Thought for the Day: The One Job During Prayer -- Express the Simple Meaning of Each Word as it Leaves Your Mouth
We are accomplishing huge things with the shofar blasts on Rosh HaShana. There are Jews who barely distinguish themselves from the surrounding culture. They light Chanuka candles next to their decorated xmas trees. They'll have ham and cheese on their matzah during Passover. They'll drink herb teas during their Yom Kippur fast. Shofar, though? They don't want to hear any old horn; they want 100 blasts on a kosher ram's horn shofar. Big, big things are happening with those blasts and every Jew feels it deep in his soul.
R' Akiva Eiger was once asked before Rosh HaShana what was the appropriate כוונה/intention for the shofar ceremony. There is so much going on, this Jew knew he would not be able to keep everything in mind, so he wanted just one -- the most important one -- כוונה/intention on which he could concentrate. R' Akiva Eiger told him that he was asking a very important question and he had an answer for him: Have in mind to fulfill the Torah mitzvah of hearing the blasts of the shofar on Rosh HaShana. That's it? Yes, that's it.
When it comes to prayer, each word and phrase was crafted by the Men of the Great Assembly to be the perfect t'fila for all time. See, for example, R' Schwab on Prayer to get an inkling of the greatness of our Shmone Esrei. Look also as the footnotes in the ArtScroll siddur. The English one, I mean... amazing, amazing, amazing. It is obvious that there is nothing simple about a single choice of wording in the entire Shmone Esrei.
Do all that before davening, though. While you are davening, you have one and only one job: expressing the simple meaning of each word as it leaves your mouth. (Shulchan Aruch 98 and Mishna Brura, sk 7, there.) Really? That's it? If so, why is there so much written about all the meanings and layer of meanings and depth of meaning? Perfectly reasonable question.
I worked some time ago for Motorola. During that tenure I traveled a few times to their office in Israel. I was standing in line one of those times at Ben Gurion airport to have my passport checked for leaving the country and fly back home. There were two lines and I saw that the non-religious gate agent in one line was mercilessly hassling a young (14-ish) chassidic boy. I decided to use the other line. I got to the front of the line and handed her my passport. Note: My passport picture was taken when I had longer hair, no beard, and was wearing contacts. I was standing in front of the gate agent with a beard, glasses, and big black hat. She looked at me, down at my passport, back to me, back to my passport. I was nervous. Then she handed the passport to the gate agent I had avoided and asked her, "Does this look like him?" "Nope"
Then she asked me directly, "Is this your passport?" I really, really, really -- I mean really -- had to bite my tongue hard to not answer sarcastically. (Responses such as, "Why, no. I just stole it from someone to get out of the country" flitted through my mind.) What I actually said, in my best Modern Hebrew accent was:
I listened with excruciating attention to each of her instructions ("remove your hat") and requests ("what is your father's name?"). I answered with corresponding precision and equally excruciating attention to each of my words, sentences, and actions. I gave no thought whatsoever to the big things that depended on this conversation. I did not contemplate what would happen if I failed. Not that I didn't worry about those things, but I simply didn't have the spare brain cycles at that moment to worry about anything other than understanding her words and formulating my responses. I didn't rush my words, nor did I speak too slowly. I spoke as if everything depended on getting this conversation right; because pretty much it did.
That's the correct feeling to have when davening; as if everything depends on getting this conversation right; because, in fact, it does. While you are davening, you have one and only one job: expressing the simple meaning of each word as it leaves your mouth. (Shulchan Aruch 98 and Mishna Brura, sk 7, there.) Really? That's it? Yes; that's it.
R' Akiva Eiger was once asked before Rosh HaShana what was the appropriate כוונה/intention for the shofar ceremony. There is so much going on, this Jew knew he would not be able to keep everything in mind, so he wanted just one -- the most important one -- כוונה/intention on which he could concentrate. R' Akiva Eiger told him that he was asking a very important question and he had an answer for him: Have in mind to fulfill the Torah mitzvah of hearing the blasts of the shofar on Rosh HaShana. That's it? Yes, that's it.
When it comes to prayer, each word and phrase was crafted by the Men of the Great Assembly to be the perfect t'fila for all time. See, for example, R' Schwab on Prayer to get an inkling of the greatness of our Shmone Esrei. Look also as the footnotes in the ArtScroll siddur. The English one, I mean... amazing, amazing, amazing. It is obvious that there is nothing simple about a single choice of wording in the entire Shmone Esrei.
Do all that before davening, though. While you are davening, you have one and only one job: expressing the simple meaning of each word as it leaves your mouth. (Shulchan Aruch 98 and Mishna Brura, sk 7, there.) Really? That's it? If so, why is there so much written about all the meanings and layer of meanings and depth of meaning? Perfectly reasonable question.
I worked some time ago for Motorola. During that tenure I traveled a few times to their office in Israel. I was standing in line one of those times at Ben Gurion airport to have my passport checked for leaving the country and fly back home. There were two lines and I saw that the non-religious gate agent in one line was mercilessly hassling a young (14-ish) chassidic boy. I decided to use the other line. I got to the front of the line and handed her my passport. Note: My passport picture was taken when I had longer hair, no beard, and was wearing contacts. I was standing in front of the gate agent with a beard, glasses, and big black hat. She looked at me, down at my passport, back to me, back to my passport. I was nervous. Then she handed the passport to the gate agent I had avoided and asked her, "Does this look like him?" "Nope"
Then she asked me directly, "Is this your passport?" I really, really, really -- I mean really -- had to bite my tongue hard to not answer sarcastically. (Responses such as, "Why, no. I just stole it from someone to get out of the country" flitted through my mind.) What I actually said, in my best Modern Hebrew accent was:
?!חוזרת בתשובה, נוI could have said, "Oh, I am a ba'al tshuva." (The more American way to say it.) Or I could have said, "I have recently become more religious." But... noooo... I had to go with that. The regret I felt was immediate, complete, and totally ineffectual. If I wanted to get home without spending time in jail, I needed to play this out. Mind you, at that time I had barely completed an introductory course in conversational Hebrew. Besides that phrase that somehow popped out of my mouth, I could ask how she was, inquire as to the location of the nearest restaurant, and maybe get myself to the right bathroom.
I listened with excruciating attention to each of her instructions ("remove your hat") and requests ("what is your father's name?"). I answered with corresponding precision and equally excruciating attention to each of my words, sentences, and actions. I gave no thought whatsoever to the big things that depended on this conversation. I did not contemplate what would happen if I failed. Not that I didn't worry about those things, but I simply didn't have the spare brain cycles at that moment to worry about anything other than understanding her words and formulating my responses. I didn't rush my words, nor did I speak too slowly. I spoke as if everything depended on getting this conversation right; because pretty much it did.
That's the correct feeling to have when davening; as if everything depends on getting this conversation right; because, in fact, it does. While you are davening, you have one and only one job: expressing the simple meaning of each word as it leaves your mouth. (Shulchan Aruch 98 and Mishna Brura, sk 7, there.) Really? That's it? Yes; that's it.
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