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October 11, 2002
Pray as the Romans pray
Tight security sets the tone for Italian synagogues.
DAN LEVITT SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN
As I came to the front of the line at my destination, a plain-clothed
Italian security guard checked my passport. Across the street stood
two blue-uniformed army officers holding Kalashnikov rifles who
carefully observed the swelling crowd and the cars driving by.
I followed the line of people walking into the monumental and massive
structure of the Temple Israelitico Synagogue in Rome. My travelling
companion and I had planned our two-and-a-half-week summer vacation
so that we would be in Rome and Florence on the weekends in order
to experience Shabbat services. While security measures have increased
somewhat outside synagogues in Vancouver, we were not used to passing
through El Al-like security to pray.
We had spent the past several days in similar queues to view Rome's
ancient sites such as the Coliseum, the Pantheon, the Forum, the
spiritual and artistic St. Peter's Basilica, the Vatican Museum's
Sistine Chapel, the architecturally pleasing walking tour through
Rome's tangle of streets past the Spanish Steps, Bernini's theatrical
sculptures in the Piazza Navona and the famous Trevi Fountain, among
other sites.
As impressive as the grand tour of Rome was, no site was more personally
moving than spending Friday evening, Shabbat, at the Temple Israelitico,
whose impressive square dome stood proudly above the rest of the
city.
As we entered the synagogue, we were immediately struck by the sacred
space that the Roman Jewish community had created in which to pray.
As I chose a seat near the front of the sanctuary, I noted how the
seats were personalized with engravings of the names of individual
congregants. Each seat came with a small study desk and a locked
drawer for members to leave their tallit bag, prayer books and tefillin.
The scene must feel extremely welcoming for any member of the synagogue.
Looking up in the main prayer hall that rises six stories to the
top of the square cupola, I began to think about other synagogues
in Europe that were not as fortunate. The hundreds of Jewish communities
that were destroyed during the world wars and other conflicts all
might have had synagogues similar to the one in which I was fortunate
enough to be praying.
The worshippers took their seats as the cantor began the evening
service, which was hard to follow as the tunes were different from
those to which I had become accustomed. Even the central prayer
of the Kabbalat Shabbat service, Lecha Dodi, was difficult to recognize.
To me it didn't matter that I couldn't follow, for I knew I was
in a very spiritual space.
One of the more unique characteristics of the service was the choir
– a group of men who sat behind the gold, classical ark and
the bimah. When they chanted, their voices were heavenly, singing
divine praises to the almighty.
When services ended, we walked back through the security check and
met some people who, along with the congregation's junior rabbi,
invited us to join them for dinner at a vegetarian kosher restaurant
named Yotvota. It's one of a chain of well-known Israeli restaurants
and was a five minute walk from the synagogue through the winding
streets of what used to be Rome's ghetto. A small group of tourists
who wanted a place to have a Shabbat dinner had rented out the restaurant
and welcomed us to join them.
After a delicious meal, we walked back to our hotel, passing through
the Campo d'Fiori, an after-dinner gathering spot for thousands
of locals. We continued our walk to our hotel and thought about
the city of Rome with so many places that Romans have built to worship.
That night we had done as the Romans do.
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