I have a bit of a cold and really don’t have enough brain power to write anything this week between sneezes and cold meds. However I wrote one of my favorite commentaries last year. So I’m re-printing that one. A lot if it has changed for the better since I moved synagogues, and I’ve found Beth Emet an even better home for me. And while there is a lot of good there, nothing has been better for me given what I wrote a year ago than the small prayer group I’ve found at Beth Emet, Kahal. All I can say to all of those at Kahal is thank you, a lot of this has changed because of you.
There are many halakah this week, many of then practices for the Priesthood, more practices for holidays, and a story about a guy who profanes the Lord. In the middle of this
Lev. 23:21-24. And whoever offers a sacrifice of peace offerings to the Lord to accomplish his vow, or a freewill offering in oxen or sheep, it shall be perfect to be accepted; there shall be no blemish in it. Blind, or broken, or maimed, or having a growth, or scurvy, or scabbed, you shall not offer these to the Lord, nor make an offering by fire of them upon the altar to the Lord. Either a bull or a lamb that has any thing superfluous or lacking in its parts, that may you offer for a freewill offering; but for a vow it shall not be accepted. You shall not offer to the Lord that which is bruised, or crushed, or broken, or cut; nor shall you make any offering of it in your land.
There is a story in the Talmud [Gittin 55b] about Bar Kamza's cow. Due to a mistake in party invitations, a man called bar Kamza was offended, and the rabbis didn’t stop the offense. To get even, he told the Romans that the party was actually a plot to revolt against the Romans. For the Romans to prove this, he suggested the Romans give gift of a sacrifice for the Temple. If the Romans' sacrifice was accepted, then the people of Jerusalem were loyal to Rome. If they were not, then they were hatching a plot and should be destroyed. Bar Kamza made a small defect in the sacrificial animal that while the Romans wouldn't detect it, the defect made the cow unfit for sacrifice. One stickler for rules rejects the sacrifice and in consequence Jerusalem and the temple are destroyed.
With the destruction of the Temple, sacrifice ended. The rabbis replaced it with the dining room table and prayer. But it is prayer which interests me this week. It is here that I have not just a little difficulty with the Torah, but a big one. With all the personal details that I've written before there is one thing I'm incredibly afraid and embarrassed to admit. However, I have the suspicion I'm not the only one.
I can't pray because I'm afraid of praying.
More accurately, I don't think of myself as praying, or having acceptable prayer towards God. My prayer ascends to heaven the very same way a brick does: not at all. In this weeks portion we are to learn that the offering to God must be perfect, without defects. And here I am unable to read the Hebrew prayer without flubbing every third word. I'll admit it's an improvement. Ten years ago I wouldn't have been able to do that since I couldn't read Hebrew. These words of our liturgy I cannot say perfectly, nor can I always have perfect intention, as my anxiety over my poor Hebrew reading skills overwhelms me. And somehow English doesn't work here; it's too much for me like giving a turtledove instead of an ox for sacrifice. That said I'm really good at faking it, I've been faking praying most of my life, though I feel like a fraud when I do.
I'm mentioning all of this because of a conversation a non-Jewish friend of mine and I had recently. She asked why I didn't go to a Conservative synagogue, since it would probably be a good place for me to meet potential partners. At the time I only had my usual excuses. I'd miss drumming during services, hate having to actually get dressed up for services, have a major league allergy to building funds, etc. I pretty much grew up Conservative, and learned early that services were boring. Thinking more on it, I realized I was never prepared to pray. My early education leading up to my bar mitzvah was inadequate to study Hebrew for prayer. The Conservative congregation of my youth did not care about teaching children Torah and prayer prayer as much as the miracle of the secular state Israel - so I never learned hebrew beyond the letter Chaf. The Orthodox training me for my bar mitzvah thought me treif and thus thought it was a waste of time to get me up to speed. I left Judaism because of my early experience, like many people going East to Taoism and Zen where prayer was the much easier meditation. I'm a Jew today due to the exuberant energy that Renewal brought to the picture. Without that I'd still be a Taoist. As I thought about that conversation I realized that was all true, but just the surface of the truth. My bigger problem is prayer, the liturgy. All of that is cover for what the real -problem is. I cant pray.
What I am calling prayer is the set liturgy of our ancestors. Although it has been modified and added to over the years there are many parts that are at least as old as the Talmud, and much is even older than that. The Shema is, of course, biblical. The Shmoneh Esra, or Amidah as some call it is rabbinic in origin. Psalms were sung from the earliest Temple times. Many people who could not get to Jerusalem had already substituted prayer for sacrifice. They would recite phrases parts of what would become the Amidah, when they could not do sacrifices. Later prayers were medieval Kabbalistic formulas, like L'cha Dodi. This over time and organized by rabbis over centuries became the prayerbook we know today, the one I can’t seem to pray from.
There is this feeling I still get when I go to Conservative and Orthodox Synagogues, that I think is related to our portion this week. If prayer has substituted for sacrifice, our prayer has to be perfect, without blemish. But I am still too much of a beginner at Hebrew to read carefully enough to read without blemish, at least without reading at a snails pace. From my early experiences, I get the impression that other congregants feel that if my prayer isn't perfect then I am not as righteous as they are - I am both an inferior person and inferior Jew. So I avoid public prayer whenever possible. Fastest way to make me disappear is mention the words "Birkat Hamazon" or "Shacarit." I probably stayed within the Renewal and Reform movements because I'm too embarrassed to pray like the Conservative or Orthodox. As I started to contemplate this last weekend, I scared my self so silly, I turned around at the door of services last Erev Shabbat.
I have a funny feeling I'm not the only one who has anxiety about this. If you happen to have a Artscroll Siddur, its interesting to look at the back of the book, where the "rules" of praying are located. The tax code is less complicated. Conservative Rabbi Alan Lew has a very poignant story in his Biography One God Clapping. Doing a joint Buddhist-Jewish service, many of the Buddhists there almost caused a riot when he started to say some prayers in Hebrew. Turns out they were all Jews who had converted to Buddhism, and they were offended by the use of Hebrew prayer, because it made them feel inferior.
During the weekend, feeling really guilty for skipping services, I thought about Bar Kamza's cow. The destruction of the temple came down to a choice of offering imperfection to God, against the mitzvot of Torah and save the Temple, or refuse to offer imperfection and lose the Temple. I can't help but feel we are in that situation today. Do we say an imperfect prayer or do we keep alienating people by having a culture measuring us by "perfect prayer?"
Written on the sanctuary wall at the reform synagogue BJBE in Glenview is an interesting statement: "When you pray, know before whom you stand."[B. Ber 28b] Its intent is clear, remember that in prayer we are standing before the King of Kings. There is to be a certain kind of respect not otherwise given to anything else. But I see two sides of that respect. One is that we do indeed pray with the deep intention and concentration. But there is the other part, like court politics of human kings, is this notion that some members of the court are more favored than others. They wear better clothes, they pray in Hebrew better, they have the best seats, and get all the honors. The others are somehow less.
The perfect, defect-free prayer has alienated me. It has made me feel less of a Jew, and has assured me that bricks and prayer have a lot in common. I would speculate it has even alienated Jews to the point they would rather find something else to do than davven. Jewish meditation at its core is a way to avoid the traditional prayer structure, particularly in Hebrew. Some don’t stop there. It is easier to connect with God in some other religion, with a much easier prayer structure, than davvnen.
And while that might be the way many, including myself see it, there are passages in Talmud which point to something else:
R. Yohanan said in the name of R. Simeon ben Yohai: Why was it instituted that the Amidah be spoken in a whisper? In order not to embarrass transgressors. For, note: Scripture does not provide one place on the altar for a burnt offering and another place for a sin offering.[B. Sot 32b.]
We are not supposed to be embarrassed in our ineptitude. A physical animal is very different than an action. While many defects are permanent in an animal, such as being blind, having a scar or missing limbs, actions are not. Actions can change, In tractate Yoma 29a, Prayer is compared to the antlers of a deer. The older the deer, the more majestic the antlers, so too with prayer: the more some one prays, the better their prayer. In short, Practice makes perfect. If we pray, even imperfectly, we do become better at prayer. We do not need to fear if it is inferior or if we are inferior. Nor do we need to fear the opinions of others concerning our prayers, the only opinion that matters is God, and in that realm we are all equal: Exodus Rabbah 21:5 give another analogy here. Human beings, it notes, will pay attention to rich men and ignore poor men.
But the Holy One, blessed be He, does not act thus. Before Him, all are equal--women, slaves, poor, and rich. You can see this for yourself: to designate prayer, Scripture uses the same word for Moses, master of all prophets, and for a poor man. With regard to Moses, Scripture says, "A prayer of Moses, the man of God" (Ps. 90:1), and of a poor man, it says, "A prayer of the poor man, when he faints, and pours out his complaint before the Lord" (Ps. 102:1). "Prayer" in the first instance and "prayer" in the second, so that you should know that at prayer all are equal before Him who is everywhere. [Exod. R. 21:5.]
Nor do we need to think our prayers are like bricks:
"There shall not be male nor female barren among you" (Deut. 7:14). R. Hanin ben Levi said: This means that your prayer will never prove barren--it will always rise and bear fruit [Deut. R. 3:6]
Jewish Prayer, particularly the recitation of the Amidah and Shema, is a very structured liturgy in a language many of us do not know, let alone understand. We are to do it in a way that is perfect because it is intended to be heard by something that is perfect. We do things in respect like we would to the leader of the universe. But the one to judge if our efforts are perfect or not is not another human being. Those that judge on those grounds, miss the point entirely. We cannot be judged for our righteousness in this world, but only in the world to come. I'm still afraid of praying in a Conservative or Orthodox synagogue, because I still feel that inferiority and still am rather intimidated. However, I can change that, because I've recognized that fear, and know how to conquer it. I can, like the deer grow more antlers over time. I can learn and grow through practice. I can begin to think of prayer differently. It is the dialogue between God and me, not the competitive squabble with congregants it has degraded into in many congregations.
There is a Hasidic story about prayer. A young boy who knew no prayers once went to Schul with his father. The father told the boy to remain quiet. Everyone was silent in prayer though the rabbi seemed to be a little concerned about something. The boy wanted to pray but not knowing how tried to remain still. After all of his young patience was exhausted, he took a whistle out of his pocket and let out one loud TWEEEEET!!! This annoyed everyone, but the rabbi beamed. He told the congregation that he saw the prayers were not ascending to heaven because the prayers had been said without passion. When the boy so passionately blew his whistle the prayers finally ascended. Many today take the whistle to be the better prayer than the route prayer of that minyan. That mere intention is enough. That may not be the real point, but instead both passion and the traditional prayer are necessary. Both take time to cultivate, but as long as we offer at least some of each, we move forward to the perfect prayer, the one without blemish.
My little phobia will go away someday. I'm trying to learn the prayers I didn’t learn before, learning each one at a time, and improving my Hebrew while I'm at it. I know some have given up on Hebrew, and just read the English or transliteration. If that is what they can offer with great intention, just like that boy with the whistle they made an effort to do the best they can, and that is holy. All prayer is holy because it is from us with effort, but we also need to remember something I said before. God judges the holiness of what we do, no human can tell us. No society can judge us in holiness. Remember the admonition of the rabbis concerning bar Kamza: "Note from this incident how serious a thing it is to put a man to shame, for God espoused the cause of Bar Kamza and destroyed His House and burnt His Temple." [Gittin 57a]
May we remember that as we all find our perfect prayer soon.
May 2005(5765)
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