Isn’t that interesting -- how sitting alone, underneath headphones, captivated by music recorded in some far-off time or place -- can make you feel as though you are at the very center of the universe?

I started telling myself, “Temple sucks, Judaism sucks, and Jewish music is super lame.” That was when [Green Day’s] Dookie came out and Kurt Cobain had just died. The music was grunge and emoting in a way that the one-four-five happy-clappy type Jewish folk music just really couldn’t accomplish. I still loved camp and song sessions, but I was finding a new kind of music for myself.

Music moves us. But the right music, well the right music can be truly transformational.

Not everyone can relate to going to a synagogue and sitting down. It can be kind of boring. If I scream “Shema Yisroel” at the top of my lungs, maybe people will get into it a little more, really feel it. You’re supposed to feel it. You’re supposed to be on fire for it.

Today, in America, we know what it means to live in relative peace and prosperity. But what did our ancestors feel while praying for peace in times of war, famine, or plague?

Madison Square Garden seats just under 21,000. The place was packed and, like me, everyone knew the words to all of the songs. It was when they busted into “Holiday” early on that I noticed we were in the middle of a tent revival.

I had thought I would just pay for my ticket and sit and enjoy Aerosmith. I didn’t know before the show that I had to work for it, that I had to know all the words. There was an expectation of my participation, of my buying in. I felt just as empowered at Aerosmith as I did as a Jew in the pew.