Last night, I attended a Shabbat service at the Synagogue of the Hills, the only temple for hundreds of miles, nestled in a small, residential cul-de-sac in Rapid City, S.D. As it was night, pictures were difficult, but I managed to snap this image of the outside of the building:
The Reform Movement synagogue has roots in the gold rush that brought thousands of people to the Black Hills in the late 1800s, mainly to the mining town of Deadwood, which became famous because of a recent television show. Jews were a major part of the emigration, but I’ll be in Deadwood in a few days, so I’ll hold off on talking about that for a bit.
When the gold rush ended, many of the Jews that were in Deadwood moved to Rapid City, bringing their Torah with them. And in the 1950s, this synagogue began to take shape.
For decades, services were held in people’s houses, with whatever leadership was at hand, as Rapid City has never had a full-time rabbi. The plan was, and still is, to build a full-on synagogue when the congregation reaches 50 families.
In 1996, the current building was consecrated, essentially a remodeled house. About 28 families are members, and the services are extremely intimate – everyone knows everyone else, and is addressed by name.
The night’s service was led by Wayne Gilbert, president of the meeting and a convert to Judaism. In fact, only 10 people were at the service, and 6 of them were not born Jewish. As Judaism is facing a problem with numbers in America, with intermarriage and secularism drawing people away from the faith, Rapid City is bucking the trend. Amazingly, about half of the families in the Synagogue of the Hills’ congregation have converted to Judaism.
And it’s in a town that barely even knows that a synagogue is there. Practically everyone I met and told I was in town to visit a synagogue was surprised, saying, “There are Jews in South Dakota?”
As Vice President Steve Benn puts it, there’s rarely a problem with discrimination or prejudice, however. “It’s more out of ignorance, it’s not malicious. People are curious, and it’s really been very welcoming,” he says.
“If you talk to enough people, everybody’s willing to tell you, ‘I had a grandfather I think was Jewish, what does that mean?’ or people who are shopping and say ‘You know I think I’m interested in trying on the Jewish faith, what can you tell me?’ “ he adds. “In the Reform Movement, they talk about converts and Jews by choice. It’s been my contention that we’re all Jews by choice. We decided to come here tonight. We could have done a lot of different things.”
The service was simple, with prayers intermingled with song. It was funny at one point, as the congregation began singing and was a few lines in, when people realized that no one knew the tune and it was scrapped. Apparently, there’s one man who knows all the tunes, and without him there, they were lost.
I want to share two of the prayers that were spoken. First, one which was said to welcome in the holy day, and I think is very representative of the Reform Movement:
“There are days when we seek things
for ourselves and measure failure
by what we do not gain.
On Shabbat, we seek not to acquire
but to share.
There are days when we exploit nature
as if it were a horn of plenty
that can never be exhausted.
On Shabbat, we stand in wonder
before the mystery of creation.
There are days when we act as if we
cared nothing for the rights of others.
On Shabbat, we remember that justice is
our duty and a better world our goal.
So we embrace Shabbat:
day of rest, day of wonder, day of peace.”
And the second, which I was asked to read myself, and I found very inspirational:
“My God, guard my speech from evil and my lips from deception.
Before those who slander me, I will hold my tongue; I will practice humility.
Open my heart to Your Torah, that I may pursue Your mitzvot.
As for all who think evil of me, cancel their designs and frustrate their schemes.
Act for Your own sake, for the sake of Your Power,
for the sake of Your Holiness, for the sake of Your Torah;
so that Your loved ones may be rescued, save with Your power. And answer me.”
Afterward, the congregation had a long talk about the country’s financial crisis and their duty to help strangers as if they were friends. In fact, the synagogue keeps a fund to help those stranded in Rapid City, whether or not they’re Jewish, and everyone gave a somewhat foggy recollection of the story of a couple who had been caught broke in a cross-country journey, and how the synagogue gave them money to get a motel, no questions asked. They did joke, however, about how many of the people who have asked for help had stories about how they might be Jewish somewhere in their lineage – a common theme of the night – and how ridiculous and unnecessary it all was.
After a tiny glass of wine and a a prayer to end the ceremonies, I spoke at length late into the night with Benn, who told me how proud he was of the synagogue, which runs largely due to his effort.
As it doesn’t have a rabbi, the synagogue flies one out on high holidays, and makes due in the meantime. Thus, Benn has taken it upon himself to be the mohel, who performs circumcisions for Jewish babies. In fact, he performs a whole bunch of other tasks, from leading many services to leading funerals.
Benn, a surgeon, came to Rapid City a few years ago, and found the synagogue holding Shabbat services only every other week. Wanting more, he took it upon himself to change that, running services himself until he could train others to take up the task themselves.
“It’s kind of an unusual environment,” he says. “I was raised in Brooklyn in a Conservative Jewish environment. The neighborhood I grew up in was a pretty homogeneous community, and if you need kosher meat or if you needed religious articles, you could go down there, but here, there’s nothing. We all do for ourselves. There’s very few natives here, we all come from someplace else and bring with us a little piece of our past.”
He has a dedication I rarely see. It seems that a lot of people, when they leave a community they’re comfortable with for the unknown, they let their spiritual life become a part of the past (especially college students). But this is a community that doesn’t want to let go, that will fight to keep its identity in the figurative wilderness. It’s very much a story of the rural West.
