Sermon Notes 17/08/13 - Ki Taytzay 5773
This week’s parashah includes more mitzvot than any other in the Torah – somewhere between 70 and 85, depending on how they are counted. They cover the entire range of human activity – from marriage and divorce to business ethics; from warfare to the correct treatment of animals; from hygiene to public safety and purity – and they appear to be assembled somewhat randomly.
Yet Devarim is a single text – Moses’ great valedictory sermon – and as such, forms a cogent whole, which means that the order of the mitzvot in this parashah is significant. The rabbis interpret some of the juxtapositions quite creatively; two follow.
The parashah begins with three consecutive mitzvot: a) how to treat the beautiful woman captured in war; b) the prohibition of disinheriting the son of a hated wife in favour of the son of a beloved wife; c) the elimination of the rebellious son. The rabbis comment:
The Torah speaks only to the evil impulse, for if God does not permit the beautiful captive, he will marry her anyway. Yet if he marries her, he will come to hate her and will eventually father a rebellious son with her. (Rashi to Devarim 21:11, paraphrasing Midrash Tanchuma Ki Taytzay 1)
The parashah ends with two mitzvot: a) the requirement to have honest weights and measures; b) the obligation to wipe out the memory of our arch-enemy Amalek. The rabbis comment:
If you deceive people with weights and measures, you will worry about the assault of the enemy. (Rashi to Devarim 25:17, paraphrasing Midrash Tanchuma Ki Taytzay 8)
These explanations may seem a little far-fetched and devised solely to explain away the juxtaposition, but I believe they are underpinned by a profound, yet simple, psychological message, one that is certainly germane to the upcoming Yom Tov season.
A common Chassidic interpretation of the ‘war’ with which our parashah begins is that is refers not just to an external war against a physical enemy, but to the internal war that each of fights with our own demons. Going ‘out to war’ is a symbol for the inner struggle that constitutes a good part of all of human experience. And if we don’t win the battle against crass desires, selfishness and the tendency to exploit others, we risk transporting the unresolved demons into relationships that could fail, and, in turn, dumping the problems on to our children. This is the meaning of the juxtaposition of the three mitzvot at the start of the parashah. Similarly, when we exploit others by robbing them with dishonest weights and measures, we should recognise (and fear) that we have really fallen victim to the demons within – the Amalek that prompts to behave selfishly and destructively.
The fact that the Torah worries not just about how we behave, but also our motivation, is illustrated by the final phrase of the mitzvah of restoring lost property, also in this parashah. Having told us that we must not pretend that we haven’t seen the item, rather attempt to return it to its owner, the Torah says:
לא תוכל להתעלם (Devarim 22:3)
This phrase is usually translated as ‘you shouldn’t hide yourself’, or similar, but it really means ‘you should not be able to hide yourself’ – i.e. you should not be capable of turning aside when you encounter an item that has been lost by another.
So the Torah regulates how we think – in this case, about a lost object –
but this is only illustrative. We need to
understand what motivates us: why and how we think about things, and to try to
uncover what unarticulated needs or desires prompt us to act. Only then can we avoid pernicious chains of
experience in our lives and the lives of those we love.
Sermon Notes 04/05/13 - Behar-Bechukotay 5773
If you walk in My statutes, observe My commandments and perform them. (VaYikra 26:3)
This verse, which opens the second of today’s parashiot, is subject to
much discussion in the classic sources.
A key difficulty is the unexpected use of הליכה – walking – to describe
adherence to statutes, divine laws for which no reason is known. Rabbi S.R. Hirsch (commentary ad. loc)
explains that הלך means to ‘move towards a goal’.
Spiritual life involves constantly moving towards spiritual ambitions,
relentlessly striving to attain communion with the divine, exemplified by the
This interpretation is supported by a beautiful midrash:
If you walk in My statutes… As the verse writes: I considered my way, but I returned my feet to Your testimonies. (Tehillim 119:59) King David said, ‘every day, I decided that I would walk to a particular place or home, but my feet brought me to the Shuls or Yeshivot’. As the verse says: but I returned my feet to your testimonies. (VaYikra Rabbah 35:1)
This reading identifies a phenomenon we might term our ‘autopilot’ – the
direction in which we are led when we aren’t thinking by habit and subliminal interests. I recall a long-retired senior colleague who
mentioned that his car ‘went to Bushey on its own’ – that is, wherever he
started driving, he ending up steering towards the Jewish cemetery in Bushey
(outskirts of London), somewhere, sadly, he had frequented throughout his
King David records that despite his plans, he always found himself
automatically led towards houses of prayer and Torah study. As such, the midrash has reinterpreted the
phrase ‘if you walk in My statutes’ as an exploration of our subconscious
desires. Have we sufficiently internalised
our spiritual mission that we follow it without concentrating, even when we’re
focusing on something else?
This passage is always read soon before Shavuot (see TB Megillah 31b
and Yad, Tefillah U’Nesiat Kapayim 13:2).
The obvious rationale for this is that it contains the rebukes that are
the consequences of disobeying the laws given at Sinai. But perhaps there is another reason – prior
to renewing our connection to the revelation and its laws, we are encouraged to
consider where our true loyalties lie, those best characterised by where our ‘autopilot’
Sermon Notes 06/04/13 - Shemini 5773
The second half of this week’s parashah (VaYikra 11) is devoted to the laws of permitted and forbidden birds, mammals, fish and insects.
Today it is easier to observe kashrut than at any previous time. That’s not to minimise the challenges for
those travelling, at work meetings etc., but the range of products available, the
advent of easy-heat kosher meals and the growing societal tolerance to ‘odd’ eating
habits mean that a fully-kosher diet is more manageable than ever before.
Yet kashrut is also subject to more stringencies than most other areas
of halachah and is sometimes the subject of political turf-wars between
supervising authorities. That’s not to
say that I don’t support healthy competition: some duplication is a small price
to pay for competitiveness; yet it is noticeable that stringencies are less popular
in the areas of business ethics or gossip than in kashrut.
In a world where it’s easy to eat kosher, are we able to return to the
core values that kashrut observance was intended to promote? Actually, the Torah is not specific about the
purpose of these laws, leading some mediaevalists to assume that they were
health-related. Many thinkers, however,
speak of holiness as their goal, as indicated by the verses at the end of
For I am the Lord your God; you shall make yourselves holy and be holy, because I am holy. Do not pollute your souls with any creeping thing that crawls upon the ground. For I am the Lord your God who brought you up from the Land of Egypt to be God for you; so you shall be holy because I am holy... To distinguish between the pure and the impure and between the animal that may be eaten and the animal that may not be eaten. (VaYikra 11: 44-45, 47)
Elsewhere, Rashi remarks that since it’s simple to differentiate
between a pig and a cow, a more subtle distinction is intended. On our verses, Rashi, citing the Talmud, notes
that the reference to the Exodus is intended to convey the importance of these
laws – should the Israelites be able to sanctify themselves through them, God
considers that it was worth bringing the Israelites out of Egypt. What is the self-sanctification demanded by
I suggest that the Torah expects us to recognise that eating –
fuelling our bodies – can be a base, animalistic and purely sensory experience,
or it can be an opportunity to develop profound sensitivity to our food, its
sources, what it means to eat and to those who may not be as fortunate as
we. Do we think before we eat? Do we think about the intricate chain of
processes that have made diverse foodstuffs available to us? If we are eating meat or fish, do we consider
the fact that our food was once alive, moving, feeling, breathing? Do we recognise the privileged existences we
have in comparison with the lives of so many who are less fortunate than
we? In short, does eating enable us to
become more sensitive, more in tune with our world and its complexities, or
less so; do we become more or less human when we eat? Do we live to eat or eat to live?
I support this contention from a curious gemara that seems to read one
of our verses out of context:
‘You shall make yourselves holy’ – this refers to pre-prandial hand-washing;
‘And you shall be holy’ – this refers to post-prandial hand-washing. (TB Berachot 53b)
Washing one’s hands before a meal is a ritual intended to foster
reflection and mindfulness. Before we
begin a meal, the Torah requires us to consider the import of what we are about
to do – this is ritualised by the rabbis as hand washing. Similarly, the less-familiar ‘mayim acharonim’
– rinsing the hands at the end of a meal – encourages us to contemplate the
significance of what we have just done.
These rules ensure that we are able to transform the act of eating into
a meaningful and sensitising experience.
Mindfulness and reflection are an essential component all meaningful
religious life. The kashrut laws, when
observed in their sprit as well as their letter, lie at the heart of Jewish
spiritual strivings, surely ample justification for the Exodus:
For I am the Lord your God who brought you up from the Land of Egypt
to be God for you; so you shall be holy because I am holy...
תפלה: Kavannah, the 'Prayer Problem' and Shabbat
This is the final instalment of my thoughts on Tefillah, which began here. The other instalments in the series are here, here, here and here. Much of what appears here is in response to positive feedback.
1) Throughout this series, I’ve spoken about spontaneity, but how does the fixed prayer service allow for this? Professor A.J. Heschel suggests that it can be found through kavannah – focused, intent-filled prayers rather than rote recitation of the text. Only kavannah can constantly reinvest familiar prayers with new meaning. Heschel paraphrases the early 19th-century Chassidic classic, B’ney Yissaschar:
To be able to pray is to know how to stand still and to dwell on a word. This is how the worshippers of the past would act: ‘They would repeat the same word many times, because they loved and cherished it so much that they could not part from it’. (Man’s Quest for God, p. 34)
Of course, this is just to illustrate the principle – it is neither desirable, nor in most cases, even permitted to actually repeat words during prayer – yet, B’ney Yissaschar teaches that it’s possible to savour every word and find new meaning each time it is said. The words may be the same each time we read them, but the meaning with which we invest them can, and should, change each time.
The indispensability of kavannah to the prayer experience is highlighted by another pithy line from Heschel:
To pray with kavannah (inner devotion) may be difficult; to pray without it is ludicrous. (ibid. p. 53)
How does one maintain the need for kavannah, against the obvious tendency to retreat into rote prayer? An answer may lie in a phrase that appears above the ark in many Shuls, including ours:
דע לפני מי אתה עומד
Know before whom you stand
The enormity of standing in the presence of the divine is often lost on us – after all, we’re at home in the Shul, as we should be, and as God surely wants us to be. Yet remembering that the primary function of prayer is to allow us to commune with the divine is central to the success of the entire enterprise. See the first in this series here for further thoughts on this from Rabbi J.B. Soloveitchik.
2) This leads on to a difficulty with the ‘simple prayer’ model, which was raised by a correspondent, who asked me to address:
...the disjoin between the central apparent content of the request and the modern explanation of what prayer is about – critical self-assessment.
This is actually a pre-modern concern: Rabbi Yosef Albo in his Sefer HaIkarim (Book of Fundamental Principles) asks a question which may be summarised as:
If God gives us what we need and does not give us what we don’t need, then if we genuinely need something, we will receive it whether or not we pray for it; if we do not need it, we will not receive it whether or not we pray for it. As such, there is no purpose in praying. (Based on Sefer HaIkarim 4:18)
So what is the point, for example, for praying for those who are ill?
Two resolutions are commonly advanced to this conundrum. The first, offered by Albo himself, is that pray is really about critical self-assessment and personal development – by recognising that God is the source of wealth, health, etc., the supplicant undergoes a process of self-transformation which produces a ‘new’ person who will merit a new set of blessings from God. This is known as ‘rational prayer’ – it is intellectually attractive, but seems to be highly-counter-intuitive and very far from a normative understanding of traditional sources about prayer. A second option is what might be termed ‘mystical prayer’ – the words of the liturgy when uttered correctly reconfigure the spiritual worlds, allowing a specific flow of blessing to come into the world. Many find this view emotionally comforting and inspirational, yet intellectually unconvincing.
While these difficulties remain unresolved, it is likely that all of us maintain inconsistent views of prayer, uneasily melding the ‘simple’, ‘rational’ and ‘mystical’ models.
3) Finally, I suggest that we should view the Shabbat prayers as especially important to developing our relationship with God. From Rabbi David Abudraham, the 14th-century liturgical expert from Seville:
יש שואלין מה ראו חכמים לתקן בשבת שלש תפלות משונות זו מזו אתה קדוש. וישמח משה. ואתה אחד. וביום טוב לא תקנו אלא אחת אתה בחרתנו לערבית ולשחרית ולמנחה. וי"ל מפני ששבת נקראת כלה והקב"ה נקרא חתן תקנו אתה קדשת על שם הקדושין שנותן החתן לכלה. ואח"כ ישמח משה על שם שמחת החתן כלה... ואח"כ אתה אחד על שם שמתיחד החתן עם הכלה.
One may ask why the Sages saw fit to institute for Shabbat three prayers that are different from each other – ‘You are holy’ (Ma’ariv), ‘Moshe will rejoice’ (Shacharit), ‘You are one’ (Minchah) – whereas on Yom Tov they instituted only one – ‘You chose us’ – for Ma’ariv, Shacharit and Minchah. Perhaps it is because Shabbat is described as a ‘bride’ and the Holy One, may He be blessed, is a ‘groom’, the Sages established ‘You are holy’, corresponding to the betrothal which the groom gives to the bride; after that, ‘Moshe will rejoice’, corresponding to the rejoicing of the groom and bride’… after that, ‘You are one’, corresponding to the moment when the groom and bride consummate their marriage. (Abudraham, p. 147, free translation)
I first learnt this beautiful idea many years ago. I think about it often and it has strongly influenced by conceptualisation of the Shabbat prayers. It’s a good place to end this series with the brachah that each of us find meaning and purpose in our prayers and may they always serve as a vehicle for a mature and developing relationship with God.
תפלה: Private and Public Prayer – the Challenges
At the start of this week’s parashah, we find Ya’akov unexpectedly stopping his journey for the night; as he lay down, he made a makeshift pillow or barrier from stones. Based on a difficulty in the text, Rashi comments:
The stones began to squabble, each saying, ‘let the righteous man rest his head on me’. God transformed them into a single stone... (Rashi to BeReishit 28:11, based on Chullin 91b)
A parallel midrash (BeReishit Rabbah 68:11) casts Ya’akov wondering whether he would simply transmit the monotheistic ideal to a single inheritor, like his father and grandfather before him, or if he would be able to establish the twelve tribes of Israel, the beginning of the Jewish People. When
...the twelve stones amalgamated, Ya’akov knew that he would establish the twelve tribes.
This midrash highlights a general difficulty with religious life – maintaining the correct balance between individual aspirations and one’s membership of a people or community – a group with a single, shared purpose. This is especially acute when it comes to prayer, as highlighted by the following message which recently appeared in my Inbox:
Are you going to touch on how to daven in a collective where the man behind intones out loud and out of tune, your neighbour comes to shul for social reasons and someone's gorgeous child decides it is screaming time? How to use the mantra of familiar prayers as a launch-pad to lift you over and above the immediate interruptions and distractions of praying in a kahal? That's the baton I would so like you to pass on so that I do not continue to believe I can best step out beyond myself when I am by myself.
The question is not easy to answer, but a good starting point is acknowledging that from time to time I also have the same thoughts – while I love our Shul, sometimes private or spontaneous prayer works better for me. I suspect this is true for all of us.
Not talking during davening may seem novel to some, but is really essential for creating an appropriate environment as well as showing respect for others and their own ‘prayer space’. I know that the urge to talk In Shul can sometimes be overpowering, but when it strikes, please consider going out until it passes.
It’s also important to remind ourselves that public prayer was never intended to replace personal and spontaneous prayer. In fact, they are interdependent. The Rizhyner Rebbe told the story of a small Jewish town which had almost every amenity – a bathhouse, cemetery and even a hospital, as well as every artisan, except for one – there was no watchmaker. Inevitably, all the clocks became increasingly inaccurate with no one to repair them. Some people chose to let their clocks just run down, but others decided to keep winding them every day even though they showed the wrong time. One day, a watchmaker appeared in town and everyone rushed to him with their clocks. The only one he could repair were those that had been kept running; the abandoned ones had become too rusty. The application is obvious – to keep our ‘prayer’ faculty well-oiled, we must maintain our regular public prayers, even when they seem substandard and fall short of our expectations.
These ideas are thoughtfully explored by Professor A.J. Heschel:
We have stressed the fact that prayer is an event that begins in the individual soul. We have not dwelled upon how much our ability to pray depends upon our being a part of a community
It is not safe to pray alone. Tradition insists that we pray with, and as a part of, the community; that public worship is preferable to private worship. Here we are faced with an aspect of the polarity of prayer. There is a permanent union between individual worship and community worship, each of which depends for its existence upon the other. To ignore their spiritual symbiosis will prove fatal to both...
Those who cherish genuine prayer, yet feel driven away from the houses of worship because of the sterility of public worship today, seem to believe that private prayer is the only way. Yet, the truth is that private prayer will not survive unless it is inspired by public prayer. The way of the recluse, the exclusive concern with personal salvation, piety in isolation from the community is an act of impiety... (Man’s Quest for God, pp. 44-5)
I am particularly taken with Heschel’s assertion that personal prayer cannot survive unless it is inspired by public prayer. Rabbi J.B. Soloveitchik develops the need for prayer with a community to ensure that we do not become too entrenched in our individual needs:
The prayerful community must not, likewise, remain a two-fold affair: a transient "I" addressing himself to the eternal "He."The inclusion of others is indispensable. Man should avoid praying for himself alone. The plural form of prayer is of central Halakhic significance. When disaster strikes, one must not be immersed completely in his own passional destiny, thinking exclusively of himself, being concerned only with himself, and petitioning God merely for himself. (The Lonely Man of Faith)
Of course, public prayer, with all its challenges, is actually a collection of private prayers, and is dependent on each individual for his or her contribution. On this, Heschel again:
Even the worth of public worship depends upon the depth of private worship, of the private worship of those who worship together. We are taught that the fate of all mankind depends upon the conduct of one single individual, namely you. (ibid. p. 46)
תפלה: Mechitzah, Responsibility and Transformation
It is worthwhile clarifying the role of the mechitzah (separation between men and women) in our Shul. In the 19th century, a group of influential Hungarian rabbis insisted that the function of a Shul mechitzah is to completely separate the men and women, ensuring that they cannot see each other. These rabbis went as far as saying that a Shul in which men and women can see each other does not qualify as a place for Jewish prayer. Many other halachic authorities rejected this view and determined that the mechitzah serves only to prevent social intercourse between the genders during prayer and need not be opaque. This is the view of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, and the one that is followed in all ‘modern’ Shuls, including our own. Indeed, our temporary mechitzah, designed for the ‘New Minyan’, was built to Rabbi Feinstein’s specifications, mentioned in Igrot Moshe Orech Chaim 1:39-42. While we work on redeveloping our Shul space, we will continue to discuss the style and design of the new mechitzah and how exactly we will use it to divide our prayer space.
In a previous thought on Tefillah, I referred to Professor A.J. Heschel’s concern about the great responsibility to create a meaningful experience that falls to those running communities:
Ours is a great responsibility. We demand that people come to worship instead of playing golf, or making money, or going on a picnic. Why? Don’t we mislead them? People take their precious time off to attend service. Some even arrive with profound expectations. But what do they get? What do they receive? (Man’s Quest for God, p. 51)
Heschel, a genius from a Polish Chassidic background, was frustrated by the sterile prayer environment he encountered in mid-20th century Conservative America. Thank God, our community does not resemble the one he describes, nor does it reflect the aspirations of any of us, yet overstated as it is, it’s worth reading. (Note that where Heschel uses the word ‘Temple’, we would substitute ‘Shul’ or ‘Synagogue’.)
Has the temple become the graveyard where prayer is buried? There are many who labor in the vineyard of oratory; but who knows how to pray, or how to inspire others to pray? There are many who can execute and display magnificent fireworks; but who knows how to kindle a spark in the darkness of a soul?
Of course, people still attend “services”—but what does this attendance frequently mean to them? Outpouring of the soul? Worship? Prayer, temple attendance has become a service of the community rather than service of God. People give some of their money to philanthropic causes, and some of their time to the temple.
The modem temple suffers from a severe cold. Congregants preserve a respectful distance between the liturgy and themselves. They say the words, “Forgive us for we have sinned,” but of course, they are not meant. They say, “Thou shalt love the Lord Thy Cod with all thy heart ...” in lofty detachment, in complete anonymity as if giving an impartial opinion about an irrelevant question.
An air of tranquillity, complacency prevails in our houses of worship. What can come out of such an atmosphere? The services are prim, the voice is dry, the temple is clean and tidy, and the soul of prayer lies in agony. You know no one will scream, no one will cry, the words will be still-born.
(I might add in jest – and you know that no one will hear you scream – RHB)
People expect the rabbi to conduct a service: an efficient, expert service. But efficiency and rapidity are no remedy against devotional sterility.
We have developed the habit of praying by proxy. Many congregants seem to have adopted the principle of vicarious prayer. The rabbi or the cantor does the praying for the congregation. Men and women would not raise their voices, unless the rabbi issues the signal. Alas, they have come to regard the rabbi as master of ceremonies.
Is not their mood, in part, a reflection of our own uncertainties? Prayer has become an empty gesture, a figure of speech. (ibid. p. 50)
This powerful passage requires no comment, other than to say that we’ve all been to Shuls that look like this. Heschel effectively captures the sterility of the ‘someone in the middle will do it for you’ model.
On the topic of sterility, in the third verse of this week’s parashah, the unusual word(עתר) appears in two different forms:
וַיֶּעְתַּר יִצְחָק לַידֹוָד לְנֹכַח אִשְׁתּוֹ כִּי עֲקָרָה הִוא וַיֵּעָתֶר לוֹ יְדֹוָד וַתַּהַר רִבְקָה אִשְׁתּוֹ
Yitzchak entreated God concerning his wife, for she was barren, and God was entreated by him, and Rivkah, his wife, conceived. (BeReishit 25:21:Translation – New Hirsch Chumash)
Real prayer is one in which the supplicant entreats God and, in response, God ‘allows’ Himself to be entreated. According to a midrash, the word עתר means a hoe – a tool used to turn – transform – plants. The message is clear – if we expect God to ‘transform’ Himself and respond to our prayer, we must first transform ourselves though prayer.
תפלה: Connection, Engagement and the Mind-Body Experience
This week’s parashah begins with the purchase of the Cave of Machpelah in Chevron as a burial plot for the patriarchs and matriarchs. The word Hebrew Chevron comes from לחבר – to connect, and suggests a sensitivity to the co-existence of body and soul, something those buried in Chevron epitomised. A midrash notes that the reward of those buried in the Cave was ‘doubled and redoubled’ (BeReishit Rabbah 58:8), indicating that in their lifetime, they lived complex existences – melding their physical and spiritual sides. This is the very essence of Jewish life. It pits Judaism against other religious systems, which either divide the two or disregard physicality altogether.
In his essay ‘Law and Morality in Jewish Tradition’, Professor Eliezer Berkovits explains that the soul and body must not ‘exist parallel to each other as the religion of the soul and as that of the body. The mitzvah is the union of the two’. He continues:
Through the mitzva, man overcomes the dualism of his nature in the God-oriented deed. In the mitzva, man is one; as a whole he relates himself to the one God.
This holistic approach must also be reflected in our approach to prayer, and again distinguishes Jewish prayer:
All my bones shall say, ‘O Lord, who is like You?’ (Tehillim 35:10)
Professor Berkovits explains:
Man’s situation requires that his very bones should be capable of “prayer”. But this is only possible if prayer too becomes a mitzva, unifying body and soul. It has to be a physical action, informed by intention... The prayer of man should be human and not angelic.
For Berkovits, the ability to ‘unify body and soul’ defines Jewish religious experience and is best articulated through prayer. Berkovits attacks Immanuel Kant, for whom ‘the true moral service of God is... invisible, i.e., it is only the service of the heart, in spirit and in truth, and it may consist... only of intention’ (Religion within the Limits of Reason). Berkovits is certain that this approach produces what he calls the ‘historic bankruptcy of all “natural”, as well as “spiritual”, religions’ and assures his reader that human prayer that doesn’t fully engage the body and soul not only fails to qualify as a Jewish experience, but actually:
...makes the dualism of his nature itself a religion... he will have God “in his heart” and some devil directing his actions. He will serve God on the Sabbath and himself the rest of the week.
Not only our hearts and minds, but our lips and bodies must sing and dance in prayer. Jewish prayer can never be performed on our behalf by someone in the middle of the Shul; it demands of us that we participate, not watch, that we sing, not listen; Shul services are not concerts, although there is surely a place for them. We must ensure that our Baaley Tefillah challenge each of us to engage our bodies and souls in a single experience, to lead us in inspirational tunes that all of us will want to sing. Only this will enable us to be transformed, not merely entertained, by the tefillah experience, to be players and not spectators. Only this, not the bifurcated alternative, is Jewish prayer and only this will enable us to thrive as individuals and as a community, enlivening ourselves in the presence of the Almighty.
Having one minyan makes this challenging, as people have different ideas as to what the service should look like and in which style it should be led. It’s made still more challenging as there are numerous local alternatives of every type and at every time, which are welcoming and close by. One thing’s certain – if we offer a style of service that some favour, but a number of people don’t like, they simply won’t attend, something we can’t countenance. Not offering an alternative also means only providing services that everyone, or at least as many as possible, find palatable.
We’ll get there, but it will take forbearance and good humour from all of us as we adjust to the new space and what works best there.
תפלה: Standing before God, the Quill of the Soul and Participation
In last week’s instalment, I posed a challenge from Rabbi J.B. Soloveitchik:
1) When we go to Shul or pray at home, is our goal to daven or to have davened?
We ought to consider whether we view prayer as something to get out of the way – simply to meet an obligation, to be, as they say ‘yotze’, or if the process of prayer itself is a meaningful experience. My favourite passage in Rabbi Soloveitchik’s ‘The Lonely Man of Faith’ reads:
Prayer is basically an awareness of man finding himself in the presence of and addressing himself to his Maker, and to pray has one connotation only: to stand before God. To be sure, this awareness has been objectified and crystallized in standardized, definitive texts whose recitation is obligatory. The total faith commitment tends always to transcend the frontiers of fleeting, amorphous subjectivity and to venture into the outside world of the well-formed, objective gesture. However, no matter how important this tendency on the part of the faith commitment is—and it is of enormous significance in the Halakhah which constantly demands from man that he translate his inner life into external facticity—it remains unalterably true that the very essence of prayer is the covenantal experience of being together with and talking to God and that the concrete performance such as the recitation of texts represents the technique of implementation of prayer and not prayer itself.
I particularly like the last line of this excerpt, which insists that our services are a means to prayer, but not prayer itself. Clearly, for Rabbi Soloveitchik, prayer is about the encounter with the divine, the moment of communion, the privilege of standing before God, something every human being should crave – it is not so much about outcome, but process.
2) Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, the first Rebbe of Lubavitch is quoted as saying:
הלשון היא קולמוס הלב והניגון הוא קולמוס הנפש
The tongue is the quill of the heart and music is the quill of the soul
Our prayer experience must be at once personal, yet shared and combine the ‘two quills’ – the tongue and the heart, allowing us to articulate our feelings, needs, fears and aspirations within the context of engaging, participatory, communal services. Each of us is responsible for the atmosphere in our Shul, ensuring that it is welcoming, spiritual and purposeful. As Professor A.J. Heschel remarks:
Ours is a great responsibility. We demand that people come to worship instead of playing golf, or making money, or going on a picnic. Why? Don’t we mislead them? People take their precious time off to attend service. Some even arrive with profound expectations. But what do they get? What do they receive? (Man’s Quest for God, p. 51)
What we will ensure those attending receive is an opportunity to sing along in a joint, yet personal experience. There is room in our community for different styles of davenning – from the traditional to the modern, but all Baaley Tefillah must bear in mind that fostering communal participation, principally singing, is vital. This way, we can all enjoy a varied, unifying experience that leaves us moved and, hopefully, meets our ‘profound expectations’.
3) Turning to more prosaic matters, we will experiment with commencing the Shabbat morning service at 9.30am, with a slightly earlier start on special or longer services; the goal is to finish regularly no later than 11.40am. It’s important that we don’t convey the idea that Shul and Shabbat are synonymous – even during the winter there must be time to enjoy Shabbat lunch and spend some time with family or friends. Shul is a central and vital part of the Shabbat experience, but there is more to Shabbat than attending a service.
4) Finally, a challenge from the Rokeach (Eli’ezer of Worms, d. 1238). He is supposed to have said that the most difficult daily challenge within a daily religious life is to pray with proper intention. How do we relate to this?
תפלה: Meaning, Experience and a Challenge
Over the coming weeks, our community will be in a transitional phase as we begin to recreate our ‘prayer space’ in the redeveloping building. It’s clearly really important that we do this in a way that all of us can really enjoy the new space and so I’ve decided to devote this and the next few Shabbat-morning sermons to considering our prayer experience and what our expectations can and must be of it. I plan to cajole, reprioritise and challenge to ensure we get this right, but this week, some basics.
1) What is the meaning of תפלה – the word most commonly used for prayer?
It is not request – that is בקשה, nor praise – that is שבח, nor thanks – that is הודאה, nor blessing – that is ברכה, nor supplication – that is תחינה.
תפלה is none of these and all of them. Interestingly, the verb associated with תפלה is להתפלל, which is a reflexive form of the word פלל, meaning ‘judge’. That renders תפלה as a process of self-judgement, or, perhaps, self-reflection. In this vein, Rabbi Dr. Joseph Breuer, in his introduction to ‘The Hirsch Siddur’ notes that תפלה is related to הלל – to radiate or reflect rays, meaning that ‘while God is not visible to us, we perceive the radiations of His Omnipotence in the infinite evidences of wonder which permit us to find God’. ‘Prayer’ – our תפלה – must enable us to reflect on our lives, their purpose and our relationship with God. Rabbi Breuer continues:
תפלה requires that we imbue ourselves ever anew with the great truth and demands which must place their stamp upon our Jewish existence and consciousness.
In other words, תפלה must provide us with Jewish direction, peace of mind and renewed God-consciousness.
2) The Talmud articulates three early perceptions of prayer based on the experience of the Avot:
Not like Avraham, who saw the focus of prayer (the site of the future Temple) as a mountain, nor like Yitzchak, who saw it as a field, but like Ya’akov, who saw it as a house. (TB Pesachim 88a, paraphrased)
We should not view תפלה and connection with the divine as an insurmountable climb (Avraham’s mountain), nor as a straightforward, equally-accessible experience (Yitzchak’s field), but as a house that can and must incorporate a range of needs, feelings and complexities.
3) Finally, a challenge from Rabbi J.B. Soloveitchik, who asked a question I often ask myself and I urge you to ask yourselves:
When we go to Shul or pray at home, is our goal to daven, or to have davened? Think about it.