The following article was published at The Times of Israel by blogger Sarah Zadok who is a Jewish educator, a childbirth professional and a
freelance writer. This is a great reflection on how and when can approach your own personal tefilla.
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I learned early on that prayer is primarily about
communication. l learned this first from watching Harold and Maude, then years
later in a Torah class. For the most part my M.O. as far as prayer is concerned
has been to simply talk to G-d, kind of like I would to a girlfriend – only
slightly more reverent. Also with a bunch of young’uns in tow it has been
way more convenient to dial-up wireless, than to show up in a house of prayer
for a word.
I’m big on the shoot-from-the-hip, “G-d, please let them
make the bus” “Bring her fever down now” and “Wow, thanks for that” kind
of pray-er. Kind of Rabbi Nachman style, only shorter and not in a forest.
It’s not that I never pick up a prayer book. I do. It’s just
that long, organized prayers, like the High Holiday variety tend to rouse the
spiritual ADD in me. I got to thinking about that this past Rosh Hashana, while
I was at home busy with all manner of domestic preparation. I could have been
at shul with my husband and kids, but I was futzing with honey dishes instead,
and as I did, a curious little notion surfaced…
I’m not not doing the Rosh Hashana service because
I have to be busy with food prep… I’m not praying because I don’t
want to.
Prayer is an intimate experience, like kissing on the lips
and I’m not always in the mood to take that step with G-d.
Sometimes I want to sit with my arms folded hard in front of
my chest, and wait for Him to woo me.
After the rocket fire we’ve endured, the soldiers and
citizens we’ve lost to terror, the tears, blood and sweat that we endure –
daily – to live in our land… illness, pain, death, both personal and
global… I want Him outside my bedroom window with a boom box playing Peter
Gabriel.
So instead of a deep soul-baring session, I pulled a
slip-out-the-back-Jack, spiritual version of “I’ve got a headache” and got busy
peeling pomegranates and arranging fresh dates on the table.
It’s a justified stance, but as I watched the candles
flicker beyond the table, I allowed my eyes to adjust to a wider lens, and a
more generous perspective began to take hold.
In spite of my slapdash indifference towards G-d– my candles
are still lit, the table is set, and I’m still thinking about Him. We have a
relationship.
I don’t always appreciate the way He pulls rank. I have very
little understanding about why He does what He does, but in spite of that, I’m
in this for the long haul. I continue to ask impossible questions, and push for
impossible answers, and search for meaning in the hot mess. I’ve learned enough
from my earthly relationships to know that there is more to making it work than
what I want, what I deserve and what I think I
see.
Hey, it’s not always soft and fuzzy, or even screen-worthy,
but it’s real, and it’s fertile ground for some steamy stuff.
You know how Jews attend Rosh Hashana and Yon Kippur
services more than any other time in the year? (Ever heard of Purim
people? Waaay more fun). That kind of attendance doesn’t happen because
we’re looking for a soul-loofah, or because of the nostalgic melodies, or
because Mom says “we have to.” That may be part of it, but mostly, we go
because regardless of how disappointing our lover may be, we still have a basic
human need for love and connection. It’s no small thing that after 5773 years,
with all the legitimate reasons we have to be mad, and sad and broken, we (a
lot of us… maybe even enough of us) still show up.
We continue to
dialog, even when we don’t want to.
That’s what lovers do – we push and pull at each others
hearts until we feel something deep and honest. That’s what a
relationship is.
Even in our pain and grief, when it seems that there is very
little to be grateful for… even when we’re mad at Him, He still turns out
fabulous sunsets, really good mangos, and allows us to read self-indulgent
op-eds if we so choose. When I’m really being honest with myself, I see that
even when I don’t want Him to, He shows up all the time, arms wide open, ready
to take me as I am.
And, at the end of each day, whatever my mood may be, I’d
rather go to sleep at night giving G-d a lack-luster peck on the cheek than
walk out of the house all together.
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