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Main sanctuary of 'The
Shul' near Bal Harbour, Fla. It replicates three synagogues—in Warsaw,
Krakow and Prague—destroyed by the Nazis in World War II, according to
Rabbi Sholom Lipskar.
Come Saturday, the Jewish Sabbath, the
atmosphere at Rabbi Sholom Lipskar's synagogue near Bal Harbour, Fla.,
turns festive. The eating and drinking start early.
Very early.
The synagogue, called The Shul, attracts anywhere from 500 to 800
people each week. Most attend services in the main sanctuary that start
around 9 a.m. But some early birds show up for prayers that begin at
7:15 a.m. and conclude by 9:15. Then it is party time for the largely
male crowd.
This elegant seaside place of worship is on the cutting edge of the
Kiddush—a lavish repast that has helped transform the staid postservice
fellowship hour to the kind of boozy, over-the-top spread synonymous
with weddings.
Such affairs have become so de rigueur to luring congregants that
Rabbi Lipskar has solicited donors for a special "Kiddush bank" to fund
the pricey libations and epicurean fare that can cost anywhere from
$1,800 to $3,600 per week.
"It is perfect," says Rabbi Lipskar, whose
synagogue is part of the Hasidic Lubavitch movement. "God didn't make
the delicious stuff only for non-Jews." Those who want a shot of hard
liquor—they don't say "let's have a drink," but "let's have a L'chaim,"
he says, referring to the traditional Jewish toast "to life."
"This is not a drinking fest," he adds. "The drinks are in small cups."
In the face of dwindling attendance at religious services, many
rabbis have become similarly creative. At the Bal Harbour shul and other
synagogues, the sumptuous food, fine wines and liquors are a way to
help draw congregants.
As early as January, Rabbi Marc
Schneier was already well into planning his synagogue's summer worship
in New York's posh Hamptons community. He is lining up guest speakers,
interviewing assistant rabbis—and considering ways to improve on the
martini bar.
The "L'chaim" table of high-price spirits is the most popular feature
of The Hampton Synagogue's Saturday summer service. "There is always
vodka, an assortment of single malts, tequila," says Robert Fisher, a
friend of the rabbi who serves as adviser on food and drink.
Rabbi Schneier notes that the fetes don't get overly boisterous. It
is all about the "M-word," he insists—not martinis, but "moderation."
The same might not be said about the food. One weekend the entrees
included pan-seared sesame salmon and sliced steak with horseradish
cream. There is always seafood salad—the rabbi's favorite dish—albeit
made with pollock and whiting since the congregation adheres to kosher
laws banning shellfish.
The "herring bar" features 12 different
variations named after each of the Twelve Tribes of Israel.
Raising a glass during or after services isn't strictly an Orthodox
phenomenon, says Rabbi Gerald Skolnik, who is president of the
Rabbinical Assembly, the umbrella group of Conservative rabbis. Among
both Conservative and Orthodox Jews, he has witnessed what he calls "the
cult of alcohol on Sabbath morning in shul," which means men leaving
even during prayers to have a drink with their buddies. As kosher
certifications for wine and spirits have exploded, observant Jews have
had access to finer wines—and they have indulged.
Rabbi Marc Schneier of The Hampton Synagogue in Westhampton, N.Y.
"Finding a really good Kiddush—that's a blood
sport in the Jewish community," says Rabbi Skolnik, who presides at the
Forest Hills Jewish Center in Queens, New York City.
Lincoln Square Synagogue on Manhattan's West Side was a mob scene
last Saturday as congregants gathered in the elegant new $50 million
sanctuary to pray and then descended on the "Gala Kiddush"—an array of
gourmet dishes piled high on different table—meant to help draw new
members to the institution.
"It is very competitive," says Ora Hamelsdorf, one of two people assigned to oversee the Kiddush.
The Orthodox synagogue's newsletter announced the formation of its
own "L'Chaim Club," asking members to contribute $100 for the purchase
of liquor. In doing so, the bulletin added, a person can partake of the
booze "guilt-free."
Entrance to the striking, brand new $50 million Lincoln Square Synagogue in New York City.
It wasn't always this way.
Traditionally,
Kiddush consisted of some "stale sponge cake and Tam-Tam crackers," with
a smattering of herring, says Rabbi Schneier. It was a modest
interlude, like its Christian counterpart, the church coffee hour.
"Once upon a time, some people went to synagogue to talk to God.
Nowadays, more and more people come to see their friends," says Jonathan
Sarna, a professor of American Jewish history at Brandeis University.
The prayers and sermons "are a distraction. Conviviality goes better
with a drink."
Beth Jacob Congregation of Beverly Hills has six different Kiddushes
on any given Saturday, corresponding with different services, including
one for "young professionals." But the rabbi, Kalman Topp, says the
growing trend is to have "breakaway Kiddushes" beyond synagogue walls.
These are held in people's homes and typically are men-only, with liquor
being a big attraction.
"It usually involves quality whiskey," says Rabbi Topp. "The
perception is, the more expensive the bottle, the more prestigious the
Kiddush."
In Westhampton, N.Y., Rabbi Schneier's synagogue has private sponsors
each week who shell out $7,200 for food and $1,800 or more for the
ever-changing bar—which may, incidentally, include rum-based mojitos,
Champagne-infused Bellinis and the like. The L'chaim liquor table costs
an additional $1,800—so the total can exceed $10,000 for a single
Sabbath. Despite the steep cost, there are always eager sponsors, says
the rabbi.
Last year in Bal Harbour, one donor made an unusual contribution.
Each Friday afternoon, on the eve of the Sabbath, his driver appeared
carrying a leather suitcase with a giant 1.75 liter bottle of Johnnie
Walker Blue label tucked inside. At the Saturday Kiddush, a special
volunteer handed out shot glasses of the $500 scotch. "It went pretty
fast," Rabbi Lipskar says.
Inside the sanctuary of the elegant new Lincoln Square Synagogue building.
Some of the faithful cast a cold eye on such
excess. "It is very upsetting. It is not in keeping with Jewish
standards of modesty," says Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinreb, executive vice
president emeritus of the Orthodox Union, an umbrella organization for
Orthodox congregations.
Neither does Rabbi Hershel Billet, of Woodmere, N.Y., approve of
heavy drinking as a part of synagogue culture. He recalls how, a few
years ago, men were getting up and leaving in the middle of his own
services. "They'd return drunk, loud. It had to stop," he says.
While he himself likes a glass of fine wine, he decided to ban liquor
in the synagogue several years ago. Some members left in protest.
Meanwhile, Kiddush in the Hamptons is shaping up to be more upscale
than ever. On a recent evening, Rabbi Schneier and Mr. Fisher
brainstormed about the season ahead, which starts on Mother's Day
weekend and lasts till Thanksgiving.
"Do you think we could have a Kentucky Derby Kiddush?" Mr. Fisher
muses. Some summer residents start the season early by coming to check
on their homes. "We could serve mint juleps," he says. The women, he
imagines, could don fancy hats.
Write to Lucette Lagnado at
lucette.lagnado@wsj.com
A version of this article appeared February 8,
2013, on page A1 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with
the headline: After These Jewish Prayer Services, Things Come 'To Life'
at Open Bar.
