It must be two-ply and luxurious

A shul is judged by the ratio of tissue boxes to its members.

It might be easy to think that a community is judged by the quality of the rabbi’s sermons. One might think that a measure of its worth can be determined by the variety of pastries at the shul kiddush, or by the cantor and the sincerity of prayer. And whereas these factors might well be important, they are hardly the basis for community satisfaction. Not by a long shot.

All societies function within a system of rules. These rules can be clear and overt, like “You shall not covet your neighbour’s wife” and “You will leave your fields fallow every seventh year along with the corners and whatever you have dropped.” Something like that.

In communities, the so-called written rules include the obligation of members to pay fees, along with the shul’s responsibility to offer services, a rabbi, and at least one miserable member whose only function seems to be to tell me to stop talking.

The written ground rules are important. But so too are the unwritten ground rules which determine the behaviour and contentment of the community.

I believe these include, but are not limited to, the following:

• The ratio of tissue boxes to community members. And if they are at least two-ply and extremely soft and gentle. Because our sensitive noses deserve nothing less;
• The real-time response to temperature fluctuations in the shul. How close to a sudden drop or increase in temperature will an adjustment take place? Fifteen minutes being a poor response time, with anything below five minutes being the aspirational lag;
• The quality of the backup power supply. Is this inverter only, generator-driven, or a fully integrated solar and inverter system? The latter giving the shul a higher rating;
• And, of course, the quality of the coffee along with access not only to full-cream milk but also 2% low fat, fat free, and even milk-free alternatives – rarely seen except in Cape Town, where almond milk has become the standard.

Unwritten ground rules are easy to identify as they start with the words, “around here”. Which is why in a work environment, an unwritten ground rule might be that “around here, we do what we say we’ll do” or “around here, we keep everyone in the loop”.

Whereas members might rate their shul based on the coffee, the community itself is judged on the unwritten ground rules by which it functions. These might include the approach to visitors, and what we do to welcome them. It might include the greeting of the bloke next to us, and how much we support the rabbis, or put our hand up to assist where we can. Also, it includes whether we recognise that the air-conditioning doesn’t run on electricity alone, and that our financial support is also critical.

We hold our shuls to a high standard. As we should. We demand that our rabbis are sage, slow to anger, and that they hover somewhere between earth and heaven. We also demand that they are chameleonic, and can drink and cavort with us when required.

They need to call us when we’re sick, bury us when we’re dead, and invite us for meals. We demand that they are available to us seven days a week, day and night, but we also expect them and their families to be examples of cohesion and magnificence. Even if they haven’t seen them in months.

Our relationship with our shul community is complex. It’s mood and season dependent, and demands a level of maturity that we prefer to not display. For each of us it’s different, but what binds us is that when we have a cold, nothing says “we care” quite like a two-ply box of luxurious tissues.