Cantor finds spiritual path from Strip glitz to congregation of seekers

Pardon the less-than-fresh pop-culture reference, but it was 1927 when Al Jolson made an historic movie called “The Jazz Singer” about an entertainer who spurns the wishes of his Jewish father that he become a cantor, seduced instead by the siren song of showbiz.

That disappointed dad would be proud of Goldstein.

“I was the lead singer in ‘Jubilee!’ ” for a very long time,” says Goldstein, 56, the former Strip performer and TV/film/stage actor who is now a full-time cantor. And the only cantor who is the spiritual and religious leader of a Las Vegas synagogue — rather than a rabbi — at Congregation Shirat Shalom, which just passed its first anniversary.

“When I turned 40, I was really looking for that spirituality in me. I’ve always had a belief that if we just quiet the noise, and listen to that small, still voice within us, we feel where we should go, what we’re supposed to do in life.”

Perhaps you saw Goldstein — a performer since age 8 — during his 1981-’91 “Jubilee!” run, or even at “Hallelujah Hollywood!” before that. Or in small roles on the big screen in “Con Air” and “Vegas Vacation.” Or onstage in Los Angeles in “My Fair Lady.”

These days, though, the place to hear him is in front of a congregation at the Unity Center at 3037 E. Warm Springs Road, after performing cantor’s duties for more than 10 years at both Congregation Ner Tamid and Temple Beth Sholom.

“In show business, there’s a glass curtain about being in front of an audience, it exists onstage,” says the Kansas-born Goldstein, who has been a Las Vegan for 43 years. “But (being a cantor) is not a performance. It’s a worship service. People are singing along, or some liturgy really touched them, and they come up to you and want to talk about it. It’s so humbling. You’re helping them get closer to God.”

And Shirat Shalom — which translates as “songs of peace,” dovetailing neatly into a cantor’s job description as prayer leader and singer of liturgical songs — is bringing Goldstein closer to a “synagogue without walls” model of Judaism that suits him. Created in late 2013 by what Goldstein calls “four unaffiliated Jews” in Las Vegas and Henderson, Shirat Shalom brought Goldstein on as spiritual leader in January 2014, and now numbers about 100 members.

Crucial to Shirat Shalom’s mission is to draw in local Jewish worshippers whose connection to the faith has frayed or fallen away — particularly in Las Vegas. “Some estimates have between 60,000 and 80,000 Jews in Las Vegas. I saw a report that said Las Vegas has one of the highest unaffiliated rates in the country, around 92 percent,” says Goldstein, who notes that he can relate to their sense of disconnect — particularly the common expression of feeling “culturally and spiritually” Jewish without the religious component.

“I can absolutely understand because I was there. In our family, we did a little more than the twice-a-year Jews (those who go to synagogue only on the high holidays of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur), but I wouldn’t say we were religious. We were culturally and spiritually Jewish. We knew who we were. And there are a lot of families like that.”

Reconnecting, he adds, is not only about linking the lessons of the Torah to “the Jew in the pew,” making them applicable to daily life at worship services, but also about shaking free from traditional conventions of worship. “I would never say one synagogue or another is not good to be a part of; every synagogue has something to offer. We’re another alternative for people who can’t find a connection with Judaism because they’re in a large building with a stuffy atmosphere, and some people get turned off by that,” Goldstein says.

Growing from its initial form as a Havurah, or friendship group, the congregation certainly isn’t defined by its physical structure, sharing quarters at the cozy Unity Center. Geared toward philosophical and spiritual nourishment with classes, services and activities, the center describes its aim as “honoring all paths to God” and is open to divergent groups.

Beyond attempting to create a more approachable style of worship, the arrangement, Goldstein says, is also financially prudent. “Synagogues have gone through a massive change in the last 15 years, and things have become much more expensive in building and maintenance and upkeep,” he says.

Though Shirat Shalom generally identifies as part of the Reform movement because most of its members are comfortable with the more liberal division of Judaism, it isn’t strictly defined by it, another departure from tradition.

“It’s not Judaism lite,” Goldstein says. “We’ve decided not to follow whether it’s Reform Judaism or Conservative Judaism, we’re going to remain independent so we can bring in aspects of both. We welcome people who have had very little exposure, but if we have seasoned Jews that are expecting a high level of services and music and liturgy, we’re able to cover that spectrum yet still be open, warm, friendly and appealing.”

Further rebelling against convention, Shirat Shalom has no rabbi, but relies on Goldstein to lead it. While economically helpful because it spares them a rabbi’s salary, it’s also a rarity. Goldstein estimates that this congregation is the only one in Nevada and one of only a couple of dozen in the United States with such an arrangement.

“The U.S. government actually recognized cantors before rabbis as clergy in the United States, the reason being that in order for a synagogue to be viable, they had to have somebody who knew how to lead a service,” Goldstein says, outlining the difference in religious training between the two callings.

“In reality, the cantor is the leader of the service on the bimah. In Judaism, they’re known as the holy vessel of the prayers from the people to God. Rabbis graduate with deeper Torah knowledge. Cantors graduate with knowledge of leading the service, bar and bat mitzvah training, chanting Torah and Jewish life cycle events.”

In Shirat Shalom’s first year, the congregation under Goldstein’s leadership has undertaken several humanitarian projects, including clothing and food drives, and keeps an emphasis on Goldstein’s mission of making Judaism relevant and relatable to the unaffiliated.

“Too many people seem to be fixed in a certain state of Judaism, rather than being receptive to possibilities,” Goldstein says. “People seem to want to close their minds — ‘There is a God, there isn’t a God.’ I think we lose sight of the spirituality and what we gain from being at a service, being with other Jews, talking about the lessons of the Torah and finding that relevancy.”