The Slog of Selichot

My good friend Rabbi David Brofsky shared a Facebook post defending Selichot:

There’s a lot of complaining this time of year- Selichot.
First, it’s a significant addition to the three daily tefillot, and it’s a considerable hit to one’s sleeping schedule, either early in the morning or at night. Waking up at ashmoret ha-boker is a beautiful idea. As an idea.
Second, they are rather difficult to understand. At least fully.

The Shulchan Arukh (OC 1:4) writes טוב מעט תחנונים בכוונה, מהרבות בלא כוונה (better few supplications with concentration than much without concentration). R. Hutner adapted this statement: טוב מעט בלי כוונה מהרבה בלי כוונה. In fact, in Yeshivat Chaim Berlin (and Pachad Yitzchak in Israel), I have heard that they say abridged selichot. I full identify with this sentiment: I often say a shorter, abridged Tachanun (Mon and Thurs), Pesukei De-Zimra, Kinot and of course, Zkhor Berit (Erev RH).
But, I also have to say the following: I enjoy Selichot. I find them meaningful. I like saying (yelling?) the first part ('לך ה and שומע תפילה). I enjoy finding the rhythm in the different selichot, even if I don’t always fully understand the meaning. I say the 13 midot of rachamim with great awe and trepidation, as I recall the image of God revealing them to Moshe, as the key to forgiveness. I like the tune of the final pizmon, and how the sheliach tzibbur and the tzibbur say each part. Yes, and I love rushing through the zkhor rachamekha, hoping to say ve-havi’otim before the sheliach tzibur says shema koleinu. Shema Koleinu! Hashiveinu! Al tashlikheinu! How can one not find meaning in a good confession (viduy)? And racing through the final aneinus matches the Rav’s description of “tze’aka”- a prayer said in a time of crisis - spiritual crisis.
Finally, the voices and tunes of decades of ba’alei tefila are in my head; R. Amital’s deep yet haunting tefillot ring in my ears (see minute 28 below..).
There is meaning in tradition. There is meaning in structure. There is meaning in years and years of melodies. And there is meaning in oscillating between slow and fast, and whispering and screaming, while the voices of great baalei tefilla echo in one’s ears. I wouldn’t trade that for all the uplifting “hashiveinu”s and funky “rachamana”s out there.

Rabbi Brofsky is right. Selichot today has a "bad name." Today it's Carlbach Selichot. Here in Israel, Tours of Jerusalem end with a recitation of Selichot somewhere in the Old City. It's not enough to pray; Selichot needs to be an experience.

I agree with everything that Rabbi Brofsky wrote, except I really don't usually experience Selichot as uplifting and passionate. Nor, really, do I expect them to be.  
In theory, it would be great if I had a passionate religious experience every time I pray. But I don't - far from it. Nor do I think it's reasonable to have that expectation. Human nature is such that we experience rhythms in life - highs and lows, and I believe the expectation of a perpetual spiritual high is unreasonable, unrealistic, and unfair to ourselves. 

This same rule applies to the recitation of Selichot. I don't get much out of Selichot (less so after midnight, which is why I say the Sunday morning Selichot on Sunday morning, at not at 12:30am) Despite the lack of such a high, I still make a concerted effort to say Selichot (albeit too fast) as I think that they're very important even without that spiritual high. This is because to me Selichot is a process building towards the end goal of Yom Kippur. 

I see Selichot both as an intentional slog, an extra effort we make around the Yamim Noraim, and also a way to gradually move towards the Tefillot on Yom Kippur. If a person experiences Yom Kippur on the first night of Selichot, what then can he expect to have left later on? During the waning moments of Yom Kippur, I always think of - and in truth feel bad for - the people who don't say Selichot leading up to Rosh Hashanah and during the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah. At that time, as we're piercing the heavens with the 13 Middot of Rachamim, we pause between each volley for a brief recitation, a respite of sort, most of which recall Selichot we have recited over the past weeks.Each stanza takes me back to those early morning Selichot, and gives me a bit more strength to push forward. Neilah - like everything else is life - means so much less if you didn't put in the time during the weeks of Selichot, steadily building momentum with each passing day.

I don't for a minute think that my Selichot this morning were Neilah. Nor do I think they should be. Selichot are a slog. But to my mind, that just how they're supposed to be.

Selichot Conundrum: Sefardi or Ashkenazi? You Make the Call.

As arrived at shul this past Sunday morning, I saw a group of tired-looking people davening in another room. I wondered what they were doing until it dawned on me: They're Sefardim, and they've got to recite Selichot for the entire month of Elul.
Truth be told, Selichot can often feel like a real drag. I don't think that's a bad thing. There's something to be said for getting up a little bit earlier as Rosh Hashanah approaches, adding the 13 Attributes of Compassion to the davening, reciting shema kolenu every morning. My mood builds towards Yom Kippur, and when we finally reach the emotionally draining pinnacle of Neilah, when basically all we recite are a summation of all the Selichot that we've said to that point, everything comes full circle. It's a powerful, tiring, moving process. I often feel that people who have difficulty on Yom Kippur suffer from the fact that they didn't invest in Selichot. It really serves as the pinnacle of the prayer process that began two (or more) weeks before. If you haven't made the effort to truly prepare for Yom Kippur, how can you expect to achieve meaningful results from the process of repentance?
This is how I feel after starting Selichot on the Saturday night before Rosh Hashanah - giving me only two weeks of Selichot. Having to start a full three weeks earlier, at Rosh Chodesh Elul and reciting selichot for a full forty days - that seems like a bit too much for me.
But with the costs of following Sephardic custom come benefits as well, the biggest of course being Kitniyot. Sefardim eat all kinds of kitniyot on Pesach, and here in Israel the difference is even more pronounced with all kinds of yummy looking foods stamped לאוכלי קטניות בלבד - "For those who eat kitniyot ONLY". I sometimes think that the food companies are mocking me. I spot a nice looking chocolate pudding, pick it up to check the hechsher and stamped on the front in big letters it says: "Sorry Mr. Ashkenaz. Not for you. Too bad."
Of course there are other differences as well, including:

• Three Weeks: Ashkenazim observe most of the customs of mourning from the 17th of Tammuz, while Sefardim not only don't keep three weeks; they don't even have nine full days, observing the mourning period only on the week of Tisha B'av
• Milk and Fish: While Sefardim can't mix milk and fish (and my wife makes a great tuna-cheese casserole), Ashkenazim can
  

So then I got to thinking: what would I rather have: the benefits of kitniyot on Pesach, or the ability to sleep in for three more weeks come Elul. Would I rather have the costs and benefits of Sepharditude, or those of Ashkenazi-ness? (Of course this discussion is completely academic - unless you're a young woman contemplating marriage trying to decide whether to date Ashkenazim or Sefardim. Then it's quite relevant. But if that's a real criteria to you for marriage, you've got other issues to deal with.) In any case, which would you rather be? You may have noticed the new feature of my blog: the poll. So let me know what your preference would be if you had the choice.