How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household
Page 14
To the extent that ritual informs the human psyche, the laws of taharat hamishpachah speak to us about the power of willing something—not only to resist but to overcome and to persist, qualities without which no marriage could survive.
For everything I have said about mikvah and niddah, others might say the opposite, that it is an artificial barrier between two people who have a healthy sex drive; that it places undue strain on the relationship; that it engenders negative attitudes toward sex; that it puts down women; that it is an inflexible lock-step system not relevant and not geared to individual human needs; that it was designed to keep women breeding; that it stigmatizes menstruation. And I know there are problems even among those who observe and benefit from taharat hamishpachah—for example, the old, familiar, pick-a-fight-on-mikvah-night syndrome; or that one can abuse and manipulate the partner while being perfectly faithful to the laws; or worse, that one can actually use the stringency of taharat hamishpachah to his/her own ends; for example, a woman who refuses to go to the mikvah on time when it matters to her husband.
But for an observant Jew, the law is given. Rather than reject it, rather than merely adjust to it, we try to apply it to our lives in a manner that sharpens our identity, refines our marriages, and strengthens our community. For Orthodox Jews, then, niddah and mikvah are not outdated and mystical rituals. Instead, they are symbols and rites that connect us to holiness. Somehow, the laws were intended to make us more human in the way we construct our relationships and in the way we satisfy our basic sex drives, just as other laws are an attempt to make us more special in the way we eat, and the way we work and rest. Taharat hamishpachah is an integral part of the whole scheme of things: it is part of the larger picture of being an Orthodox Jew. There are no guarantees that any of it will work, but I think there is a good chance it might.
CHAPTER · 4
DAILY PRAYER AND BLESSINGS
Prayer serves many functions, in fact, every function and its opposite:
It is a safety hatch when one is overcome by fear or dread, anger or need.
It calls forth a generosity of the human spirit. Prayer reminds us not to take totally for granted that which we all must presume as we go about our business—the gifts of life, health, love, and good fortune. If we constantly worried about these essentials, we would be paralyzed in our actions. If we took them for granted all the time, we would be ingrates, and most unprepared for the vagaries of life.
Prayer sometimes enables us to reach into our own souls, to see what it’s like in there. The truth is that we can get by very well for long periods of time without this contact with our inner selves, but at some point it catches up.
Prayer is a sensation of community; but it is also a feeling of intense loneliness, and aloneness with God.
Prayer sometimes offers a few quiet moments to daydream, to wander without intrusions, to solve problems simply by reflecting on them. Rote can be pleasingly effortless, and it is the perfect cover for the mind or imagination to escape. Even in shul, where I revel in the crowd all around me, there are many moments where I savor my utter privacy. No one would dare interrupt me while I am looking into my siddur (prayer book).
Prayer adds routine and organization to life; it is also orientation away from everyday life, a momentary stepping out of time and of motion.
Prayer helps to put things into proper perspective and enables us to order our priorities in life.
Prayer is at times brazenness before God, at times humility.
Finally, prayer helps you maintain a belief in God when your faith undergoes its inevitable lapses....
With all that, most people do not pray. Not because they wouldn’t want or need these benefits of prayer, but because prayer does not come naturally to the human spirit. And it doesn’t really make much of a difference whether one is male, female, affluent, poor, educated, unschooled, Westernized, pre-modern, or of any other characteristics we tend to scale positively or negatively to prayer. The larger truth is simply this: human beings must be taught to pray, just as they have to be taught a variety of other skills of feeling and communication. To be sure, spontaneity is to be admired and desired. But upon closer examination, the arguments for spontaneity are better in theory than in practice: most people do not pray.
One of the distinctive characteristics of Orthodox Jews is the regularity with which they pray each day. A Jew wakes up to prayer, and goes to sleep with prayer. The first two prayers a young child is taught are the Modeh Ani, which is recited immediately upon rising, and the Shema Yisrael, which is recited at bedtime. As he/she grows, a whole array of prayers fills the space between these two.
How did it come to be this way? The Jewish people were told: “And you shall love your God with all your heart” ((DEUT. 6:5). Also, “You shall serve the Lord your God with all your heart” (DEUT. 11:13). What is service of the heart? Prayer, say the Sages of the Talmud. Understanding that prayer doesn’t come naturally, the Rabbis, over the course of two millennia, organized much of the prayer we have today—formal, fixed prayer, to be said at appropriate times throughout the day, or upon experiencing certain experiences of life, growth, or nature. Thus, Jewish prayer is daily prayer, three times a day minimum, recited at fixed times; also blessings for all occasions, shared community experiences, an awareness continually inserting itself into our everyday lives without waiting for our initiative. That is Jewish prayer.
Does it sound like service of the heart, this regimented routine? Not exactly. But having seen how it operates, I would say it beats all other ways of getting there.
Formal fixed-time prayer functions as a kind of checking-in operation—checking in with God, checking in with one’s immediate community on a regular basis; in fact, checking in with the Jewish people in a way that goes far beyond the boundaries of time and space. Perhaps the real call to the synagogue for most Jews is the people Israel. There is something immensely satisfying in knowing that the words we recite are the very words recited at this moment by the Jews of Istanbul, or the Jews of Toledo a thousand years ago, of Rome two thousand years ago, of ancient Palestine three thousand years ago. And that is also why Hebrew will forever be the language of Jewish prayer, even though Jews will continue to take on the tongues of their adopted countries. The Rabbis understood that prayer makes for a powerful symbiotic relationship with community. The Talmud tells us that when one prays in the privacy of his or her own home, as many Jews do, he or she should time daily prayer to the set times of the minyan, the community prayer.
With routinely scheduled prayer, there is no need to get every last thought in each time, every iota of sincerity, depth of feeling, every pressing issue, every expansive expression of love and praise. You’ll be back later in the day, or tomorrow morning, or tomorrow afternoon. There’s always another opportunity to collect your innermost thoughts and set them before God.
Formal, fixed-time prayer helps us to organize our lives. It never ceases to amaze me that there are Jews who are otherwise tardy, absentminded, bordering on dysfunctional, yet who always manage to meet their obligations regarding morning, afternoon, and evening prayer.
Preformulated prayer is a boon to those unable to articulate or even be in touch with their own feelings. Actually, the language of Jewish prayer is simple, the syntax uncomplicated, the content well attuned to the existential needs of most ordinary mortals. Jewish prayer is lofty, but it is also earthy; and it doesn’t require great mental gymnastics to be understood. The Rabbis went one step further. For those who were unable to read the prayers but felt the need or obligation to pray, the Rabbis instituted the shaliach tzibbur, one who would keep the prayers moving apace and who would repeat aloud the Amidah prayer for those incapable of reciting it silently on their own. The worshipers could be uplifted by reciting Amen to the vocalization of shaliach tzibbur.
Finally, regular, formal, fixed-time prayer serves the opposite function as well. Its routine can be understood as a vehicle, an outer shell, that can be filled ra
ndomly with the emotions of real prayer. When the heart is ready to open, it will not first have to invent the route—or the routine.
Its parallel lies in the tale of the clockmaker who lives in a Swiss village that is suddenly cut off from outside delivery of clock parts. Little by little, many fine old clocks of the town stop functioning. One clockmaker takes great pains with his most valuable clock, despite the ridicule of his friends who tell him he is wasting his time. Though it doesn’t function, he oils it regularly, keeps it free of rust, and polishes it handsomely. When the missing parts are finally received, his clock alone is able to work.
Perhaps a better analogy is to the college student whose parents tell him to call home once a week. He might not have much to tell them, but he calls anyhow. When something does come up, it will be easier to spill it out.
The Rabbis tell us that it is within the formal structures of prayer that individualized prayers can and should be added. Ideally, every prayer should be a genuine encounter. The heart should overflow with strong feelings three times a day. Real prayer should have kavannah—devotional intent, being attuned to God, the whole self given over to God; “all of my bones” shall praise God, says the Psalmist (35:10). For all but a few, however, it just doesn’t happen that way. But formal, fixed prayer increases the chances that it will happen occasionally.
In that respect, the Rabbis understood human nature much better than the prophets. I could never fully comprehend the verse in Isaiah where he speaks God’s criticism of His children—“they pray the fixed prayers but not with their whole hearts.” Isaiah was human, too. What did he expect? But I suppose that is the nature of the prophetic voice—idealism untarnished by reality, a pure goal to strive for despite the difficulties.
And yet, Isaiah was right. One shouldn’t be satisfied with routine. Indeed, there are many things one can do to increase the possibility of achieving heartfelt prayer:
1. Meditate a few moments before beginning prayer. Even sixty seconds can set the mind properly.
2. Try to conceive of the ultimate source of your prayers. In many synagogues, over the ark is engraved this phrase: “Know before Whom you stand.” Jews of every age have known that they must make an effort to consider God as they pray, and to direct their prayers accordingly.
3. Understanding this, one should dress properly for prayer, even at home. That is why we first wash and dress, and then pray. One of the laws of tefillin (phylacteries) is that they may be worn only if the body is clean. I often remember Mr. Y., an elderly gentleman who was bedridden for years. Every morning he insisted on being dressed for Shacharit, after which he would take off his shirt and put his pajama jacket back on. You don’t go to an audience with God in your pajamas or underwear.
Nor do we lounge about. When Goody was young, I periodically had to remind her not to daaven barefoot, not to put her feet up on the coffee table, not to flop down on the couch. I recall one morning when she was about ten and we were daa-vening at home on Shabbat during our summer vacation. She was stretched out on the sofa, siddur propped up on her chest. I told her to sit up nicely. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “I side with Shammai.” In school the previous year, she had learned of the famous dispute between the two great sages Hillel and Shammai, concerning interpretation of the verse, “And you shall speak [of these words] when you lie down and when you rise up” (DEUT. 6:7). Hillel interpreted this to mean the Shema should be recited at bedtime in any posture, while Shammai interpreted the verse literally, that the Shema should be recited in the lying-down position. But, I told Goody as I laughed at her words, Shammai referred only to the Shema of bedtime, not 9:00 A.M. Shacharit. Over the years, she has come to understand that prayer is to God, and that she must assume a respectful stance.
4. Periodically, once a year perhaps, read a book about Jewish prayer. While most of them are academic in nature, they often have a powerful effect on the spirit.
5. Pray with a minyan whenever possible. Oftentimes, the familiar melodies, the communal singing, the hum of the collective, carry the spirit far beyond the reach of the words alone. Prayer is a mood and a feeling as much as it is a verse or an idea.
6. Finally, if it is possible, study and pray with a master. There is nothing quite like being in the presence of one whose heart truly opens in prayer. You can easily distinguish between the authentic petitioner and the perfunctory one. Somehow, you’ll just know.
ORGANIZATION
Daily prayer is structured along two lines:
1. Event-related prayer. These are prayers and blessings that are recited in response to a particular act or experience, as it occurs. For example, before or after eating, upon wearing a new article of clothing, upon hearing news of someone’s death; also, the benedictions we recite just before performing a mitzvah, such as blowing the shofar, lighting candles, performing a circumcision, reading the Purim Megilláh.
2. Fixed-time prayer of Shacharit (morning), Minchah (afternoon), and Maariv (evening). These are specific prayers, to be recited in specific time slots. Once the time has passed, that particular prayer can no longer be recited. While popular belief has it that these three fixed-time prayers are substitutes for the Temple sacrifices of Shacharit and Minchah, which could no longer be offered after the Temple was destroyed in 70 C.E., history and archaeology teach us that the basic parts of these prayers were instituted long before that. There are sources in tradition which claim that Shacharit is derived from Abraham, Minchah from Isaac, and Maariv from Jacob.
3. The content of prayer can be organized into distinct categories as well. The most common types are:
Tehillot—praises of God.
Tefillot—devotionals, reflections on human character and the role of the human being in this world.
Todot—prayers of gratitude.
Bakashot—requests, desires, personal and national needs.
B’rachot—benedictions, which alternately bless God and/or which state an intention to fulfill a mitzvah.
B’RACHOT—BLESSINGS
B’rachot come in three types:
Birchot nehenin—blessings for experiences of enjoyment.
Birchot ha’mitzvot—blessing for the privilege of performing a mitzvah.
Birchot hoda’ah—blessing of petition, praise, or thanksgiving. These latter blessings form a good part of the fixed-time liturgy, discussed below.
BIRCHOT NEHENIN
These particular blessings are among the most beautiful features of Judaism. What they imply is that we take absolutely nothing for granted. Appropriately recited, the birchot nehenin signify a never-ending awe and appreciation of nature, creation, health, life, creature comforts, and the incredible variety of distinct forms that make up life on earth. Inasmuch as these b’rachot are a direct response to the particular act or experience at hand, they serve to counterbalance whatever routine might creep into our formal, fixed-time prayers.
Each b’racha begins with these words:
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam...
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe...
And concludes with its appropriate ending:
Food
For wine:
… borai pri hagafen.
… Who creates the fruit of the vine.
For bread:
… hamotzi lechem min ha’aretz.
… Who brings forth bread from the earth.
For fruit:
… borai pre ha’eitz.
… Who creates the fruit of the tree.
For vegetables:
borai pre ha’adama.
… Who brings forth fruit from the earth.
For cakes, cookies, crackers:
… borai mineh m’zonot.
… Who creates different varieties of sustenance.
For meat, fish, cheese, processed foods, and all liquids except wine. (This blessing is known as the sheh’hakol):
… sheh’hakol ni’heyeh bidvaro.
… through Whose wor
d all things were called into being.
If an entire meal is to be eaten, the blessing over the bread suffices for all other foods at the meal. If no bread is eaten, the appropriate blessing is recited for the particular food.
The table is considered an altar. Thus, we not only show appreciation before we eat, but also, as the Torah instructs us (DEUT. 8:10), after we have eaten.
Bread, the staff of life, symbolizes a meal. Thus, the full version of Grace After Meals, the Birkat Hamazon is recited whenever bread has been eaten.
The first paragraph of the Birkat Hamazon is:
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha’olam hazan et haolam kulo b’tuvo b’cheyn, b’chesed u’vrachamim. Hu notain lechem l’chol basar kee leolam chasdo. Uvtuvo hagadol, tamid lo chasar lanu v’al yechsar lanu mazon leolam va’ed. Bavur shemo hagadol, kee hu el zan u’mfarness lacol umetiv lakol umechin mazon lechol bre’otav asher barah. Baruch ata Adonai hazan et hakol.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who feeds the entire world with goodness, with grace, with kindness, and with mercy. You give food to all flesh, for Your kindness lasts forever. Because of Your great goodness, we have never lacked food; may it never fail us, for the sake of Your great name. For You are God Who nourishes and supports and does good for all. You provide food for all the creatures You have created. Blessed are You, O Lord, Who sustains everyone.