From "Atavism and Accommodation in Selected Recent North American Places of Worship" by Geoffrey Simmins, PhD, Associate Professor, Art Department, University of Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
The Cedars is believed to be North America's first purpose-built Jewish-Christian worship place of worship. Designed by Toronto-based architect Charles Simon, who is known for his energy-efficient, environmentally green designs characterized by clear structural articulation, the sanctuary opened its doors on 5 September, 1996. The Cedars was designed to serve the needs of a Westminster United Church and Temple Shalom, a Reform Jewish congregation — both denominations being situated on the liberal end of their respective religious traditions. The United Church in Canada is a Canada's largest Protestant church, a liberal Christian denomination with the declared goal of being "not merely united, but a uniting Church." The Reform Jewish movement is likewise considered be a liberal denomination, and would not, for example, under normal circumstances, require a kosher kitchen, which might have been an impediment to an Orthodox, or to some Conservative, congregations.
The initial idea for a building a shared centre, background literature sent to the author relates, came about as the result of a chance over-the-fence conversation between two Waterloo neighbours, Jim Robinson, then chair of the Westminster building committee, and Mark Pancer, a past president of Temple Shalom. When they both realized that their respective congregations were looking for new, more permanent quarters, they resolved to discuss the idea together. Initially, members of both congregations were understandably nervous. Christianity, after all, especially its militant practitioners, has long held as a central tenet that Christianity supersedes Jewish traditions‹hence the (to-Christians) innocuous terms Old and New Testaments, which signify to Jews the sometimes unconscious condescension and hostility that they face with respect to their Christian brothers and sisters. They prefer the terms Hebrew and Christian Bible, just as they prefer the neutral terms BCE, Before Common Era, instead of BC, Before Christ, and CE, Common Era, instead of AD, anno Domini, in the year of the Lord. Such misunderstandings regarding even something as simple as everyday vocabulary hint at the difficulties that the congregations and architect faced in devising a suitable worship space.
To break down barriers between the congregations, architect Charles Simon came up with an innovative strategy, as reported in the local press: he asked members of both communities to build their ideal sanctuary, using Shreddies and jellybeans as their building blocks. Simon was quoted as saying that at first the two congregations were overly polite, avoiding potential controversy, but "By the end of the workshops, they had reached a consensus. They were designing in a remarkable way."
With the general program developed, Simon turned to the architectural resolution. The chief challenge was how to give each faith a clear visual identity in the building without favoring one or the other. The eventual architectural solution was very simple: two top-lit sanctuaries gaze at each other, symbolizing the two different worship spaces. Westminster United's congregation is larger, and thus a 300-seat sanctuary is allotted to it; Temple Shalom has an 84-seat sanctuary. The worship spaces are separated by a movable wall, which may be removed in times of overflow for either congregation. The symbolic connotations of these two towers was underlined in a text printed at the time the Centre opened, when an anonymous writer observed, "The monitor for the Jewish sanctuary catches the evening light. The monitor of the Christian sanctuary picks up the morning light. Two congregations, as complementary as night and day, working together, sharing a building." Architectural ornament, and symbolic objects, are kept to a minimum throughout. The result is a simple structure wherein liturgical activities, rather than architectural vocabulary, enlivens the space.
It would seem self-evident that this building is witness to the accommodation strategy. One might even argue that the Cedars merely recognizes the historical fact that Jews who live in predominantly Christian settings have been forced to pursue a strategy of accommodation. Indeed, the very definition of a synagogue, that ten adult males be present and constitute a minyan, points to the flexible architectural notion of Jewish sacred space: God is where God's people are. And yet while there were some financial advantages for both congregations to share a common worship space, financial logic does not reign in questions of religious practice: the simple fact is that this purposeful sharing of sacred space by Jews and Christians in a new building has never, insofar as we are aware, been done before. Clearly this was a case of a synergism between congregations, with perhaps a larger goal by some members of expressing their belief in interfaith attitudes.
Because accommodation works both ways here. For example, there are no permanent Christian symbols in the Christian worship space, as these can be offensive to many members of the Jewish congregation. (Crosses are brought in by procession.) If there are no permanent Christian symbols, the Jewish symbols are also somewhat restricted. The ark is very plain, and the bimah is a simple wooden platform. The most heavily decorated element is the decorated parokhet, or doors over the ark, which feature readings from Jeremiah (17:7-8), cut into decorated metal. In short, Temple Shalom is architecturally a neutral vessel, a place where sacredness is defined by activities taking place there, and not by any preconceived notion or grandeur or sacredness.
The author was privileged to be present during a Sabbath service, and can testify to the convincing creation of an intangible yet definite sense of sacredness, fostered by the ancient practices of reading from Torah and chanting prayers, rather than by the architecture in itself. In expounding on the possible meanings inherent in the Torah readings of that morning, Temple Shalom President Bob Chodos referred to the concept of "creative betrayal" with respect to the transmission of Jewish traditions from one generation to the next. This phrase had been cited by the Rabbi Dianne O. Esses, the first Syrian-Jewish woman to be ordained and a graduate from the Jewish Theological Seminary. In an article entitled "Transmitting the Law: Paradoxes of Authority," Rabbi Esses discusses the charge contained in the book of Deuteronomy that Jews must continue to repeat biblical stories in order to survive as a people. The essence of her argument is contained in the following statement: "...the emphasis on repetition can be deceiving. The secret and power behind repetition is that it is not truly repetition at all. The laws change in transmission to the people, as does the communal story." Her conclusion: "It is my prayer that all Jews take the commandment to transmit the tradition, the commandment to 'betray' the past, as the holiest of obligations, thereby perpetually transforming the tradition into a living and wild thing."
It might seem quite a conceptual jump to turn from an exegetical rabbicanal article to a discussion of the architecture of Temple Shalom, but perhaps a meaningful link might be made nonetheless. In "creatively betraying" Judaism by accepting to share a worship space with their historical enemies, the members of the congregation of Temple Shalom have shown themselves to be open to the sort of re-evaluation of tradition that Rabbi Esses refers to. The Reform Jewish tradition recognizes the changing social and religious context in which its adherents find themselves. Accommodation, in this case, might be said to refer to the an intelligent and deliberate choice to reinforce Jewish tradition by accepting new places to worship and new partners in faith. Westminster United, for its part, has lived up to the United Church's stated goal of ecumenism, and extended that into the realm of interfaith. As Psalm 133:1 has it, in a passage cited by members of the Cedars at the opening, "Behold how good and pleasant it is when kindred dwell together in unity." Still, one should not exaggerate the case: for some of the members of both congregations, pragmatism, not symbolism, underlies the decision to share worship space. This is in many senses a marriage of convenience, one in which each partner retains its essence, and does not seek to know the other deeply. Yet for some other members in both congregations, and for the architect, this experiment stands as a frail outpost of interfaith architecture, one whose fragility makes it all the more precious.
