What happened to the twice-a-year brigade?

What are you doing on Saturday? Just a casual question but quite a pertinent one – what with it being Rosh Hashanah this weekend. There’s nothing unusual about asking friends how they intend to fill those precious two days that fall between Friday and Monday, but how they responded this week jarred with me. In fact, when they answered it was as if I was talking to my non-Jewish friends – the ones who have no reason to know it’s Rosh Hashanah.

“I’m shopping on Saturday,” said one, seconded by another. “I’ve got tickets for Regents Park Open Air theatre – hope it doesn’t rain,” chirped someone else. The replies ranging from “a pal is in town” to “we’ve got a round of golf booked” came thick and fast with “Spurs are at home” on repeat. I lost count of the number of folks of the faith who told me that Ange Postecoglou’s Lillywhite eleven are playing at White Hart Lane on Saturday, with most regarding the clash with Rosh Hashanah as an incumbrance. For some it became a case of drawing straws – see the goals or hear the shofar? I couldn’t help wondering if such a debate had taken place in Daniel Levy’s home.

For the record I should point out that I am not religious at all. Like most of my friends I cling to the “I’m culturally Jewish” cliché and flash my chai tattoo as an indelible mark of my commitment. Being culturally attached is also a job requirement for me and I immerse myself in every film/book/tv show about the Holocaust along with any rabbi/shiva/moshav/mikva themes. But in the unlikely event of my rabbi being asked to report on my shul attendance, he would have no choice but to register a big fat zero. No doubt he would add “willing but doesn’t follow through” as the comment, and he’d be right. Except when it comes to the High Holy Days. There’s something about the big chags that brings out the traditionalist in me, which is not the case for many of my Jewish friends or a fair number of family members.

Yes, I’m gutted to admit that some people I know and love haven’t circled Rosh Hashanah on their calendar for years and a few don’t even know it’s happening at all. If it hasn’t registered then a conversation about the chagim is pointless, so I move on – after all, as a twice-a-year attendee who am I to judge? Yet the decline in biannual shulgoers irks my soul, especially when I see no-shows from the parents who took their kids to shul every week in order to get the points for Jewish schools. If they can’t be bothered to drop in for an hour to say “shana tova” to the rabbi who signed the forms, then who can?

No one wants to be guilted into going to hear the Amidah, but is it really such a big deal to sit with your dad awhile and hum along to tekiah, shevarim and t’ruah? I remember my late father calling me into the main building to hear the blast of the shofar and wish I could do that this year. But I can’t. Yet so many young, educated, flag-waving atheists can – and don’t. The suspension of disbelief is a prerequisite when you go to the movies, so why not bring it along to shul with a parent who just wants your company. Chances are that if you never go to synagogue the solemnity of Yom Kippur won’t get you there either, but it’s a bitter pill when you discover that Yizkor is the only faith connection you have to your dear departed.

Much like Glastonbury and Glyndebourne, Rosh Hashanah retains its razzle dazzle as an annual event, and if you’re lucky enough to have a rabbi as good as Edgware and Hendon Reform’s Mark Goldsmith, then the sermon you get sets you up for the year. Always quotable, relevant and incisive, a good Rosh Hashanah sermon is like spending the morning with Robert Peston or Stephen Fry. Better, because it comes with apples and honey. If that isn’t enough to bring back the twice-a-year brigade, so be it, but it’s interesting that an appearance by David Beckham at St John’s Wood earlier this year brought more Jews to the synagogue on a Sunday than you ever see there on Shabbat. Daniel Levy knows how a good footballer can bring in a crowd, I just hope that White Hart Lane isn’t the only place the chosen will be praying this weekend.