Last year, I mentioned that most “why” questions come from a place of anger. But not all. So let me ask you:
Why are you here?
Are you here to listen to Kol Nidre? Does the music speak to some part of you that you can’t fully express in words? Are you here to make atonement with God in hopes you will be blessed for a good year? Are you here because you’d feel guilty or anxious about skipping Temple on Yom Kippur?
Whatever the reason that brings you here, I’m glad you’re here.
The Synagogue fills three particular functions for the Jewish people. It acts as a Bet Midrash, a house of learning; a Bet Knesset, a house of assembly; and lastly a Bet Tefillah, a house of prayer.
It is this last function that I wish to focus on tonight as we continue exploring the three-fold prescription for well-being given us by the U’netaneh Tokef piyyut.
A piyyut, you may recall, is a poem-prayer, a special composition written for the synagogue. The piyyut in question tells us that three actions determine our fate, regardless of what judgement we may recieve. These are “Teshuvah, Tefillah, and Tzedakah”, or “Repentance, Prayer and Charity.”
Tonight, let’s talk Tefillah.
There are different types of prayer. There are blessings, supplications and petitions. And whether we are expressing thanks for something or requesting something, in a Jewish context, it addresses or invokes a power greater than ourselves.
Prayer can be automatic, simple, and direct. In a moment when our basic ‘fight or flight’ response kicks in, amidst the rush of adrenaline, even the most skeptical will offer up a spontaneous ‘help me, Lord!’ As they say, there are no Atheists in foxholes.
Such spontaneous and personal prayer is always encouraged, even when the plane isn’t hitting unexpected turbulence. Our sages have consistently instructed us to pray on our own to God. Such individual prayer is good, but it cannot replace nor even compare to communal prayer. To pray alone as a Jew when there is the opportunity to pray as part of a community of Jews is not a good practice.
I’m sure you know people who say they’re proud to be Jewish, or they believe, but they don’t like synagogue. I can understand that. It’s not easy to make a rote liturgy exciting or entertaining. Many people like hearing Hebrew, or reading it, but very few of us really understand it; responsive readings bother rabbis so much that the new prayerbook of our movement has been designed so that they are no longer ‘automatic’.
All sorts of innovations are taking place trying to make prayer more accessible, more entertaining, more relevant to modern life.
Not so long ago, religious services were a major source of entertainment. Sermons were sometimes hours long. People sat for them because they didn’t have Grey’s Anatomy, or South Park, or Netflix. Or Television at all. Or radio. This was your must-see-tv, so to speak. If you’d like to say a spontaneous prayer of gratitude right now, I understand.
There are changes taking place and they are steps in the right direction, things that will take Jewish worship to the next level. Innovations like ‘friday night live’ and the kabbalat shabbat services at ‘bnai jeshurun’ in New York City. New types of congregational models. And you will see them here, in Spring.
Yet today I am not concerned with changing how we pray; I want to focus on where and with whom we pray and why.
To do that, I need to take you back. Back to the dawn of our people. Back to the flood plain of mesopotamia; to the edge of History, to the tents and fields of nomadic shepherds.
Our faith began as Ancestor worship, where we made offerings to our dead, and followed the tradition of worshipping whatever their ‘household god’ was. The ancient Hebrews were no different from most human cultures and in fact, we were among the first, if not the first to abandon this primitive religion. Echoes of it remain of course, in that we pray to “Our God, and God of our Fathers”….and invoke the patriarchs and matriarchs all the time.
Such ancestor worship consisted of offerings, sacrifices and the like, to feed and sustain the spirits of the dead and the pagan gods so that they would protect and nurture us from the great beyond.
The religion of the Torah, ancient Judaism, like that practiced in the Temple of Jerusalem consisted, as you know, of all sorts of sacrifices. Animals, or animal blood, meal offerings, bread, olive oil, spices, incense, fruits and grains, it was a parade of items offered up, often burned up, sent as smoke into the sky, or poured into the ground.
These things were done so that it would rain. So that the sun would come up. So that locusts wouldn’t come. So that we would have a good crop. So that the enemy armies wouldn’t attack us, or if they did, so we would win the battle. So that our children wouldn’t get sick, so that our wounds would heal.
This was a quid-pro-quo. We fed God. And God, in turn was merciful to us. And it may sound absurd, but is it any more absurd than us sitting here tonight reading words in a language that we don’t understand, and if we do understand we don’t really believe? Wouldn’t it make just as much sense to go outside, get a couple of goats, slaughter and burn one and chase another into the woods?
It might if that was the point of prayer. Both the ancient prophets and the classical rabbis understood that the Temple sacrifices were at best a holdover, a relic of earlier understandings of the world and something that comforted people. Much like the Kol Nidre, I might add.
When the Temple was destroyed, the synagogue became the primary place of Jewish worship. The rabbis also developed a model where our homes replace the Temple, but the synagogue and the Jewish home depend on each other. Neither can survive or accomplish it’s goal without the other.
The synagogue and public prayer, said in company with other Jews replaced the Temple. The synagogue service is filled with memories of and actual replacements for the Temple.
The Temple service, sacrifices, music and all was called “Avodah” which means “Work” or “Service”. Our worship is called “Avodah”. The psalms we read in our religious services were once sung by choirs of Levites as the Priests went about their work. The Reform movement dispensed with the ‘musaf’ service, but other denominations still have an extra repetition of the “Amidah” prayer, the “Avot, Gevurot” section that ends with “Yihiyu”. The repetition is called “musaf”…which means “additional”…because on Shabbat and holidays there was an “additional sacrifice” on top of the “everyday” sacrifice. On Friday night, you may notice I use two challahs to make hamotzi…guess what they represent. The double barbecue that took place in the Temple.
You see, it isn’t simply that we have replaced The Temple worship and animal sacrifice with Temple or Synagogue worship. It is literally that we have replaced Animal Sacrifices with these specific prayers. When we stand up, face Jerusalem and start “a na na ing” and read the “Tefillah” we are substituting that “Tefillah” for what would otherwise be a sacrifice.
So our ‘Tefillah’ this day and every day stands in for the sacrifices that took place in the Temple. And those sacrifices in a central Temple in Jerusalem replaced the many smaller shrines and high places where sacrifices took place before we had the Temple. And this is very, very important. Because whether or not we understand or would want to return to that kind of religion, the Temple united us. Part of what made the Temple so special is that it replaced many holy places with a single location for people to focus on, to rally around, to come together. When the Temple was destroyed, that was one of if not the greatest loss, our central, uniting place of worship.
The synagogue can not hope to replace the Temple, nor does it try. But the sum total of all the synagogues, where Jews are gathered this evening (time zones not withstanding) serve to join us in spirit if not in physical reality.
So too, does our prayer replace the purpose of the Animal sacrifices in the Temple.
On a normal weekday, our Tefillah consists of 19 prayers. These prayers address specific things and are designed so that even if you don’t know what you should be praying for, you have a guide.
The prayers we say as part of our normal Tefilah are brilliantly structured; as though we were granted an audience with God.
It begins and ends with praise and thanksgiving. On shabbat and holidays we replace the central 13 requests with a special prayer.
But to understand what we are doing here, we need to look at the normal, everyday tefilah. What those 13 prayers ask for. What our virtual sacrifice is requesting in return. You can’t possibly understand why synagogue is important if you’ve never heard the daily tefilah, and chances are, most of you have either never heard it or haven’t heard it in years. We actually don’t know what we’re missing. We’re going to fix that right now.
These are the 19 prayers that make up the “Tefillah”, that replace the Sacrifices in the Temple.
“Avot” God is our God and God of our Ancestors.
“Gevurot” God is mighty, beyond all mortal comparison.
“Kedusha” God is holy, unique, ultimate reality.
“Binah” Grant us understanding and wisdom
“Teshuvah” Now understanding, allow us to make Teshuvah
“Selichah” Having made Teshuvah, grant us pardon
“Geulah” Redeem the captive and oppressed
“Refuah” Heal the sick and help the suffering
“Birkat HaShanim” Grant us a good agricultural year
“Galuyot” Restore us to Israel, redeem the Nation of Israel
“Birkat HaDin” Establish Justice everywhere in the world
“Birkat HaMinim” Destroy the enemies of God and Torah
“Tzaddikim” Bless the righteous and sages of our people.
“Yerushalayim” May Jerusalem be rebuilt and bring back the Kingdom of David.
“Birkat David” Bring the messiah, the son of David. A sign of the redemption of the world.
“Tefillah” Accept our prayer
“Avodah” Bring back the Temple service, which ironically, would ostensibly make this entire prayer obsolete.
“Hoda’ah” Thanksgiving, thanking God for all the blessings we have.
“Sim Shalom” Asking for peace for the world.
Now let’s look at just the central 13 prayers.
First they speak to our individual needs; Each of us needs to understand for ourselves who we are, what Torah wants from us. We ask for wisdom. This leads to repentance, and we pray, for forgiveness.
Then it moves on to the needs of the community. We ask for the well being of other people, not just ourselves. We ask for liberty, for healing, for good crops; a good economy. Things that our entire country needs.
Then our prayers turn to universal redemption; Jews united from all over the world, universal Justice, the punishment of the wicked, the reward of the righteous and the coming of the messiah, or the messianic age; a world perfected.
So we ask for our basic needs; and then in order, for God to help us perfect ourselves, perfect our community and perfect our world.
Those are the central prayers of the Jewish people, prayers you and I no longer say three times a day. Or once a day. Or once a year. In and of itself, this is a tragic, tragic failure. But the real problem is that it means we don’t understand the true purpose of prayer, we don’t get what Tefillah is all about.
Because it’s not about you. It’s about them. And even if it is about you, and that’s fine, it’s still more so about them.
The Talmud teaches that (Ber.12b) whoever is able to pray for his friends and neighbors and does not is considered a sinner. The rabbis learned this from the Bible, where the prophet Samuel said “As for me, far be it from me to sin before God by ceasing to pray for you.”
The Talmud also teaches us (B.K. 92a) that whoever prays for somebody else while they are in need of the same thing, that person’s prayer is answered first.
You see, it is in our best interest to be concerned with the well being of other people. We cannot hope to survive unless we are surrounded by people that are themselves secure. And our prayer, even today, still stands for the old sacrifices where we hoped to bring rain and blessing and peace for everyone, not just ourselves.
The importance of prayer for community is echoed in the importance given to prayer In community.
A proper prayer or Torah service requires a quorum of ten qualified worshippers. This serves many purposes, but it helps to think of it as being respectful of God. And of course, the rabbis point out that only those who can be sincere in prayer should try to pray. That only those that believe in God and want to have a relationship with God will be moved to pray in the first place. But this is where I will take issue with the traditional understanding of why we need to pray in community, pray more often and revitalize synagogue worship.
There are many, many people who don’t enjoy synagogue, and I can understand why. I often encounter people that actually apologize to me for not attending; as though I take it as a personal insult. For the record, I don’t , though I take it as a personal failure if I can’t motivate the creation and support of innovative or at least engaging worship.
These people say “I just don’t get anything out of it.”
To those people, I say, “So what? It’s not about you. Who says you’re supposed to get anything out of it.”
That usually gets their attention. So I go on.
You don’t need anything from God. Or you don’t feel you need to publicly express your gratitude for whatever blessings you have. Okay. But maybe your friend does. Or maybe a complete stranger just buried their spouse, or lost their job, or found out they have cancer. Or they just got promoted, or found out they’re having a baby, or they just moved here to start a new life. And they need someplace to go. They need to feel connected to their ancestors and their people and their religious tradition and God or their long-dead grandfather. Whatever it is, they turn to the place that Jews have turned to for thousands of years, the synagogue. And when they come, they will find an empty, cold building. A tomb. No human voices to say “Amen” to their prayers for the dead, to their plea for help from somewhere, anywhere. Nobody to celebrate with, to share their long awaited joy because you and I “don’t get anything out of it.”
So here we are. We know now that our prayer is a replacement for what used to be the Jewish religion. That our prayer is what makes the sun come up and the rains fall, if you want to think about it that way.
Tefillah, as it was meant to be practiced was a way and is a way of strengthening ourselves. As individuals, by focusing on our spiritual nature so we can better master our baser instincts and animal urges. As individuals seeking relationship with God and seeking to better act as God’s agent, which I will discuss tomorrow. And as individuals in community, people focused not only on our own needs but that of others. It makes us better people to care about other people.
Lastly, I want us to consider the way we live our lives. Our religious services, religious school and passover seder are the only real way most of us express our Judaism. And whether or not that is a good thing is irrelevant because it is the fact. So those three things become even more important in terms of fostering a Jewish identity and Jewish worldview that is either worth passing down or capable of being passed down. So for us in particular, Tefillah, as we practice it, is even more important. The sun will, in fact, come up and the rain may or may not fall regardless of whether or not we pray these prayers. Good and bad things will happen, whether or not we pray. God may or may not listen or answer. God does not need or demand our prayers, our sacrifices like our ancestors believed. But we do. We as the Jews do.
This is it. This is what it means to be Jewish. This is your Judaism. So own it. Be part of it. Commit to it. Because the world, at least the Jewish world you and I and our children live in, here in Spring, Texas, depends on it. Tefillah connects you to your fellow Jews here and around the world. It connects you to your heritage. It gives you and I a chance to interact, so that you might find yourself actually asking questions of your rabbi for the sake of furthering your own understanding of your heritage. It creates stronger friendships and a stronger congregation. It increases our ability to respond as a congregation to needs in the larger community. It keeps that light burning, and not as some archaic symbol of an ancient, oriental faith.
The Jewish people have and continue to hold values, truths and insights that are of inestimable value to us and to everyone. Our mission is to live those out and share them, to do the work of Tzedakah which I will talk about tomorrow. But the only way to get there–to that world we envision, is through here. Through Tefillah, communal prayer and all it represents and reinforces to us. We can’t get to Tzedakah without Tefillah–especially now, in our generation. Especially here. That is the lesson of Tefillah, and that is why we are here.
