I was once invited to deliver a number of speeches in Montreal. In one of the synagogues where I spoke, somebody spoke before me for fifteen minutes. I have absolutely no idea what he said. Not one word. Because the entire speech was in French. I did not understand a single syllable. For all I know, he could have been telling the audience that Rabbi Joey Haber is a lunatic. He was passionate and dramatic, and seemed like a really good speaker, but I sat there not understanding a thing.
For many people, particularly youngsters, sitting through tefilah is an experience just like my experience sitting through that man’s speech. The hazzan is singing the melodies with lots of feeling and emotion, but they haven’t a clue what he’s saying. They sit there, bored, restless, looking at their watches, waiting impatiently for the service to end.
This is a subject that people often bring up with me in conversations, as well as in meetings in school. Delivering classes on the prayer text, explaining the words, seems like a reasonable solution, but in my experience, it is not especially effective. For whatever reason, even after people learn the meaning of the words, it often does not seem to stick. They still fail to find prayer meaningful and have trouble connecting to it.
The problem, or at least part of the problem, is that many of us have a misconception of what prayer is all about.
Building a Connection
Parshat Terumah discusses the Mishkan, the Sanctuary which Beneh Yisrael were commanded to construct at Mount Sinai. It was, in essence, a portable Bet Ha’mikdash. It featured two chambers – the inner chamber, the קודש הקדשים, which contained only the aron (ark) in which were stored the stone tablets which Moshe received at Sinai, as well as the original Sefer Torah, and an outer chamber which contained a menorah, a shulhan (table) and incense altar. Outside the Mishkan were the kiyor (faucet) and another altar.
According to many commentators, the command to build the Mishkan was given after the sin of the golden calf. If not for this sin, G-d would not have told the people to build this Sanctuary. The Seforno explains that the purpose of the Mishkan was to serve as the place where Hashem would reside, so-to-speak, so that He could live among Beneh Yisrael and they could have a close relationship with Him. But after Matan Torah, a building was not necessary for this goal to be realized. At the time of Matan Torah, the people had reached such a lofty spiritual level that every individual was his or her own Mishkan. There was no need for a building, for an aron, a menorah, a shulhan or altars. Everyone had this sanctity inside him or her. After the sin of the golden calf, however, the people lost this holiness, this inner connection to Hashem, and so it became necessary to build a Mishkan to bring this sanctity and help the people forge a connection with Hashem.
Now, of course, we don’t have a Mishkan. In the absence of the Bet Ha’mikdash, our challenge is to develop the holiness of the Bet Ha’mikdash within ourselves, despite being very far from the level of our ancestors at the time of Matan Torah. We have to struggle to build as close a connection to Hashem as we can without a Mishkan.
I am very proud to say that on one level, we all do this very well. After all, what is community-building if not a concentrated effort to bring kedushah into our lives, to establish our connection to Hashem? We are all involved in this process of community-building, each of us in his or her own way, such as by establishing or maintaining our institutions, participating in communal events, and doing acts of hesed. This is all part of our collective effort to build a “Mishkan,” to make our lives holier and develop our connection to Hashem. And this collective effort is something we should feel extremely proud of.
But there is also another, vitally important, component of this process of developing our connection with Hashem – prayer.
How do I know? Because our synagogues are built in a manner resembling the Bet Ha’mikdash. They have an aron with a Sefer Torah. They have a table. They have a נר תמיד which corresponds to the menorah. They have a sink by the entrance. Ashkenazic synagogues have a separate designated area where the hazzan stands, which is said to parallel the altar in the Bet Ha’mikdash. Our houses of prayer resemble the Bet Ha’mikdash because prayer is one of the most important ways we achieve the goal of the Bet Ha’mikdash – to develop our relationship with Hashem.
Each and every prayer is meant to move this relationship just a little bit forward. Tefilah is not about saying words, even though this is the technical halachic requirement. The words are like clay which we have to mold in our unique way. It’s like when the art teacher gives all the kids in class the exact same mound of clay, and each child does something different with it. This is tefilah – we all recite the same words, but we need to make it personal, to mold the tefilah according to our own experiences, our own struggles, our own fears, our own pain, our own joy, our own feelings of gratitude, and our own wishes for the future.
There is also another way to prove that this is the purpose of prayer. Two of the most famous prayers recorded in the Humash were recited by Avraham Avinu and Moshe Rabbenu. Avraham prayed to Hashem to spare the city of Sedom, and Moshe prayed to Hashem to allow him the privilege of crossing into Eretz Yisrael. The Torah makes a point of presenting the full texts of these prayers. Amazingly, both these prayers have something in common – they went unanswered. G-d destroyed Sedom despite Avraham’s pleas, and G-d did not allow Moshe into Eretz Yisrael even after his impassioned prayer. Why, then, does the Torah bother giving us all the details about these prayers? Because being granted one’s request is not the primary objective of tefilah. The main goal is building a Mishkan within us, developing our connection to Hashem. The tefilot of Avraham and Moshe were beautiful expressions of their relationship to Hashem, and this is what makes their tefilot so meaningful, powerful and important for us to learn about, irrespective of the outcome.
Why do so many people find tefilah unmoving and uninspiring? Part of the reason is because they recite the words like stewardesses on an airplane making their formal announcements. They go through the script that they are required to read – instructing the passengers to remain seated and buckled during takeoff, landing and turbulence, not to smoke, and so on. The stewardess reads the text that smoking is prohibited even if it is clear that not a single passenger has a cigarette. This is how many of us approach prayer: as a long – very long, excruciatingly long – series of words that we need to mouth. We lose the core essence of what tefilah is – an effort to develop our relationship with Hashem. When we pray, it is as though we are going to the Bet Ha’mikdash, seeking a close connection to G-d. This is what it’s all about.
Documenting Our Relationship with Hashem
This concept is beautifully expressed by the custom that many people have to recite immediately after the Amidah prayer a pasuk that represents their name. The pasuk’s first letter is the first letter of their name, and the last letter is the last letter of their name. For example, my name is יוסף, so I recite the pasuk ה' יגמור בעדי חסדך לעולם מעשי ידיך אל תרף, which begins with the letter י' and concludes with the letter ף, just like the name יוסף.
The common explanation given for this custom is that after 120 years, when a person departs from this world and stands before Hashem, he might forget his name. If he had recited a pasuk corresponding to his name several times each day of his life, then this pasuk will remind him of his name.
This seems very strange. Is it really possible that we will forget our names, but we will remember a pasuk? What are the chances that after 120 years, I will not remember “Joey Haber” but I will remember ה' יגמור בעדי חסדך לעולם מעשי ידיך אל תרף?
The answer to this question is beautiful, and sharpens our understanding of the significance of tefilah.
After 120 years, when we depart from this world, Hashem is not going to just see the way we look at that moment. He is going to look back upon our entire lives, upon every minute of every day. He will look back at us at age 5, as a 10th grader, when we got married, when we held our first child, when our children got married, when we had our first grandchild, and when we had our tenth grandchild. He will look back at every time we were happy, every time we were sick, every time we were worried and every time we were elated.
We don’t remember much about our past experiences. Hashem, however, remembers every single detail of every day of our lives – and He is going to go back and look upon each and every one after we leave this world.
The concept of reciting a pasuk associated with our names when we pray is not about the fear that we will actually forget our names. What it means is that nothing represents any given stage of a person’s life more powerfully than the personal prayer he or she prayed at that stage. Our “name,” our spiritual essence, at any point in life is represented by the way we prayed at that moment, by the extent to which we appealed to Hashem at the time of that experience. The personal pasuk we recite at the end of the Amidah thus symbolizes the personal connection to Hashem we forged through every prayer.
Hashem is going to place right in front of Him every prayer we ever recited. He will look at the time when we were five years old and a friend made us cry. He will look at our heartfelt plea for help at age 10 when the other kids in class didn’t include us. He will look at our prayers at age 13 when a kid embarrassed us in front of the whole class. He will look at our prayer at the beginning of 10th grade when we realized how hard that year’s teacher was going to be. He will look at our prayer recited after we graduated high school and we were not sure which direction we should be taking. He will look at our prayer recited when we were dating somebody whom we liked, but who then rejected us. He will look at our prayer the day we became engaged and we uttered an emotional, ecstatic tefilah of thanksgiving. He will look at the prayer we recited under the huppah, when we were beaming with joy but our hearts were pounding with anxiety. He will look upon the prayer recited several months after our wedding when we had our first argument, and we started worrying how the marriage was going to work. He will look upon the prayer we recited when we heard that the pregnancy is going to be complicated. He will look upon the prayer we recited after the birth of every child. He will look upon the prayer we recited upon discovering how difficult it is to raise a toddler. He will look upon the prayer we recited when our teenage child was defiant, angry and rebellious. He will look upon the prayer we recited when we or our spouse was out of work, or when the business began to tank, and we had no way of paying our bills. He will look upon the prayer we recited when our child was getting older and could not get a date. He will look upon the prayer we recited as we walked that child down the aisle to the huppah, overwhelmed by feelings of joy, gratitude and pride. He will look upon the prayer we recited when we held our first grandchild in our arms. He will look upon the prayers we recited after we took a biopsy while waiting for the results. He will look upon the prayer we recited when we heard that our son or son-in-law lost his job and has no means of supporting his five children.
These tefilot – and so many others – tell the story of our religious life. Reciting a pasuk representing our name after praying emphasizes the point that our tefilah is our “name,” our spiritual essence, on that day. The way we turn to Hashem on any given day determines our religious identity at that point in our lives. We don’t remember all our emotions and experiences over the course of our lives, but Hashem will – because He will look at all the tefilot we recited at each and every stage.
At the end of our lives, our prayers will tell our spiritual story. They document our relationship with Hashem which we develop over the course of our lives.
Once we realize this, we will realize that tefilah is so much more powerful than reciting words. It’s about building a connection, about bringing Hashem into our lives at all times – in times of joy, in times of fear, in times of pain, in times of tragedy, in times of great excitement and in times of frustration.
This is the first step to making tefilah more meaningful – understanding what it is, that it is not just the recitation of a text, but building a close connection with Hashem.
Heart, Soul and Money
This perspective is reflected in the text of Shema, which we recite each day. Towards the beginning of Shema, the Torah commands us to love and serve Hashem בכל לבבך ובכל נפשך ובכל מאדך – with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our money. The Gemara explains “with all your heart” to mean that we must serve Hashem with both our יצר טוב (“good inclination”) and our יצר הרע (“evil inclination”); “with all your soul” means we must be prepared to surrender our lives when necessary for Hashem; and “with all your money” requires us to be prepared to sacrifice all our material possessions for Hashem when necessary.
In practical terms, what does this command mean? How do we serve Hashem with our יצר הרע, and how does this command relate to us, none of whom are ever called upon to sacrifice our lives or all our money for Hashem?
This command tells us to turn to Hashem in every situation of hardship and struggle. “With all your heart” – when we confront a religious struggle, when we are tempted to do the wrong thing, when our commitment is challenged; “with all your soul” – when we lose somebody close to us, when we feel lonely, scared, depressed or anxious; “with all your money” – when we find ourselves drowning in debt or besieged by bills that we cannot pay. Whatever the challenge is, our response must be to turn to Hashem, to include Him, to appeal to Him, to make Him a part of every struggle, every emotion and every experience.
If we do this, then regardless of the outcome, we come out on top. Even if we failed the religious test, we know that we still have a strong connection with Hashem to build upon going forward. Even if we feel sorrow and pain, we have the comfort of feeling Hashem’s presence. And even if we are forced to sell our house due to financial struggles, we know that we’ve enhanced our relationship with Hashem, which is far more precious than any material asset.
A Family Prayer in an Ice Storm
Motivating youngsters to pray is far more difficult than motivating adults. The responsibilities of adulthood, coupled with life experience that has taught us just how fragile our lives are, make it fairly easy for adults to recognize and appreciate the value of tefilah. Children, however, who are typically energetic, restless, less patient and more free-spirited, have a much harder time understanding the need to pray and feeling motivated to do so.
At the same time, however, youngsters also have plenty of fears, concerns and worries, and we should be encouraging them to turn to Hashem when they feel anxious or vulnerable. Whether it’s a first grader who got into a fight with a friend or a twenty-year-old who was just turned down for a shidduch, these are opportunities to draw their attention and their hearts to Hashem and to the great gift of tefilah.
I once heard the story of a couple that got married and moved to Israel, after which the wife became pregnant. They excitedly went for the first sonogram, and were told – to their elation – that they would be having twins. However, the sonogram also found a defect in one of the two fetuses, and the doctor informed them that one of their children will suffer physical and mental disabilities. The husband and wife were visibly shaken.
The doctor, who was not religiously observant, turned to them and said, “You are very lucky.”
“Lucky?!” they asked, bewilderedly.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “You are lucky because you are religious, and so you have the great gift of prayer. You know how to pray.”
They walked out of the office and realized that the doctor was right. All they could do at that point was pray. They prayed with great emotion throughout the pregnancy. That child was born with physical disabilities, as the doctors warned, but was mentally healthy.
This story does not have a perfect ending, but prayer is not about the happy ending – it’s about the process of developing a relationship with Hashem. This young couple faced a painful situation that they turned into a precious opportunity, a means of strengthening their connection G-d.
We should make the most of the opportunities that come our way to show our children the value of tefilah.
Once, on a cold winter Sunday morning, we went on a family trip to the mountains, blissfully unaware of the fact that the authorities had warned against driving that day due to a dangerous ice storm which made driving treacherous. Our 1. 5-hour drive home ended up taking us five hours. And it was a frightening experience. As we made our way down from the mountains, we saw literally dozens of cars that skidded and were stuck along the side of the road. The kids were growing nervous, as were we. My wife and I came up with an idea – we would all pray. We had several Tehillim books in the car, and we each took turns leading the recitation of a chapter of Tehillim. Each family member had a chance to experience what tefilah is, the experience of bringing Hashem into our lives. Such opportunities to expose our children to this experience are so precious. Whenever something is bothering or worrying our children, we can encourage them to pray, accustoming them to include Hashem in everything they are going through.
Of course, recognizing the essence and purpose of prayer is just the first step. Once we recognize this, we must then go to the next stage, which is to learn the meaning of the words of the text. There are many books available on the subject, and everybody should be able to find one which speaks to them. But the crucial first step is to realize that tefilah is not just about mouthing words, but about creating a special, personal connection with Hashem. Once we understand this, we can truly make tefilah a meaningful and uplifting experience, and turn our community, our homes, and ourselves into a sacred Mishkan filled with the presence of G-d.