Finding Your Prayer Voice

So I hope that you had a prayerful Rosh Hashana and did not solely measure your davening experience on the time that your service concluded.

One of the big themes that I personally thought about was centered around the shofar and the word "קול" or "voice".  Voice and shofar are often linked in the verses cited in the musaf section and it is pretty obvious to think of voice within the entire concept of prayer.  Even the big there elements that are advised by the liturgy to remove the potential evil decree, "Teshuva, Tefilla, u'Tzedaka - Repentance, Prayer, and Charity", need a voice to enable them.  The Rambam writes that one who repents but has not verbally confessed the sin has done teshuva.   Tefilla is simply a verbal expression of one's inner most desires, whether we move our lips to our silent prayer or sing and scream aloud with the chazan.  Finally, tzedaka - giving charity gives voice to those who are needy and helps balance the burdens within a society.

I think that for parents and educators, our goal is to allow our children to discover their own voice within our value system.  Not to just mimic lessons learned in school or opinions overheard at the dinner table, I want my students to feel an authentic call to daven and know what they need to bring to this moment.  This is a mature goal and I think that a synagogue is a perfect crucible for it.

My diagnosis on why so many young people prefer to hang around outside the shul, on the playground or in the 'groups' is because they do not feel this authentic call to prayer, with or without the traditional liturgy.  It is my prayer for the upcoming year that I can share more resources and successful practices on how to engages this population.  Here's to a great year!

Happy New Year

Here's hoping that all your prayers are answered!  (Please, let me know your secret technique!)

שנה טובה

Carlebach Selichot?

If you poll a bunch of Jews asking what is their favorite prayer service, I am pretty confident that Kabalat Shabbat would be the hands down winner.  If you similarly polled the same bunch of people what is their least favorite service - that would actually be an interesting poll to run - what would they say?

I do not think that selichot would necessarily be at the top of that second list (top 5?) - that is because for serious daveners selichot is a special seasonal addition.  However, for many people selichot can be tedious and a challenge to connect to, because of the hour it is said and the text.  When I asked an educator friend how to better infuse spirit to the Tuesday morning selichot, he replied, "do it Carlebach style".  I think his presumption was that Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach's music has made kabalat Shabbat so energized that perhaps that should be the approach for selichot.  (I have personally been to first night selichot in the 'Carlebach' genre and do think it was more positive than my more traditional experiences).

Towards this notion, another friend recently passed on to me the following three youtube clips of Reb Shlomo reciting selichot and I encourage you to listen and watch these tefillot.

Part 1/3

Part 2/3

Part 3/3

Here are some of my reflections:

• The power of a unique niggun, the tunes for this season is very powerful and not only gets me in the mood for davening on Rosh Hashanah but is a great educational tool for students.  The nusach of yamim noraim transcends time and never goes out of style.  
• Musical instruments just add to any tefilla experience.
• There needs to be a tune to daven to, not just the silent mumbling along.  I think it gives a great deal of agency and helps one transcend the words to be in the moment, and extends the moment a bit longer; it makes the mediation important.
• Stories - the actual selcihot help to tell the story of the path to teshuvah and forgiveness.  Reb Shlomo adds a few more metaphors and stories.  What story are you telling this year?  

My friend also added the following note - a good inspiration for your upcoming tefillot.  

Reb Shlomo said that sometimes when you go in to the emergency room you sit down and are patient to be seen. But when you have a really serious medical problem that can't wait you go right past the door and scream, "emergency, it's an emergency." Selichos is when a person cries to Hashem and says, "I'm an emergency." 

Selichos is when I realize that I can't wait to be close to You again! I can't wait to correct my ways, I need You to help me let myself be me again, right now. Please. My whole life is an emergency. Praying to G-d on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is the medicine. 

Guest Post: Why Mommy Doesn't Pray

The following article was published in the Times of Israel by Shira Zewbner, a public relations consultant and writer living in Jerusalem.
___________________________________

We’re on the countdown to Rosh Hashanah, which for me means preparing delicious menus for our lunch guests, trying to figure out how to make vegan honey cake for my youngest (and egg allergic) daughter, writing New Year greeting cards for our family and friends in the States, and making a bunch of will-you-forgive-me phone calls. It also means a trip to the dry cleaner, possibly buying a new frock for myself, and setting aside money from our budget to give to charity before the yom tov rolls in. I look at my to-do list with excitement; the High Holy Days have always been my favorite of the Jewish holidays. With one, minor exception: the prayer part.

Recently, I had an interesting conversation with my 3 1/2-year-old. We were talking about all of her favorite topics: school, friends, and fairies. And then, out of the blue, while going off on some tangent about princess dresses, and shoko, and what I’m making her for breakfast, she blurted out, “but, Mommy, you don’t daven (pray)!”

Instinctively, I looked toward the living room bookshelf, at the rows of unused Artscroll siddurim, and declared, “Of course I daven!”

She shook her tiny pigtails back and forth and insisted that I do not pray. She exclaimed, “you do not daven like Daddy does.”

And she was right. I do not pray like her Daddy does.

Funny, but when my husband and I were dating, I insisted that I wanted our children to grow up watching him daven. I told him that it was important to me, that our kids see him put on tefillin, drape himself in his tallit, and use a siddur to daven each and every morning. And, to his credit, he has done just that since the day our eldest child was born. Our children have frequently been in his arms while he davens three times a day; they have grown up playing with the tzitzit on his tallit, tugging gently on his tefillin while asking questions about his morning ritual, and sitting quietly on his lap as, together, they say the Shema.

But, as I stressed the importance of our children seeing their Daddy pray every day, I completely neglected to consider what they would think about Mommy and prayer.

Truth be told, prayer and I have a unique relationship that’s far too complicated for me to explain to our toddlers.

I don’t think I have ever connected with what I refer to as “organized” prayer. From a young age, I merely went along with the davening process. It was part of the curriculum of my yeshiva, and I dutifully did as I was told. As I got older, prayer became a burden. My parents would insist, Sunday mornings, that I daven before eating breakfast. And, dutifully, I did what I was told. But the words on the page didn’t make me feel any closer to my Maker. In fact, I didn’t feel anything!

Sure, I turned to prayer when I really wanted something. Like dance lessons (never happened), a family vacation (nope, still nothing), and a hurricane to come and cancel the final I wasn’t prepared for (you can guess the likelihood of that one panning out). I also remember davening so hard to get into the Machal program at Michlalah, for my seminary year after high school. And, when I was accepted, I realized that I had to really work on developing that connection with tefillah.

And I really worked hard. I carried my siddur and mini “Tehillim” with me everywhere. While on the bus, I would say a chapter of Tehillim. I started davening three times a day, whereas back in the States I would barely make it through morning prayers. I believed in the idea of mitoh sh’lo lishma ba lishma: that a deed, even if performed without the proper intent, may eventually still lead to a performance with the proper intent. I truly believed that, if I went through the motions, and said the words on the page, I would feel the connection.

It just never happened.

And, while at Michlalah, I took the tefillah class with Rabbi Nissel. It was an early Sunday-morning class that I was frequently late to and often missed. But what I do remember out of the class was learning thattefillah was comprised of three things: shevah (praise), bakasha (requests) and hodaya (thanks/gratitude). So, technically, if I incorporate all three of these elements when praying, then I was “doing it right.”

When seminary was over, and I was back in New York, I slowly stopped praying with a prayer book. Instead, when I wanted to have a conversation with God, I just did. In the privacy of my own room, sometimes without even saying a word out loud. I made sure to start off with praise, then put in my request, and then ended the “conversation” with my thanks and gratitude. And to this day, that’s how I pray. And it worked for me — until my daughter accused me of not praying.

As a mom, I’m responsible for educating my children and must be a role model to them. Do I want them to see me have my “conversations” with God? Or do I dust off my Artscroll siddur and, once again, go through the motions so that they see that I’m praying? I honestly don’t know what to do.

What I do know is that this Rosh Hashanah holiday, they will see me with my prayer book in hand. I will sing to them the melodies I grew up with, and teach them how to sing along.

And, during “Unetaneh Tokef” of Mussaf on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I will close my eyes and say the only words that I have ever had a connection with in all of liturgy. And pray that, for another year, we are not a fleeting dream.

A man’s origin is from dust and his destiny is back to dust. At risk of his life he earns his bread; he is likened to a broken shard, withering grass, a fading flower, a passing shade, a dissipating cloud, a blowing wind, flying dust, and a fleeting dream.

לשמוע אל הרינה ואל התפילה

This is the sentence that captures the essence of the beginning of selichot!  For me, it is as powerful as the trumpeting of the shofar.

How can we get our students to listen, to hearken and actively attach themselves to the joy and the tefilla of this season?  

Got a Mahzor?

I was sitting on a plane this morning next to a gentleman, who after settling in with his seat-belt and adjusting his pillow, removed a Rosh Hashana Mahzor from his bag.

Now for me, this was tell tale sign that this person was a chazan and was serious about preparing for what is often referred to as the playoffs of Jewish prayer.  I inquired and indeed he was in charge of helping to create the Karlin-Stolin niggunim for the yamim noraim, Days of Awe and wanted to brush up on the words, tunes, and spiritual meaning.

For some, the high holy days suddenly happen upon us and thus enter unprepared because of a hectic work schedule or the heavy logistics of a family life.  For others, especially students, time can be found to reflect or learn a special book or work to get one 'ready' for the conceptual judgment on Rosh Hashanna.

I found this gentleman a fascinating inspiration for each of us to make new time to (re)examine the liturgy before it will be chanted and preformed in our shuls.  Don't just to wait until it happens upon us, but look into a verse that jumps out for significance or context considering this year and to research more about its language and meaning.  One approach that my brother uses every year is to chooses a verse, sentence or clause that captures a thematic approach for the season.  Dust off your mahzor, or buy a new one; just don't wait until you get to shul to open it for the first time, even if you aren't the chazan.

Starting Your Day

Today I was reading a Fast Company article titled How Successful People Do with the First Hour of Their Work Day and it made me appreciate again how davening is one of the most parts of my personal routine.

The author Kevin Purdy shares several observations but I think this to be the most relevant:

One smart, simple question on curated Q & A site Quora asked “How do the most successful people start their day?”. The most popular response came from a devotee of Tony Robbins, the self-help guru who pitched the power of mindful first-hour rituals long before we all had little computers next to our beds.  

Robbins suggests setting up an “Hour of Power,” “30 Minutes to Thrive,” or at least “Fifteen Minutes to Fulfillment.” Part of it involves light exercise, part of it involves motivational incantations, but the most accessible piece involves 10 minutes of thinking of everything you’re grateful for: in yourself, among your family and friends, in your career, and the like. After that, visualize “everything you want in your life as if you had it today.”

Isn't that what tefilla is all about? Recognizing what you have to be grateful for, reciting motivation incantations, and even wrapping oneself in a prayer shawl!

I have previously written about the struggles of getting out of bed in the morning to rise in prayer, but I think this article illustrates that this is a habit worth struggling for and it leads to a significant ROI for the practitioner.