We prepare for davening each morning by reciting the several chapters from T'hillim; Dovid HaMelech's opus to express all possible feelings in any situation. On Shabbos, when we have more time, we recite a few more, but everyday we finish with the last six chapters. And we end with a redoubled recitation of the last verse, the crescendo of the entire Book of T'hilim:
כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה, תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ, הַלְלוּ-יָהּ Let every soul praise HaShem; Praise Ye, the L-ord!
Inspiring, no? How about this? The medrash understands this statement of Dovid HaMelech to have a deeper undercurrent: Don't read נשמה/soul, rather נשימה/breath -- with every נשימה and נשימה praise HaShem!
Even more inspiring, no? The Vilna Gaon (brought in the introduction to his commentary on Mishlei) says that you cannot really understand the depth of the secrets of Torah without clearing understanding פשט/the simple, surface meaning. Ok, what is the simple meaning of breathing? I say an article from the New Yorker (available on line -- just search for it) called, "What Happens When You Breathe?" It is a worthwhile read, but I want to focus on one paragraph:
Lungs are a paradox. They are so fragile that an accumulation of the tiniest scars can rob them of their elasticity and function, so delicate that one of the pioneers of pulmonology solved a long-standing mystery about a deadly neonatal lung disease in part by reading a book about the physics of soap bubbles. Yet, unlike our other internal organs, nestled away inside us, they are open, like a wound, to the outside world. The respiratory system is regularly attacked by pathogens, to say nothing of allergens and pollutants. As a result, our lungs are home to vast numbers of protective cells that patrol them like sentries, and a lining of tiny hairs that constantly move a layer of cleansing mucus upward, ejecting all the invaders they can. Our lungs are both protection and portal, the nexus of our relationship with an environment that can heal us as well as harm us. In their deepest recesses, a wall as thin as a single cell is all that separates us from the world.
The text is straight from the article, but the emphasis is mine. At the most basic, fundamental, and simple level -- each and every breath is a quite simply a miracle enabled by one of the most paradoxical organs in your body. Something to think about when you reach that point in davening as you make your final preparations to engage in a formal meeting with your Creator each morning:
כֹּל הַנְּשָׁמָה, תְּהַלֵּל יָהּ, הַלְלוּ-יָהּ Let every soul praise HaShem; Praise Ye, the L-ord!
Don't read נשמה/soul, rather נשימה/breath -- with every נשימה and נשימה praise HaShem!
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