 4 yo down and did some parsha with her.

Looking at the whole day, it is hard for me to say that my kids did not put in required 4 1/2 hours of "educational activities" for it not to count as a school day. It certainly did not require planning from me.

So I am at a crossroads: do I embrace unschooling now (with limits on screen time, especially for 10 yo), or do I continue with more traditional subjects until close to baby's arrival? Letting go of control is both liberating and terrifying.

tzedakah and unschooling

while the boys were doing HWT and math,
3 yo made a "telescope"

Lots of learning took place today. We had a trip to a history museum with homeschooling friends, where there was a workshop geared towards 3 yo. The boys did HWT, math and Chumash (7 yo knew yesterday's pasuk cold, and confidently read today's pasuk, all in under ten minutes). We went to taekwondo. But the most amazing learning was done by kids' initiative.

coal-burning locomotive

Today was unseasonably cold and windy. When we got back from the trip, all the kids got plastic bags and string and made "kites": they tied the string to the handles and tried flying them on the front lawn. Then 9 yo got large garbage bags and tried making a hot air balloon. He quickly discovered that it won't fly. While I was doing Chumash with 7 yo, he cut up and taped the bags into a large covering for the climber in the backyard. This used up a whole roll of tape. By the time the final product made it outside, it warped into a tent to be hung on the outside of the trampoline. 

paper bag kites

Then, while I was doing chumash with 9 yo, 7 yo brought in four more bugs. I gave him 4 dimes and he sat down to figure out how much is 10 percent of that for tzedakah. He pulled out Base Ten cubes, counted out 40 and divided them into 10 piles. He noticed that some had 3 and some had 4, so he recounted the total twice till he found his mistake. I was busy trying to nurse the whole time, so I was not supervising at all, just getting the report. Then he got the idea to see how much money there was in tzedakah boxes. By that point, 9 yo joined him. They opened up the boxes, spilled out the bounty and spent some time deciding on a strategy how to count this all up. There were over a hundred pennies, so the amount of coins to manipulate was significant. 3 yo joined them, just pushing the coins around.

tallying up tzedakah

Finally, they were ready to exchange the lower value coins into dollar bills. I keep a large assortment of sorted change for allowance, so this exchange was easy to facilitate. The boys decided to split the tzedakah between two shuls. They divided the total. I got them two envelopes. Here comes the cool part: 9 yo decided to write a small note of appreciation to the man who runs his Shabbos group and include it in the envelope. 7 yo, meanwhile, decided to label the envelope. This child spontaneously decided to write! and did not freak out when he was not sure how to spell! and stuck with it without tears! I was trying very hard to contain my excitement.

We dropped off both envelopes on the way to taekwondo. 7 yo and 3 yo went with me to both shuls' offices. We spoke briefly about how it is important to carry through whatever you decided to do and that it is good that we did not wait till Monday to drop off the envelopes.

It is funny: I have not discussed Rosh HaShana with the kids. They knew that we are in Elul, I did mention that we increase in tzedakah, and I bet that if I would have proposed the idea of counting all this money (or writing), they would have balked. All that I provided was time to carry out this enormous count and support in exchanging the coins and delivering the envelopes.

Community, where are you?

When I was in Stern for college, I was a definite out-of-towner. What defined an out-of-towner was staying in for Shabbos. There were shabbatonim, you singed up, found other people who stayed in for Shabbos. Eventually we had a small group: foreign students and out-of-towners, sharing meals together, at best having fun, at worst, trying to make the best out of uncomfortable situation.

Now, the standard conversation with a girl who lived within tri-state area, while we are taking a shuttle from one building to another:

-Hi! My name is Sarah Cohen. Where are you from?
-Russia (I learned early not to say Moldova, that just confused things).
-Oh! Very nice! I had a cousin who went to a summer camp in Minsk, is that far?
Smile and nod, nod and smile.
-Is your family here?
More complex explanations how they are not.
-Oh, so what do you do for Shabbos?
-I stay in.
-Hey, come to me for Shabbos, OK?
The girl gets off the shuttle. This was in the days before cell phones, so there is no easy way to transfer phone numbers.
Now, dear Sarah Cohen, am I supposed to look you up in the student directory and call you and explain to you that I am that nebach who has no place for Shabbos that you met on the shuttle? Am I supposed to pretend that the whole conversation never happened? Did you mean it about Shabbos invitation? If you did, then why did you not leave any concrete way of getting in touch wit you? Why didn't you say which Shabbos?

No thanks, I will hang out with other out-of-towners, and you can look at us as nebachs. That is my community.

Fast forward to present day.

We have been in this community for two years. Two years of going to shul, seeing people, being seen, attending events, classes, having my kids in camp. My oldest was in school for over a year. This community keeps advertising how friendly it is, how welcoming it is, how it is a shining example of southern hospitality. Yet when I had to be out of town this past Shabbos for my sister's wedding, and my husband had to fly back in for work, he did not have Shabbos meals set up. Moreover, he was still scrambling Friday afternoon trying to find a place.

Our life is not a standard frummy life, with mommy taking a whole Friday to shop and cook, daddy getting home at 3pm with flowers, and a relaxing Shabbos. Our life is full of mommy making everything for Shabbos and then making kiddush because daddy is still at the hospital. Out life is full of Blackberry calls, sudden departures, interrupted meals and mommy traveling alone. Our life is full of Shabboses apart, not by design, but by necessity.

When we got into this community, we were appraised and lumped with the Russians, up to the point that I was confused with someone who looks nothing like me, but is also Russian, so there. When we complained about this to the rabbi, he said that people are supreficial and we better ignore it. Well, two years later, we feel quite ignored.

You know why my husband did not have those Shabbos meals? Either he did not have a conversation long enough to find out that he will be on his own that Shabbos, or there was no offer of a meal. At the end, he made some phone calls, found himself places and it all worked out, but there is no social group to fall back on. This is not college where you find like-minded weirdos, and he spent plenty of years in Brooklyn as a single guy, calling up people for Shabbos meals.

Oh, we do not fit the mold. There is no black hat, our hashkafa is too odd, we are homeschoolers, and I drive across state lines on my own. My husband digs in women's vaginas for a living! I get it, we get get what we signed up for. You cannot be different and belong.

I tried. I made women's shalishides a couple times and got one to two people to come. I tried organizing women's learning on Shabbos mornings in the summer, when there were no groups for kids ( meaning, women could not go to shul anyway) and got one person, once. And standing there in a crowded and noisy social hall during kiddush and talking to random people about where their clothes came from and who does their sheitels is not my style.

We invited people for meals and got stood up a bunch of times. We had some people over and it never went beyond that one polite meal. I am better off hosting people traveling through, or singles, but then I have to explain why my husband is on his Blackberry and how's that halachically OK...

But where do we belong?

The presence of kids in shul

From 613 Torah Ave, Vayeilech:
A boy breaks a jar of marmalade. Strangers make nasty remarks:
-Small children do not belong in stores!

-Excuse me, sir, I do not mean to show disrespect,
But tell me, how do you expect,
A child to learn to get on along,
If are you always keeping them at home?

-Yes, you must take him out each day
And show him what's the proper way
He may, indeed, make some mistakes,
And you will pay for the mess he makes
But in raising a child, that's what it takes.

-We learn this lesson, without fail,
From the special mitzvah of Hakhel

(A quick background: the mitzvah of Hakhel involved gathering up the entire nation once every seven years for the king to read parts of the Torah. The explicitly mentioned parties are men, women, small children and converts.)

The song can be found here.

I did not grow up with 613 Torah Ave tapes, so we are discovering them together. Not every single piece is meaningful or well-thought-out, but this particular part resonates strongly with me. It is hard to grocery shop with kids. It is hard taking them all to the post office, or the cleaner's or any other store. The errand is not efficient, and things are bound to get ruined. You are bound to get some dirty looks and remarks. But that's what it takes. Rashi comments that the reason the small children were brought to Hakhel was to give reward to their parents. So, it was not for them to learn Torah, or to listen to it, but for their parents to show that Torah is so precious to them, that they will drop everything, inconvenience themselves, and bring their kids. Something tells me that national gathering was not quiet and produced quite a few gray hairs in parents.

What if the Torah placed decorum over the importance of the learning experience?

I am well into Shmuel I in my Nach Yomi. In the first perek, it talks about how Elkanah would go up to Shiloh once a year and bring his family with him. Abarbanel comments that he brought "even his young children in order to inculcate them with the pure fear of G-d that would come from the atmosphere and service at the holy place, and so that the presence of the entire family would increase the joy of the festival observances". Unless children were different in those days, I strongly doubt that it was an easy undertaking. After all, Elkanah was a wealthy individual, couldn't he leave the children with the nannies at home? Couldn't he leave the wives at home, as well? Women do not have an obligation to pray, and he was the one bringing korbanot on their behalf. However, apparently there was a learning experience there not to be missed. Maybe when Chana saw what Penina's children were gaining from exposure to the Mishkan, she got an additional motivation to pray for a child. After all, the essence of our prayer is based on Chana's prayer, the prayer of one who had no obligation to pray.

Where am I going with all this?

I believe the above sources corroborate two points:
1. Children belong in shul and are expected to become the members of the community from an early age.
2. The prayer of women should be encouraged.

These two points are closely related to one another, especially in the modern setting of a shul. If women (of any age) are encouraged to come to shul to daven, they will be bringing children to shul. If the shul provides an atmosphere which encourages women to bring their children to shul, the children get to learn by observing and participating in davening, and the mothers can get a chance to daven. If the children feel valued as members of a congregation, performing such functions as holding doors, opening and closing the aron, changing page numbers, setting up and cleaning up kiddush, let alone singing Adon Olam, they are more likely to look forward to growing up and joining the congregation in prayer.

Too often, a shul places decorum over the needs of its congregation. A place full of decorum most likely has fidgety adults as well, same fidgety adults who hush the mothers who dare bring their kids in. The mothers do not feel welcome, and so they leave. The kids are discouraged from being inside: after all, how long can a child sit still in a place where he has no function? He has two paths: either learn the grown-up language and outperform them (for example, by extending Amens longer than anyone else), or drop out. Then we have a crisis of kids leaving the fold. And how many Chanahs never get a chance at a heart-felt prayer?

I will finish with three anecdotes, all showing how decorum has nothing to do with kavanah.

I attended a bar-mitzvah in Richmond, VA, right before Rosh HaShana. The shul there does not have a ton of kids, but a boy went up on Friday night to sing Yigdal. He marched up, was draped in a tallis and then belted out... Adon Olam! There was a pause, he was corrected, caught his place, and then continued, with the congregation joining in. He made a mistake, but he learned a most valuable lesson: his service is valued, and when he stumbles, there is a community which will correct him and set him on his way.

What if the boy was booed instead, or not allowed to say Yigdal at all?

During Shabbos day, right as bar-mitzcah speeches were starting, Mr. Griff, the gabbai, motioned that he has something to add. Now Mr. Griff is old-school, he is all for proper decorum. He is imposing, and he looks just, as his name sounds: someone who very clearly indicates what flies in his shul and what doesn't. I do not know how many rabbis he saw come and go, but he runs the place. What Mr. Griff had to say was surprising to me: he spoke how the bar-mitzvah boy, while being a wee one, would go up with his father to open the aron, holding on tightly to his father's hand. Then, when he got older, and realized that Mr. Griff will not eat him, he would wait for his cue, and go up on his own. And look at him now, reading his parsha!

What if Mr. Griff did not tolerate little boys on the dais, never welcoming them up?

The most personally inspiring davening of recent memory happened on our trip to Israel. On Shabbos morning, we were brought to a fairly standard Israeli shul. I had to rummage for nusach Ashekanz siddur, the mechiza was a white curtain, and the davening was moving at a brisk pace. But there was an incredible kavanah (intent) in the room. When the congregation recited the prayer for the Israeli soldiers, they inserted the names of the kids from that shul who are serving. When they mentioned Tzion and Yerushalayim, it was not an abstraction standing in the way of kiddush, but a real place, so close to their hearts. When the baal koreh read from the Torah with a kid draped over his shoulder, nobody flinched. Nobody flinched, either, when he took that kid to the restroom, and another person took his place for one aliyah. There were some women in shul, and some kids. There was no pomposity, just an earnest expression of a congregation.

Isn't that what tefila is supposed to be about?