I received the following email. I think especially before YomTov it is a great reminder:
“An Open Letter To My Neighbour in Shul”
My Dear Chaver,
Please excuse me for not signing this letter. Were I to do so, everyone in shul would know that this letter is being written to you, and I do not want to cause you public disgrace.
I have known you for many years and I value our relationship. Hopefully, you feel the same towards me. Your commitment to Limud Torah and your unrestrained gemilas chesed are truly enviable. In fact, I had even hoped that by sitting next to you in shul some of your midos would rub off on me.
But one thing that disturbs me greatly is your talking during davening. At first, it was barely more than a word or two to amplify a facial expression. But now, you begin conversation almost as soon as you come into shul.
I am not calling this to your attention, now, to give you tochacha (reproof). Certainly, my own slate is not nearly clean enough to make a reckoning for you. But I just want to let you know how your talking in shul is affecting me.
First and foremost is Shmoneh Esrei. You probably assume that I am very well off financially, and in other ways, too. But I have some very pressing personal problems, which even my best friends know nothing about. Now, considering my pekle, I don’t stand Shmoneh Esrei nearly as long as I should, but somehow you always seem to finish ahead of me. I realize that you are trying to talk quietly, but since you’re standing right next to me, it disrupts my entire kavonah (concentration). Sometimes, I get so angry with you that I feel like blurting out in the middle of my Shmoneh Esrei, “Why don’t you just go outside to talk? I can’t walk out now; but you can!” And who knows if my tefillos are not being answered because of inadequate kavonah? Of course, I am not blaming you for my tzoris, but since Shmoneh Esrei is my chance to plead for some mercy, I would appreciate it if you would conduct the conversation outside, and then come in for Kedusha.
Next is Chazoras Hashatz, when the chazan repeats the Shmoneh Esrei. Even though I am aware of the bountiful reward to be earned with each omein, I am, unfortunately, far too lax in responding properly. Nevertheless, when I hardly hear the chazan above your schmoozing, I end up losing out on even more omein opportunities.
Now, you might argue and say that you are talking to the man on the other side and not with me. yes, that is true. But I also have an inclination to schmooze in shul. When I see you practically smacking your lips over a delicious interchange, I am tempted to join you. Sometimes, I tell myself that I will only listen to your conversation. Than I find myself an accomplice, by encouraging you with my interest. At other times, however, I even find myself sucked into actively participating in the conversation, which I had promised myself only to overhear.
The krias haTorah is difficult enough to follow, with the inevitable noise of foot shuffling, coughing, and (in the summer) air conditioner blowing. But when that combines with your conversation, I go home each Shabbos wondering whether or not I have been yotzei krias haTorah.
Finally, I must say that our shul is a very special one. We have some excellent shiurim, a highly respected Rabbi, and a minyan full of bnei Torah. In general, there is a fairly good decorum in our shul, compared with many others. So I suppose I could just change my seat. But at this point, it would be too awkward to explain without embarrassing you or myself.
Our shul, in many ways, is truly a mikdash me’at – a sanctuary in miniature. But whenever I am about to reach the full appreciation of that, especially on Shabbos, your talking cools me off.
The other day, you asked me why I don’t bring my five year old son to shul more often. I told you that he’s still too young. Now I’ll tell you the real reason. He still feels kedushas beis hamedrash – the sanctity of the place – when he walks in. Even after davening, he whispers in shul. If I bring him every week and sit him down between us, I am frankly afraid of your example. How can he retain his reverence for shul if he observes your behaviour? Each Shabbos he begs me to take him along and I’m running out of excuses.
You don’t owe me any respect. And you may feel that my kavonah does not take precedence to you socializing. But think of our children in shul. What will become of their davening? I see you are already having trouble controlling some of your children in shul. Whenever you are not schmoozing with a friend, you are reprimanding your children. Yes, their conduct is reprehensible, at times; but where do you think they learned to be callous towards kedushas beis hamedrash?
In writing this letter, I have tried to avoid giving away my own identity or that of our shul. If others read this letter, however, they may waste time trying to figure out whom this letter was meant for. But you know. Wishing you and your family all the best.
Name and City Withheld by request