מַשִּׁיב הָרֽוּחַ וּמוֹרִיד הַגֶּֽשֶׁם:
Let the wind return and let the rain fall.
Mashiv HaRuach U-Morid HaGeshem
Gregg Braden teaches ("Secrets of the Lost Mode of Prayer")
A story is told in the Hopi tradition about a time of severe drought. A spiritual teacher is asked to pray for rain. She walks quite a distance to a sacred place where the “earth’s skin was thin,” a place used by many generations for prayer and ritual. She takes off her shoes and steps into the circle. She acknowledges the four directions and her ancestors and then stands for a few moments in silence. Then she steps out of the circle and leaves.
A student of this teacher waits for something more elaborate and says, “I thought you were going to pray for rain.”
“No,” replied the teacher, “I pray rain” When you pray for something you affirm the lack of what you desire, but when you pray whatever it is you need, you affirm that it exists right now, already, in this moment.
“How do you pray rain?” asks the student.
I imagine what it feels like to have the mud that forms in the streets of my village after a big rain squishing up through my bare toes. I re-member the smell of the adobe houses when the rain is falling on them. And I recall the feeling of running through a field of waist high corn stalks growing tall and lush from the abundant spring rains.
That’s how I pray rain.”
A story is told in the Hopi tradition about a time of severe drought. A spiritual teacher is asked to pray for rain. She walks quite a distance to a sacred place where the “earth’s skin was thin,” a place used by many generations for prayer and ritual. She takes off her shoes and steps into the circle. She acknowledges the four directions and her ancestors and then stands for a few moments in silence. Then she steps out of the circle and leaves.
A student of this teacher waits for something more elaborate and says, “I thought you were going to pray for rain.”
“No,” replied the teacher, “I pray rain” When you pray for something you affirm the lack of what you desire, but when you pray whatever it is you need, you affirm that it exists right now, already, in this moment.
“How do you pray rain?” asks the student.
I imagine what it feels like to have the mud that forms in the streets of my village after a big rain squishing up through my bare toes. I re-member the smell of the adobe houses when the rain is falling on them. And I recall the feeling of running through a field of waist high corn stalks growing tall and lush from the abundant spring rains.
That’s how I pray rain.”
Simchat Beit Hashoeivah, the ceremony of the water drawing
In ancient times during Sukkot, a celebration called Simchat Beit Hashoeivah, the water drawing ceremony, was performed in the Jerusalem Temple. Every morning at daybreak, the High Priests, the Kohanim, would go to the stream of Shiloach and draw water into keilim, the vessles they held, and anoint the altar.
In ancient times during Sukkot, a celebration called Simchat Beit Hashoeivah, the water drawing ceremony, was performed in the Jerusalem Temple. Every morning at daybreak, the High Priests, the Kohanim, would go to the stream of Shiloach and draw water into keilim, the vessles they held, and anoint the altar.
Keilim, vessels, k'lei kodesh, holy vessels
This ceremony reminds us that the life force within us is largely mayim chayim, water of life. In Jewish mysticism we are described as keilim, vessels, k'lei kodesh, holy vessels, that both receive and pour. Our sages teach that the Divine spirit pours into us, saturating us, and when we offer ourselves, pour ourselves out, we return over and over again to our Source. A cycle of exchange of Divine and human sparks.
In our liturgy, our daily prayer for rain in this season is Mashiv ha-ruach u-morid hageshem. Conventionally we translate this prayer as Let the wind return and let the rain fall. But ruach is more than wind; it is spirit, life force. We can re-read this prayer: first let our spirit return, and only then will waters flow. Only then can we be reborn, and replenished. We are the flow itself, we overflow with mayim chayim.
And so, we bless each other that we may become rain; that our spirit will return in this season. Let us re-member, and then the rain, the waters of life will flow.
This ceremony reminds us that the life force within us is largely mayim chayim, water of life. In Jewish mysticism we are described as keilim, vessels, k'lei kodesh, holy vessels, that both receive and pour. Our sages teach that the Divine spirit pours into us, saturating us, and when we offer ourselves, pour ourselves out, we return over and over again to our Source. A cycle of exchange of Divine and human sparks.
In our liturgy, our daily prayer for rain in this season is Mashiv ha-ruach u-morid hageshem. Conventionally we translate this prayer as Let the wind return and let the rain fall. But ruach is more than wind; it is spirit, life force. We can re-read this prayer: first let our spirit return, and only then will waters flow. Only then can we be reborn, and replenished. We are the flow itself, we overflow with mayim chayim.
And so, we bless each other that we may become rain; that our spirit will return in this season. Let us re-member, and then the rain, the waters of life will flow.