Hard to believe that for the past three-plus years, I have only rarely missed a Shabbat service. Like a modern take on mailmen of yore …neither snow nor rain nor gloom of night stays this shul officer from the swift completion of the Zoom setup in the sanctuary.

By this time, the Shabbat service rituals and prayers in our sanctuary are etched in my consciousness. So it caught me by surprise on Rosh Hashanah this year to hear the now-familiar phrase, “God robed the day of rest in beauty, calling Shabbat a delight…” But, of course, Sara, the first day of Rosh Hashanah fell on Shabbat, meaning that thanks to a calendar quirk, my attendance record remained intact, and the familiar phrase from the Siddur Sim Shalom actually registered with me when it turned up unexpectedly in our High Holiday Chumash. Clever editors had anticipated the confluence of observances, neatly slipping in Shabbat prayers.

Having now united the Greek historian Herodotus, who first intoned the postal motto, and the ancient poet quoted in our siddur, I’m going to factor in yet another ancient — a first-century Italian architect and engineer named Marcus Vitruvius, who also had a lot to say about the notion of “delight.” I once talked about this Vitruvius fellow at a Friday night service, but dredging up his name again seems totally appropriate here, among the other ancients.

Vitruvius authored a treatise titled “De Architectura” — On Architecture — which contains his theories meant to preserve classical traditions in the design of buildings. He embraced the idea that every building — every house, school, hospital, supermarket, church and, no doubt, synagogue — should possess three qualities: firmitas, utilitas, and venustas. What does all that mean?

  • Firmitas points to structural stability. Will the building endure? Our shul is a simple prayer sanctuary, virtually original, true to the vision of the founders and, a century later, we continue to worship in this same space. That certainly attests to the building’s tenacity.
  • Utilitas refers to the idea that a building should serve the purpose for which it was designed and constructed. Our membership continues to grow, and this building continues to accommodate.
  • Venustas. Here, Vitruvius asks, does the building delight? Can we say that our building is a grand structure? Awe inspiring? In fact, this unadorned wooden structure, absent its stained-glass windows, could be no more than another of the houses on Fourth Street. The architect? An I.M. Pei? A Frank Gehry? No, a local carpenter named Sterling Corwin. And yet, in simplicity lies distinctive grace.

Why am I telling you this? Because the idea of Shabbat as a delight, celebrated in our sanctuary that so delights, presents a compelling invitation to come to shul — in person — to truly experience delight, to surrender to it. Zoom has its benefits, to be sure. And at the height of the Covid pandemic, and for those home-bound, it continues to be a godsend. But on Zoom, you cannot bask in the rich history of our sanctuary, or in its welcoming ambiance.

In my three-plus years of Shabbat services, sometimes I’ve been in the sanctuary alone with the rabbi, other times with a mere handful of congregants — often Roberta, usually Francis and Paul, and some visitors. Few though we are, we occupy a space in which I experience a shiver of privilege. At times the pews are full — a constellation of togetherness to elevate the experience. Let’s get back to that.

Come. Sing if you want. Recite the prayers if you are moved to do so. Or not. Maybe just sit quietly and savor the holiday and the space in which we observe it — together.

You may not think about our ancient friend Vitruvius, as I sometimes do. But our shul is open. Our sanctuary beckons. Come to shul on Shabbat, and for other observances as well. Come and worship in a building that has been an integral part of the neighborhood streetscape for 120 years. Come and worship in a building that has served Jewish families for more than a century. Come for the delight.

—Sara Bloom