Nuts & Bolts: Prayer

"Rosh Hashana will soon be upon us," said the Baal Shem Tov to his disciple, R' Ze'ev Wolf, "and I want you to prepare the 'kavanot' - the specific prayers that one must concentrate upon - for the blowing of the shofar."

R' Ze'ev studied the various meanings and hidden connotations that lay in the arrangement of the shofar sounds, writing these all down for reference on Rosh Hashana. He placed his list in a coat pocket and considered himself prepared. But this form of preparation did not satisfy the Baal Shem Tov so he caused the list to disappear.

When R' Ze'ev approached the platform to perform his duties on Rosh Hashana he suddenly discovered his loss. His mind was now a blank as to which thoughts he must concentrate upon and his heart was broken within him. Breaking into bitter sobs, he was forced to perform his task unprepared.

After the services the Baal Shem Tov called him over and said: "In the king's palace there are many doors and portals, each one with a key of its own. There is, however, one tool which can open all of them, that is an ax. The kavanot, the proper concentrations, are the keys which open the gates of heaven, each gate having its own particular kavana. But a broken heart is a tool which can penetrate all the gates and palaces of heaven." (Sipurim Amitiyim)

The Shema is undoubtedly Judaism's most famous prayer. It's opening verse, "Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord is one," is common knowledge. Yet, as its full name, Kriyat Shema—the Declaration of Shema implies, it is not a prayer at all. A prayer is addressed to God. It is an attempt by human beings to speak to the creator, an expression of human feelings, human wants and desires, human desperation or exaltation. Jewish worship, however, has always consisted of both the utterance of the human being and of the opportunity for that human being to hear in return the words directed toward them from Heaven. Shema—"hear": listen. To listen is as important as to speak, perhaps more so. To hear is as vital to human life as to express oneself. Any dialogue consists of both speaking and listening. Dialogue becomes pointless when one of the parties ceases to listen to the other. The dialogue of worship too becomes pointless when either party turns a deaf ear to the other. We cannot speak for God but Judaism affirms many times that God "hears prayer." Does the worshipper hear God?

The core of our worship is not a prayer at all, but a cry to our fellow-Jews and fellow-humans. In it we declare that God is one—which is also to say that humanity is one, that life is one, that joys and sufferings are all one—for God is the force that binds them all together. There is nothing obvious about this truth, for life as we experience it seems infinitely fragmented. Human beings seem isolated from one another, divided by all the fears and hatreds that make up human history. Even within a single life, one moment feels cut off from the next, memories of joy and fullness offering us little consolation when we are depressed or lonely. To assert that all is one in God is our supreme act of faith. No wonder that the Shema, the first “prayer” we learn in childhood, is also the last thing we are to say before we die.

The term “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” is semantically different from a term such as “the God of truth, goodness and beauty.” Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob do not signify ideas, principles or abstract values. Nor do they stand for teachers or thinkers, and the term is not to be understood like that of “the God of Kant, Hegel, and Schelling.” Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are not principles to be comprehended but lives to be continued. The life of him who joins the covenant of Abraham continues the life of Abraham. For the present is not apart from the past. “Abraham is still standing before God” (Genesis 18:22). Abraham endures for ever. We are Abraham, Isaac, Jacob.

We remember that God may be experienced in His imminent closeness, as He was by Abraham, who established a relationship with Him as the one upon whom man can rely, as He who guarantees the order, justice, and meaningfulness of life: the God of creation and of history.

We affirm that He may be experienced, as He was by Isaac, in the miraculous events of life, the feeling of sudden reprieve that comes when we are snatched from danger or the simple wonder of reawakening to life day after day. God is found in our experience of the world in which we live and which provides the possibility of life and its sustenance. Thus it is God who restores life to the dead- the inert.

We recall that God may be experienced in His transcendency- in the mystical feeling of the otherness of His presence- as He was by Jacob, as a being beyond our comprehension, “the Holy One,” the wholly other.

Prayer will never truly be part of our lives until we address our real concerns. And yet asking for what we truly need is the hardest part of prayer. We throw up all sorts of obstacles. To Whom am I praying? Who am I to ask for anything? Will it help?

To Whom am I praying? I am praying to God, however I understand and experience that word right here and right now. I may not be praying to the God that is All, but simply sharing my pain, my worries with the face of God with which I am most intimate. Perhaps I am praying to whatever it is that listens in the universe. I don't need anything more than that.

Who am I to ask for anything? I am a creation and a manifestation of godliness. I am a wave in the ocean and a world unto myself. The infinite potential for creativity and love in the universe manifests in me and through me, as it does in every other creature.

And will it help? We know some parents pray with all their hearts for a child to be cured of a life-threatening disease and yet the little one dies. We pray daily for peace, yet we are still at war. Prayer is not a switch with which we can control the universe. But I do believe that we can, with our prayers, reach dimensions of existence that we do not otherwise have access to and that the openings in those higher worlds bring blessings down to us. And don't forget the more immediate benefits at home. Prayer waters thirsty souls like rain on flowers. Prayer may not bring world peace, but it gives my heart peace. Prayer may not cure the sick, but it helps us find healing. Prayer may not guarantee me a job, but it helps me rise up with renewed energy and purpose to address the obstacles before me. A prayer truly prayed is the beginning of its own answer. So yes, prayer helps.

Noted Israeli rabbi Dr. Eliezer Berkovits writes that “it is the need alone that God desires.… Prayer is a cry. It is not a memo, a list of things I want, a liturgical recitation. It is a cry of my most needful needs.”

Why do I cry out? Will my heart-wrenching yearnings be fulfilled? Will I receive answers for my longings?

Maybe, maybe not.

But this is not really the goal. I call out because I need to call out. Because life, with all of its wonder and beauty, can also be devastating. Because there are failures and insecurities, doubts and disappointments. I need to encounter and express my vulnerabilities, my failures, my shortcomings, my worries. I do not want to lead a fake life. I want to live a life of personal integrity, wholly accessing all of my being.

With whom can I do this? With whom can I call out, without hesitation or concern of being judged or disregarded? With whom can I express the fragility of my life? With my friends? When they ask, “How are you doing?” can I reply, “I think I have failed one of my children, my body is showing worrisome signs, my wife and I seem to be missing each other, and I have an overall feeling of dread”? Will my friends ever ask me again?

With my wife? I have been married for almost thirty years. My wife is one of the world’s great listeners, nonjudgmental and loving. Yet when and how can I bare my soul without qualification or second-thought? How often? Is she ready to hear me at precisely the moment I need to unburden myself?

I have a relationship with God, a personal relationship. God knows where I am.

In fifth-grade Sunday school they taught me that God was omniscient. That was a pretty big word for a ten-year-old. I had no idea what they meant. But now it comes back to me. God knows. God already knows. And precisely because God already knows, I can cry out.

Prayer is no panacea, no substitute for action. It is, rather, like a beam thrown from a flashlight before us into the darkness. It is in this light that we who grope, stumble, and climb, discover where we stand, what surrounds us, and the course which we should choose. Prayer makes visible the right, and reveals what is hampering and false. In its radiance, we behold the worth of our efforts, the range of our hopes, and the meaning of our deeds. Envy and fear, despair and resentment, anguish and grief, which lie heavily upon the heart, are dispelled like shadows by its light.