Ilu Haya Li- My pilgrimage to see Rav Dov Zinger

אילו היה לי רבי כמו שלכם הייתי הולך אליו ברגל,

ובחזרה הייתי רץ לעבוד אותו יתברך עם מה שקבלתי מרבי

If I had a Rebbe like yours, I would travel to him on foot,

And on my way back, I would run, in order to serve The Blessed one, with what I received from my Rebbe

Rav Avraham of Tolchin

I’ve tried to write this several times over the past few weeks. I’ve written, deleted, written again, edited, and edited some more. This is unusual for me. Usually, I know what I want to say, and can find the words to do so. My struggles to express what I want to, speaks to how deeply meaningful this experience was for me. I almost wonder if my challenge in finding the right words should be taken as an indication that I shouldn’t write about it. Some things cannot be shared. Still, I try, with the hope that what I write may be of use to even one person.

There are many stories told him about a chassid leaving home for  an extended period of time to visit his rebbe in a far off location. These stories often end with the chassid returning home having learned something of great importance. What is often implicit in these stories is the fact that getting to the rebbe involves all sorts of challenges including financial loss and time away from the family and work, but that what he gains is worth far more than anything he loses.

I don’t know how common it is these days for chassidim to make a pilgrimage to their rebbe, but many people are familiar with the fact that each year, many Breslov chassidim, chassidim of various stripes, and non-chassidim travel to Rebbe Nachman’s kever in Uman for part or all of the Yamim Noraim. Among the criticisms levied at those who go (and for good and bad, there are many) is that they leave their wives and children home to spend the Rosh Hashana and/or Yom Kippur by themselves. If I’m to be honest, as much as I would like to go to Uman, this is the only reason which would prevent me from going for the Yamim Noraim. Still, I’d like to share as much as I can find the words to do so, about a recent pilgrimage of sorts that I made, as it leaves me believing that certain tradeoffs may be worthwhile.

Less than a year ago, I merited to meet and develop a connection with Rav Dov Zinger, the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Mekor Chaim, and author of Tikon Tefilati, an incredible sefer on tefillah. In the brief time that we had together it was clear that I had not just met a teacher, or even just a rabbi. I had found a mentor, or to put it better, a rebbe. As you can imagine, I was very happy to spend more time with him in Israel this past summer, and thrilled that my son who joined me, was taken by him, and by his yeshiva as well. I left Israel wondering when I’d get to see Rav Dov again. I was deeply excited when I was invited by a friend to come to Cleveland for a weekend where Rav Dov would be speaking and teaching.

I won’t pretend that there were major obstacles standing in my way. My wife was fine with my being away for a few days, and I received permission to miss work, as I would be learning things which I could use in and out of the classroom. Still, after agreeing to go, I discovered that from a family perspective, that weekend was not an ideal one for me to be away. I even considered cancelling.

As I drove west on route 80, I imagined myself as the proverbial chassid leaving his little village to see his rebbe. The dark grey sky and stunning fall foliage further lifted my spirits, something that even a massive storm which accompanied me from one end of Pennsylvania to the other, could not ruin. As I drove, I listened to Yosef Karduner soulful singing on my phone (click here for his amazing rendition of the quote at the top of this post). I couldn’t help but feel that this was all part of the pilgrimage. As excited as I was, I was alsonervous. Was I getting my hopes up to high? Could this weekend be all that I hoped it would be?

What can I say? It was better than I could have possibly hoped. Not surprisingly, the Torah was great. Each shiur and schmooze touched me deeply. I took copious mental notes making sure that I could share his ideas with others. Still, none of that was a surprise. I’d heard enough of Rav Dov’s Torah to know what to expect.

What made this experience so deeply meaningful was everything else. The conversations, the hugs, the jokes, the non-verbal communication, the lesson in hisbodedus put into practice late on a freezing night, and a wonderful walk in the woods, and, and, and.

I can’t find the right words to describe it, and I’m not sure I should try. I can only say that I imagine that many rabbeim have concentric circles around them, with some chassidim all the way on the outside, while others get the opportunity to discover a closer more intimate side of their rebbe. I don’t think I can point to a specific moment, but at some point during our time together I realized that it wasn’t just that I viewed Rav Dov as a rebbe, but that he had allowed me access into a deeper more personal side of himself.

Of course, at the end, in two stages, in Cleveland and New York, I had to say goodbye again, for an undetermined amount of time. It was hard, and I was sad, but it had to happen. Not just in terms of Rav Dov having to go home, but in terms of the ratzo v’ashov, which doesn’t just describe the back and forth relationship we have with God. There is an intensity I experience being in Rav Dov’s presence. In those moments, I don’t quite feel like myself, as fear, excitement, happiness, and trepidation combine to take me away from myself. I don’t think I could handle like living like that all of the time, trying to daven in his presence while trying to watch and not watch his davening, as I hopelessly try to have kavana, or sitting at a meal hoping that my comments are worth sharing, and my jokes appropriate, funny, but not crossing a line.

Most of all, there’s a sense that when I’m with him, I’m not walking on my own, but rather being held up like a child learning to take his first steps. It is only by letting go, by letting there be some distance, that I get to be who I am, taking the so many things I learned from him, not all of it Torah in its most narrow sense, but all of it holy; and trying to implement it in my life.

While I don’t pretend that my travels were particularly long or difficult, or my time away a major sacrifice, I can still say that I strongly believe that whatever was lost in my being away from home, is more than made up by what I returned with as I came back home. I dare say that my time away has the chance to make me a better husband, father, teacher, and Jew.

Book It- My decision to write a book

Back when I was a runner, I learned that the best way to make sure that something I wanted to achieve was going to happen was to make my commitment public. That is the reason why, despite my fear of doing this, that I’m sharing my decision to write a book.

I very much enjoy writing and I’ve been very gratified by the fact that a number of people have told me that they think I am a good writer. A few have even suggested that I write a book. I have to admit that I’ve thought about it before, but never acted on it for several reasons. I don’t want to write a book just for the sake of writing one. In fact, I try not to write unless I have something I want to say. It’s why there can be long stretches of time when I don’t blog. The one time I thought I was ready to write, a running injury put an end to what I hoped might be a good story. Additionally, I have no interest in writing something that people will not want to read. I do not want a few people to purchase a book out of pity or due to the loyalty of friendship. Finally, and that has only changed somewhat recently, I’ve been scared. What if I try and fail? What if nobody reads it? What if people don’t like it? Fear alone has been enough to keep me from trying.

Things changed while I was in Israel. While taking part in a seminar run by the Herzl Institute, I not only learned incredible things and met some wonderful people, but some new ideas coalesced with some old ones, and got me thinking. Although I’m not yet ready to share a lot of what I experienced, the seminar was, on many levels, transformative. As I was saying goodbye to someone, he said to me “You have a sefer in you”. I’m pretty sure that he did not mean that I had swallowed one, although he’d have been forgiven for thinking I swallowed a chassan’s shas. I was very flattered, and a little freaked out. Sefarim are not written by people like me. They are written by tamidei chahcamim, in Hebrew, and contain, or at least ought to contain, chiddushim. I thanked him, and shared his comment with nobody.

Last week, I met a Facebook friend in person for the first time, at the Yemei Iyun in Alon Shevut. Among other things, he told me that he likes the way I write. That was enough for me to share what I had been told the week before, and with a little prodding from my new friend, I began to consider the possibility that I might write a book. Getting past my fear, although without leaving it behind for good, I decided right then and there that I will indeed try to write a book. My intent is not to write a sefer. I still don’t think of myself as someone who is ready to write one. Maybe I will change my mind one day, but for now, I intend to write a book.

So what will I write about? My goal is try to write a book about tefillah. It will not be about hilchos tefillah, or even about the philosophy or theology behind tefillah, although those things will certainly inform what I write. My goal is to write a book that will be more about touching the heart, and less about intellectual ideas. I hope to write a book that deals with this essential activity in the real ways that we experience tefillah, and addresses the aspects of davening that make it so challenging. It will not be the book of an expert, but instead contain the thoughts and struggles of a fellow traveller. If it succeeds it will do so by making tefillah more real, by containing thoughts of how to make the act of pouring one’s heart out to God more honest and raw. I don’t know if I have that in me, but I am ready to find out.

I am giving myself up to two years to get it done. I’m hoping that my experience in learning Perek Tefillat HaShachar with my students this year will give me much to think about. I have a lot to read and think about before the real writing takes place. Still, I’m on the clock. I’m putting my goal out there. I’m ready to try and make it happen.

Letting God In- Getting Real with Our Avodas HaShem

[This is a followup to my last post where I suggested that, too often, God is absent from our lives.]

It is one thing to write a manifesto suggesting that there is a problem in (our) Orthodox world. It is entirely another to suggest a solution, particularly when I myself struggle with the very same problem. Diagnosticians are a dime a dozen, while those who can cure what ails us are much more rare. I am not foolish enough to think that I know the way, or even ways, to make God more of a reality in our lives. Still, I write what follows to get the conversation started, with the hope that those who have more to offer will join the conversation, and make suggestions. What follows, in no particular order, are some things which I have found useful, or which I hope to use, in trying to develop a more real, and deeper relationship with God. There is nothing complex or creative that I am going to say, but sometimes simplicity is a better route.

Baruch A’TA Hashem

Shmuel Bergman said “We pray out of belief, but we believe out of prayer”. Tefilla is an opportunity for us to deepen our belief. Through it we realize how God cares about us, and our dependence on God. We also gain something else. We go from talking about God, as we do in the Shema, or when we study theology, to speaking to God, speaking as we would do to a spouse, friend, or anyone we love. Each time there is a place in tefillah where we address God directly, as we do, for example, in the first part of most berachos, it is a chance to speak directly to God. The more we speak to God in the second person, the more He goes from being a thing, or an idea, to being someone to whom we relate.

Hisbodedus/speaking in your own words

This photo, which I shared in my last post, is one of favorites. Although I’ve rarely had the guts to stand in the woods and try to speak out loud to God, I’ve long felt that nature offers a unique opportunity to feel God’s presence. What I do more often is to speak, using my own words and in English, directly to God. While it often involves asking for things, there are many times where I simply share my thoughts and feelings, especially gratitude, fears, and desire to truly experience God’s presence. Speaking in my native tongue with my own words allows me to connect with God in a direct, raw, and unique way that is different from what I experience during tefillah.

Talmud Torah

It often seems that for men in our community, only gemara and halacha are considered serious talmud Torah. It is rare to see a chavrusa where Ibn Pakuda’s Chovos HaLevavos, Ramchal’s Derech HaShem, the Piaseczna’s Bnei Machashava Tova, or the Alter of Navardok’s Madreigas Ha’Adam is learned. To the degree that they are studied, it is generally done informally. Take the time to study the siddur, and treat it as seriously as any other text composed by the chachamim. The Avudraham is an excellent sefer to study to more deeply understand the goal of each part of tefillah.

Role Models

Look for role models who live with God in a serious way. It doesn’t have to be a gadol, teacher, or famous person. Find somebody who is real. If you don’t know anybody who fits that category, learn the Torah written by such a person, and/or learn about their life, whether or not they are still living. For me, by way of example, although I never merited to meet him, anything I have read by or about Rav Yehuda Amital zt”l deeply affects me, and causes me to want to grow more real in my Avodas HaShem. His life serves as a high target that I will never reach, but also as one that causes me to strive for more than I otherwise might do.

Pause and slow down

This can be challenging for me, but I try and pause before saying a beracha, and think about what I’m about to say. I also try to literally pause, standing still, and even closing my eyes when saying the beracha. When I do this, it goes from being quickly mumbled words, to speaking to God.

Peirush HaMilim

Know what you are saying. If your Hebrew is not strong enough, use a Hebrew-English siddur. You can’t meaningfully speak to someone if you don’t know what you are saying.

Relationship, not rulebook

Try not to think in terms of “Am I chayav?” Or Is this assur?”, although for sure, one needs to know these things to properly follow halacha. In our relationships with people, we focus on being loyal, or loving, not on being yotzei an obligation. I try to think of my relationship with God in the same way. Our chachamim compare Bnei Yisrael’s relationship with God to that of a husband and wife. We gain a lot if we think in those terms, as opposed to legalistic ones.

Don’t work alone

Work with others to create this reality. If possible, daven at a shul or minyan where the davening is conducive to serious Avodas HaShem. For me, a slower pace, beautiful singing on Shabbos, and God-centric derashos and shiurim matter. If you don’t have options, try and sit in a part of the shul where people don’t converse during davening.

If possible, and this is one of the places where I have not yet succeeded, start a chaburah, mussar-vaad or the like. Join with other people to work on avodas HaShem by focusing on a particular sefer. For some it will be a mussar sefer, while for other it will be a sefer from the Rishonim, or chassidus. Which brings me to…

Listen to your neshama

Find the approach that works for you. Some approaches to Avodas HaShem, and language used to discuss it (including mine) might seem too light or fluffy for you. Find the one that works for you. There is no one-size-fits-all approach in Avodas HaShem. When you experience the approach that is right for you, you’ll know it. Don’t let anyone dictate to you how it “should” be done. Thank God, there are many legitimate approaches from which to choose.

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As I mentioned in the introduction to this post, I claim no expertise in this area. I am a searcher, and some of what I described might speak to you. If you have other suggestions, or think some of my ideas are mistaken, please share your thoughts.

"It is one thing to write a manifesto suggesting that there is a problem in (our) Orthodox world. It is entirely another...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Wherever We Let Him In- Bringing God back to Orthodoxy

מכריז רבי ינאי חבל על דלית ליה דרתא ותרעא לדרתא עביד

RRav Yanai proclaimed “Woah to the one who lacks a courtyard, but builds a gate for the courtyard”. (This refers to one who learns Torah but lacks Yir’at Shamayim)

Orthodox Judaism is drowning. We are drowning in Torah, mitzvohs, and halacha. Drowning in mutar and assur and chayav and patur. Drowning in gemara, Shulchan Aruch, and the Ketzos. Orthodox Judaism is drowning in shtreimlech, black hats, kippot srugot, and sheitels. In 30 minute shachris, daf yomi, and dress codes. We have so many mitzvot, so many ways to be an Orthodox Jew, and more Torah learning than at any time in our history, but we don’t have God. We do mitzvos without thinking of the M’tzaveh, and learn Torah with nary a thought of the Nosein HaTorah.

My community, to give just one example, is a model of talmud Torah, and tefillah. There are multiple daf yomi and shavua yomi shiurim. So many men and women learn Torah on a daily basis, and multiple batei midrash are full each night. We have numerous shuls with shachris, mincha, and maariv available during every permitted time to say those tefillos. Still, I have never heard of a local shiur in how to daven, or in how to relate to HaShem. In this we are far from unique. How many communities have shiurim in Derech HaShem, chaburahs in Bnei Machashava Tovah, or Shabbos derashos which talk about our relation with HaShem?

Have we, and at least equally important, our children, dwelled on the Rambam’s description of Ahavas HaShem, deeply studied Chovos HaLevavos, or given thought to the fact that all of the sheish mitzvos temidiyos, the six mitzvos in which we are obligated at all times, deal with how we relate to God?

We speed through pesukei d’zimrah, without allowing the words of the Psalmist to help prepare us to stand before our creator. When we sing Lecha Dodi, do we mean it, or feel sadness at the end of Shabbos when we lose our Neshama yeseirah?

I saw a poster last night about a new shiur in Hilchos Tefillah. Quoting the Chafetz Chaim, and Rav Chaim Kanievsky, it asked “How can we daven, if we don’t know how to daven?”. However, the question, in relating it to halacha, is mistaken. Halacha teaches what to do during davening, not how to daven. Indeed, how can we daven if we don’t know how to daven? When we encourage our children or students to daven with kavanah, what do they think we mean? Even if they understand, have they ever truly learned how to daven?

While it is true, at least according to Rav Chaim Volozhin, that, when we are learning Torah, we should concentrate on the content of what we are learning, and not think about HaShem, do we do so beforehand or after we are finished? Do we learn Torah facts, or, as the gemara says in Maseches Shabbos, learn about, as it were, the soul of God?

It is said that the Kotzker Rebbe once asked his chassidim where God can be found. “Everywhere” they answered excitedly. “No” he replied. “He can be found wherever we let him in.

Are we truly letting him in?

To read my suggestions for how to work on Avodas HaShem click here

"Orthodox Judaism is drowning. We are drowning in Torah, mitzvos, and halacha. Drowning in mutar and assur and chayav...
Posted by Pesach Sommer on Tuesday, February 23, 2016

Some Thoughts on Tachanun, Tehillim, and Tefillah

I have to admit that until recently, I was one of those people who was happy when I got to skip Tachanun. Whether it was a newly married man in shul, an Erev Rosh Chodesh, or even, in a shtiebel, when it was the Yahrtzeit of some chassidic rebbe, I was far from disappointed when I got to avoid saying Tachanun. Recently that has changed (well at least partially, as the “Long Tachanun” is still a work in progress).

As I have been dealing with some challenges in my life, the beginning of Tachanun which is basically the 6th perek of Tehillim, has been one of the most important parts of davening for me. As I read the words of the Psalmist, as he cries out to God to answer his prayers, I feel a sense of relief as I find words that express so strongly what I am feeling, and struggling to express. During the past two weeks, my connection to these words has become even stronger.

Several weeks ago, I began studying Rav Elchanan Samet’s Iyunim B’Mizmorei Tehillim (which is based on his shiurim on the VBM, which have been translated into English). Rav Samet, who teaches at Yeshivat Har Etzion, explores a number of perakim from Sefer Tehillim, and analyzes them, not only with the eye of a rabbi reading a holy text, but also as a scholar with a deep and profound understanding of literature and poetry. His chapter explaining the 6th perek of Tehillim gave me a much deeper understanding and appreciation of the psalm, as, for the first time, I understood the structure of the perek, and the message that each section contained. Now, as I say these words twice each day, I feel an even greater connection with the message.

All of this has me thinking not only about tefillah in general, but specifically about Tehillim. I have never understood why Tehillim is recited, almost like a magical incantation, when someone is sick. Additionally, never having formally studied Sefer Tehillim, I never connected with its ideas and messages. As I think about this, I feel frustrated how the study of what is not only a sefer from Tanach, but also a work whose words make up so many parts of the siddur, is not taught in most schools. How can we hope to have any kavanah as we pray, if we don’t understand what we are saying? When I say understand, I don’t only mean the meaning of the words. Tehillim is poetry rather than prose. What meaning can it have for us without, at least, a basic understanding of poetry?

 

I know that I have a lot of work ahead of me. So far, I have not worked on any other section of Tehillim that is part of tefillah. Still, I am excited for what lays ahead. If I have come to identify so strongly with a part of davening which I always hoped to avoid, I am hopeful that more effort will lead to an appreciation of other sections as well. If what I have written speaks to you, I would encourage you to join me in studying Sefer Tehillim, Rabbi Samet’s sefer, and other parts of tefillah.

 

"I have to admit that until recently, I was one of those people who was happy when I got to skip Tachanun. Whether it...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Why Was There Only One Mikdash?- Unity and individuality in serving HaShem (audio shiur)

In this week’s shiur we examine the prohibition of offering sacrifices outside of the Beit Hamikdash, and the centralization of worship in the Mikdash. What was gained by having one place of worship, and what was lost? Perhaps most importantly, how do we make up for what was lost?

Hineni- On tefillah as an offering

I was wrong.

In my attempt to get comfortable with the challenges of davening, I wrote something talking about viewing God as a friend or beloved, when one prays. Although a number of people, liked what I wrote, my friend Daniel Schwartz, who, not so coincidentally, is a chazzan, was having none of it. He suggested that my idea was counter to the idea of tefillah, where we beseech our Creator. Although I and some friends pushed back, both conceptually and textually, I now believe that Daniel was correct. If we are to daven, we have to be honest about what we are doing.

I recently finished Moshe Halbertal’s book “On Sacrifice”. In the first half of the book, Halbertal brilliantly explains the Jewish concept of korbanot, as well as the substitutes which arose after the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash. Central to his approach is the idea of korbanos as offerings. Unlike relationships with equals where one has no reason to wonder whether their gift will be accepted, and, potentially, reciprocated, when it comes to our hierarchical relationship with God, we can have no such expectation. Halbertal uses the story of Kayin and Hevel to demonstrate that, on some basic level, we have no idea why our petitions to God may not be accepted. Inherent in our turning to God, is the recognition that, not only might our prayers not be effective, but that we have no way of knowing why.

So now what? For me at least, the challenge is to live within this discomfort, rather than ignoring it, or, worse, pushing it off with trite explanations. What mitigates it slightly for me, is something I saw from Rav Tzadok. After discussing Rambam’s famous explanation for why we have korbanos, he suggests that the challenge is to move away from the pagan idea of placating, or bribing the gods. Whether through sacrifice, or through prayer, we give God nothing. Rav Tzadok explains that the value of our tefillos is not what we give, nor is it what we get. It is what we put into it. In sincerely reaching out to God, we have the benefit of connecting to God. Amidah Linei HaMakom is its own reward.

Lulei Toratecha- Torah-learning as a type of prayer

לוּלֵי תוֹרָתְךָ שַׁעֲשֻׁעָי אָז אָבַדְתִּי בְעָנְיִי

Were it not for Your Torah my delight, I would be lost in my pain.

(Loose translation of Tehillim 119:92)

I’m struggling with tefillah and not for the first time. The words seem stale and I mostly mumble them thoughtlessly. I wonder about the efficacy of my prayers, and about their purpose. At the same time, I’m probably more engaged in my Torah-learning than I’ve ever been. It has not only given me a creative outlet and a connection to God at a challenging time in my life. In some ways, it has become a form of prayer.

This past Shabbos, my friend Rabbi Neil Fleischmann shared an understanding of the above-mentioned pasuk from Tehillim. He pointed out that Torah does not always offer comfort at times of difficulty. It only does so when it is “my delight”. This idea really resonated with me. Not all Torah-learning is the same. As with tefillah, there are times when it can feel uninspiring. If I am engaging in Torah to a greater degree than in the past, it is because I have found areas that interest me, showing the wisdom of the chachamim who said that one only truly learns that which they are interested in learning. As I struggle to find the meaning of a midrash, or make sense of a challenging concept, I am where I want to be, and I think that shows in the Torah that I am sharing.

There’s a second step however and here’s where my Torah-learning feels like a type of prayer. The Psalmist refers to it as “Your Torah”, seemingly emphasizing the point that the joy and comfort that can be found in Torah is discovered when the Torah is seen as God’s Torah. As I learn God’s Torah, and attempt to make it mine, I feel as if I transform what I am learning through my understanding, and return it to God as a prayer. It is at that moment when I feel as if I am most directly connecting with my Creator and expressing my trust and belief in Him.

Amidah Lifnei HaMakom- how I ditched the daf, rediscovered tefillah, and remembered what relationships are really about

When I was in my twenties, I came up with the goal of “finishing” Shas by the time I was 40. Although I had a long way to go, I had finally reached the point where I could make a leining on my own, and I had discovered the joys of bekiyus. I am nearly 43 years old and I failed to reach my goal. Sure I made progress, completing a number of masechtos of gemara, with chavrusas and through Daf Yomi, but I reached my 40^th birthday having gone through less than half of Shas.

Although it was too late to reach my arbitrary goal, I started doing Daf Yomi again, nearly two years ago. Despite the philosophical struggles with which I was dealing at the time, or maybe because of them, I kept up with the schedule on a nearly perfect basis, falling behind less than a handful of times. I enjoyed the learning, picked up a lot of ideas and insights, and started to imagine that I could attend the next Siyum HaShas, as a misayem, and not just a spectator, as I had been at the last one. Then, during my recent trip to Israel, I stopped doing the daf. Not a temporary break, and maybe not forever, but certainly for the foreseeable future. Although I was sorry to stop, I knew it had to be done.

For a long time, I've struggled with davening. Although part of the struggle was due to my difficulty keeping my mind from wandering, I sensed however, that that was a result of my lack of connecting with tefillah, rather than the reason for my struggles. I couldn't make sense of what tefillah was supposed to be about. It seemed silly and superficial to believe that davening was a way to “get stuff” from God, but I had a hard time getting past that. Besides, if that was the goal, I was either really bad at achieving it, or God just really didn't like me. I came across those who suggested other ideas, most commonly, that fefillah was a form of self-judgement. Although that made some sense to me, it just didn't click with me. Davening became a greater and greater burden in my life. I started learning during davening, not out of piety, but as an attempt to pass the time without thinking about my inability to connect to prayer. Nearly every morning, I completed the Daf during Shacharis. It wasn't that I thought this would help me daven better. Essentially, I was giving up. Then, with the help of some friends and some self-reflection, I realized I was approaching things the wrong way.

What is the goal of spending time with your spouse? What does your friend give you that makes it worthwhile to spend time with them? Intuitively, we recognize the shallow absurdity of these questions. Still, in my mind, I had been asking the same sort of question about God. What do I get for davening? What's in it for me?

The main part of each tefillah, the part we call the Shemoneh Esrei, is more properly called the Amidah, or even better yet, Amidah Lifnei HaMakom, standing before God (interestingly called The Place). Many of the ritual parts of the Amidah are to help us feel that it is just the two of us, me and God, me in God's presence, God, as a presence in my life. Included in this, is how we stand, our posture, bowing and so much more. The goal is to just be there in a Shir HaShirim-lovers sort of way. Not out of compunction, habit or law, but out of love. Sometimes of course that's difficult if not impossible. Sometimes we feel so angry, frustrated or sad, that we hardly want to talk. Surely we've experienced the same feelings in the midst of our most important relationships. We are still asked not to, and are hopefully unable to, negate the one we love, our spouse, and friend. Tefillah at that moment takes on a different tone, but still, we stand together, and communicate, however imperfectly.

I miss the constancy and companionship of doing the daf and I don't know whether I will ever finish Shas, but I do know that I have no desire to so at the expense of my davening. While learning Torah connects my intellect to God, it is through davening that I most closely feel His presence.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

An Immodest Proposal- How schools can help students find meaning in tefillah

I recently wrote about the misconception that schools are responsible for teaching students how to daven. I suggested that the real onus falls upon the parents. This does not mean that schools do not play a role in helping to produce Jews who take davening seriously. It just means that schools have a different role. While the parents role is largely mimetic, the schools role is, or at least should be, educational. The problem is that overwhelmingly, tefillah is treated simply as tefillah, with schools copying that which is done in shuls, rather than treating it as an educational endeavor. I do not mean to suggest that nothing educational goes on during tefilla at most schools. Rather I am suggesting that the whole endeavor is not addressed educationally. What follows is an 'immodest proposal' for an educational approach to tefilla.

The challenges

For the average English speaking student, tefillah has many challenges. They include the language, fluency, the poetic style of some of the tefillot, the length of tefillah, a lack of quiet/God centered space, as well as a lack of understanding of what tefillah is about (which is somewhat connected to the challenge of the words being repetitive).

Any educational attempt to help students engage in prayer needs to address these challenges. I will address each one after an introduction of my proposal.

Proposal

Tefillah needs to be something that is worked on throughout the years of schooling (in this essay, I address Modern Orthodox high schools, although certainly, some of what I write could possibly be adjusted for younger students, or students in other educational settings). It also needs to be dealt with outside of the time of actual tefillah. That way, tefillah is a time when the lessons learned, can be tried and practiced. Additionally, it will not only be addressed in one particular class, but across the curriculum as well.

Addressing the challenges

Language

If I were to give you a beautiful prayer in Chinese, with the words written phonetically in English, you would be unable to pray with much kavanah. You might be able to think of yourself as standing before God (omeid lifeni HaMakom, which is no small thing), but you would certainly be unable to do anything beyond that. For many of our students, that is what davening feels like. They can read the words, but have no idea what they are saying.

The solution is not to merely teach them the meaning of the words. The ideas behind the words, including the pesukim from which they come, and the ideas that Chazal put into them, have to be taught as well. Teachers might make use of the Avudraham or a gemara from Megillah or Brachos.

Let's not fool ourselves. Our students will not learn every word and idea, but by teaching them some of these things, we begin to make it possible to engage in serious tefillah.

Fluency

For any of us who have heard a chazzan struggle with the words, it is clear that fluency in pronouncing the words needs to be addressed. A simple bu effective way to do so would be to take the Sephardic approach of saying the whole tefillah (except the amidah) out loud. 

Poetic style

Hebrew poetry is already part of the curriculum in many Modern Orthodox schools, as is Tanach. In at least one of those classes, preferably the latter, the pirkei Tehillim which make up davening should be taught, with an emphasis on understanding the ideas and poetry contained therein. While these perakim will be treated as Tanach, in these classes they will also be dealt with from a literary standpoint.

Length of tefilla

The gemara says “Better less said with kavanah, than more said without kavanah” (Rav Hutner humorously changed it to “Better less said without kavanah, than more said without kavanah”). It only makes sense to say all of shacharis, if we are trying to mimic a shul. If, however, tefillah is meant to be educational, than just as we adjust the curriculum for those who struggle, we can do so with tefillah, concentrating on removing the less essential parts of pesukei d'zimra and parts of v'hu rachum. We would of course, make it clear to our students the idea behind this change.

Additionally, we should make clear to the students that the current goal is not kavanah throughout the whole shemoneh esrei. If that is the goal, they will fail each time (as will I). At first the goal should be to have kavanah for one bracha (an idea which comes from this thoughtful essay which includes some ideas of how to work on kavanah from a practical standpoint ). Alternatively, students could focus on one phrase that is meaningful for them, making it their own.

Lack of quiet/God centered space

We are all surrounded by constant background noise and activity. Entering the God focused, or meditative space which helps set the tone is a challenge.

A few moments of silence before tefillah (preferably at least several minutes), breathing exercises, or asking everyone to think of something or someone that they are grateful for, are some possible ways to deal with this issue.

What is tefillah?

In many (most?) Modern Orthodox high schools, Jewish philosophy is not taught. For many reasons, this needs to change. Among the things which our students must know, are the various approaches to why we pray and how it works. As with all areas of Jewish philosophy, various approaches should be taught so that our students have the best chance to find an approach which for them.

Teachers might make use of aggados from the gemara (perhaps with an explanation from Rav Kook's Ain Ayah), Rishomnim such as the Rambam (primarily the Moreh), Rabbeinu Bachya's Chovos Halevavos, Rav Albo's Sefer HaIkarim, and Achronim such as the Mabit, Rav SR Hirsch and chassidic literature, as well as Rav Soloveitchik and Heschel.

Other areas of learning

Tefillah needs to become more than a cerebral exercise (at best). Modern Orthodox educators are often moved by ideas, and teach in a cerebral way. Not all students will respond to this approach. Art, music, dance and creative writing are some of the ways where tefillah can be more experiential.

Practically this might include putting a tefillah to music, painting a scene based on a Mizmor Tehillim, or writing an essay on the struggles of tefillah or writing their own tefillah, an idea which Rav Nachman (the Chassidic Rebbe, not the Amora) suggested.

Possible objections to this proposal

Isn't this a lot of time to spend on tefillah?

In most schools, a minimum of one and a half hours are spent each day on gemara (I have suggested elsewhere that this is not ideal). If our students never pick up a gemara after high school (and lets be honest, some, at least, won't) they can still be serious members of the Jewish community. If our students spend the rest of their lives praying as they currently do, that would be tragic. If triage is needed, it should be clear which one should get more of our attention.

How does this address the most difficult students and those who are struggling with emunah issues?

As educators, we have all dealt with students who refuse to daven. Some of them go beyond this and disrupt tefillah. A few might even enjoy getting their teachers upset.

I know this is radical, but shacharis in school should be optional. Yes, optional. We will not tell the students that davening is not required. We will simply give them a choice between davening at school or at home. While some, no doubt, will not daven at home, that is no different than what they are doing at school. We will also make it clear that schacharis at school is only for those who wish to try and work on what they are learning in class. Those who are repeatedly disruptive will be asked to daven at home.

With all of this, isn't it difficult to daven with kavanah?

I can't speak for you, but I can speak for myself. For me davening with kavanah is a big challenge, even though I do not have most of the challenges I have addressed above. We must make it clear to our students that davening will take a lifetime to master and that we, at times, struggle to make it meaningful. By doing so, we give them permission to struggle and permission to be imperfect. In many ways, this is an important lesson, and one which needs to be emphasized in discussing Avodas HaShem.

Practically, a teacher might get up to tell how they deal with the difficulties of davening with kavanah, a student might tell a story, or discuss a strategy that works for them. Inspiring speakers could be brought in from time to time to connect the dots on some of these issues.

Although my proposal involves many components, I am not suggesting an all or nothing approach. Even if time does not allow for all of them, or you consider some of my ideas to be mistaken or misguided, please consider making use of the rest.

Comments, critiques and suggestions can be made below or by email, which can be sent to rabbipesach@gmail.com.