For Young Jews, a Service Says, "Please, Do Text" MIAMI BEACH - Settling into their seats for Rosh Hashana service, the twentysomethings instinctively reached for their cellphones to turn them off, anticipating an admonition they hear often at synagogue. Then they looked up at the white screen behind the rabbi: Pray. Write. Text. And text they did for nearly 90 minutes, sending out regrets, goals, musings and blissful thoughts, all anonymously for everyone to see. "Let's see some texting, guys," Rabbi Amy L. Morrison told the group. Take those phones out. What do you need to let go of, she asked the congregants, in order to be "fully present"? Hunched over their phones, they let loose their words and watched them scroll into view: Past mistakes. Shyness. Anger. Fear of failure. Self-pity. Ego. Doubt. Control. At an offbeat service on Sunday night at the Jewish Museum of Florida, organizers were trying an innovation that few if any rabbis have embraced: using the language of the tech generation instead of the Torah to keep the crowd of 20- to 30-year-olds, mostly unmarried and transient, connected to their Jewish roots and to one another. It is the age cluster least likely to attend synagogue. "For young Jews in America, we are a demographic different from our parents and our grandparents," said Rabbi Jessica Zimmerman, the director of congregational engagement for Synagogue 3000, an organization that seeks to re-energize synagogue life and re-engage young professionals. We're more educated, we move many more times and live further away from our family of origin, and we are single much longer, for years after college, which was never the case before. Enter Rabbi Morrison, 33, an ebullient, unconventional cleric at Temple Beth Sholom, a Reform synagogue in Miami Beach, who is as comfortable belting Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" as she is reciting Mi Chamocha, a Jewish prayer of redemption. She is also a lesbian, something that she revealed to the group in an attempt to foster openness and honesty at the gathering. "For my generation, the generation that the service is for, prayer is not something you can find in your own life until someone helps you wrestle with it," said Rabbi Morrison, who works with the Tribe, the group that organized the event and tries to find novel ways to reach the younger generation. As a rabbi, she added, she is committed "to making prayer as accessible as possible." So, "I recommended texting," she said. Semantics were important, too. The Tribe billed the event as "an experience," not as a service. At a lectern, her phone within easy reach, Rabbi Morrison told the 150 or so young people arrayed before her that "texting will give you a voice in the service." She spoke to them about acceptance, loving themselves so they can love others and giving themselves a pat on the back when they deserve it. What is one thing you wish you had done differently this past year? she asked. The messages popped up: Be a better friend. I wish I was less stressed. Procrastinate less. Listened to my gut feeling. Be a better listener. Worry less, enjoy life more. Less materialistic. And, because who can resist a little texting levity, "I wish I spent less time on FB" - for Facebook - prompting laughter and a round of nods. Except for a bit of glibness ("I lived this on "Glee," " one prankster texted), the uncensored remarks were inoffensive, a relief to the organizers. There were also flashes of seriousness. During the Mi Shebeirach, or healing prayers, Rabbi Morrison asked congregants to text the names of ailing loved ones who needed prayer, a solemn ritual that many people shy away from sharing publicly. But in this collection of like-minded people, the names popped on the screen: Bernice. Craig going through chemo. Haiti. Abuelo ... and on it went. "We can no longer assume that young people will join the Jewish community," said Rabbi Gary A. Glickstein, Temple Beth Sholom's spiritual leader. They need to be helped on that journey. After the service, as the young congregants sipped wine and nibbled on food in an adjoining room, most said the evening was "refreshing" and "fun," not a word they typically attach to High Holy Day services. Some were recent out-of-state transplants to Miami Beach; others said the high cost of synagogue membership, usually structured for families, could be prohibitive for young single people. This was free, and cellphone-friendly. "It felt like a community, which is what it should be in the New Year," said Sarah Silver, 26, a violinist for the New World Symphony who recently moved from Pittsburgh. It was great to share. I am not a super-strict practicing Jew, and it was nice to feel like other people are human, too. Her synagogue back home is Conservative, she said, and would have scoffed at the notion of a texting Rosh Hashana service. But Judaism has to stay relevant, she said. Services there aren't as thought-provoking or honest or sharing, which is what I liked here. Hannah Citrin, 25, an actress from Miami Beach, who could not resist posting a joke, said she had stayed "alert," which seldom happens during services. "I paid attention the whole time; that's a problem with me, tuning it out," she said. And, she added, "in the end, everyone gets through life with laughter."