Psalm 20: What do you need to hear today?

 Day 20, Psalm 20

Another prayer is found today. “O ETERNAL One, grant victory to the king; may [God] answer us when we call.”  In my life, there are many moments when the content of my prayer is far less important than the desire for connection itself.  I pray not only the worlds, but to be reminded that I am not alone in this world.  Opening my heart, I find possibility.

What do you need to hear today?

Psalm 19: Opening our Hearts and praying to pray

 Day 19, Psalm 19

This psalm ends with one of my favorite prayers: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to You, O Eternal One, My rock and my redeemer.”  It is a prayer for the ability to pray.  It seems counter-intuitive, but sometimes we need a little extra help.  Our minds and tongues are not always focused, our hearts can be confused.  Using our perfect Torah, the teachings of our Creator, living the laws and customs, we can find access points we didn’t previously notice.  

What do we need to open our hearts today?

Psalm 5: The Power of Routine

It makes a difference to open our days in prayer. When we set our day’s intention mindfully, it unfolds more positively. Throughout the day we have choices. Do we live as righteously as we can? Do we demonstrate compassion, respect, love to those around us? Righteousness is not merely a state of being, but a continual decision. Judgement is inevitable—whether Divine or human. Avoid sin.

How can you start your day with prayer/meditation/reflection?

Psalm 3: What do we do when we feel overwhelmed?

Some days can be overwhelming. Nothing seems to go right. Even there, we can find strength. We can cry out to our Creator, and discover the answer is close to home. Sometimes the answer is as simple as a good night’s sleep! We cannot accomplish everything today. We do what we can and try again tomorrow. We are not alone.

Where do you share your strongest feelings?

Prayer

As I prepare my sermons for Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah, prayer has been on my mind.  In the weeks to come, traditional Jews will spend hours in synagogues around the world.  They will recite thousands upon thousands of words.  

Ideally, their souls will cry out to the Holy One.  But how do we get ourselves there?  What is our preparation?

In my community, we have a daily minyan.  Each morning and evening is an opportunity to come together, to recite, to commune, to pray.  We reach out to the Holy One and we reach into the depths of ourselves.  Soon we will start blowing the Shofar, whose blasts awaken us.

Frequently, I bring an extra soul to minyan.  She does not yet "count", but she builds her own tabernacles of prayer.  Her laughter and noise occasionally distract, but I think more often elevate the prayers of the other minyanaires.

There is an old Hasidic tale about a young boy and his flute, who finds a different way to pray than everyone else. It inspires me regularly to think how we are engaging ALL of our worshippers.

 It is told here by Joanie Kalem:

https://jewishweek.timesofisrael.com/the-shepherd-and-his-flute-a-rosh-hashanah-tale-of-inclusion/

Long ago, in a small shtetl in what is now Ukraine, where the famous Rabbi, the Ba’al Shem Tov lived, also lived a family of scholars. The father of the family, Moshe, was the son and grandson of very respected Rabbis, and he himself was a well-respected teacher of Torah and Talmud. And the mother, Rachel, was the daughter and granddaughter of very respected Rabbis. Though many women of her time did not know how to read Hebrew or study the Torah, Rachel did, and she would read and study along with her husband at home. Their home was always full of joy, full of learning, full of conversation, full of exploration, full of consideration of life and how best to live it.

Moshe and Rachel were blessed with five sons, and together they taught their sons the treasures of Torah. When their eldest, Meir, was six years old, it was time to go to Cheder, to learn to read and write. He said goodbye to his parents and his younger brothers, and he excitedly went off to school, eager to learn. It was obvious right from the first day that he too would be a brilliant scholar. He was a quick learner, and soon was able to assist the Rabbi in teaching the other boys.

Next came time for the second son, Menachem, to join his older brother in Cheder. He too said goodbye to his parents and younger brothers, and happily joined his older brother in Cheder. Sure enough, just as everyone expected, he was just as sharp a student as his older brother and his parents and grandparents and great grandparents.

Soon, the third son, Shmuel, was old enough to join his brothers in the Cheder. Shmuel was a wonderful, sweet boy. But his parents had a suspicion that he would not have the same experience in Cheder that his older brothers did. And sure enough, as obvious as it had been that Meir and Menachem were going to grow to be brilliant scholars, it was quickly clear that Shmuel would not. He wasn’t like his brothers: he couldn’t sit, he couldn’t learn his letters, he didn’t seem to be paying attention the way the other boys did, and he often would get up and walk over to the window, staring longingly outside at the trees and the fields and the clouds.

So Moshe and Rachel and the Cheder’s teacher realized that Cheder was not the place for Shmuel to learn and thrive and grow. They didn’t know what to do, because all of the boys of the shtetl went to Cheder, and everyone in their family had always gone to Cheder. But the solution came clear very quickly: early in the morning, every day, the shtetl shepherd would come by to collect the community’s sheep and goats and cattle to take them out to the meadows and pastures around the village for the day, and then bring them back every evening. Though Moshe and Rachel had never noticed before, Shmuel had a special friendship with the shepherd, and used to rise early every morning just to greet the man, and walk with him a bit. Moshe and Rachel asked the shepherd if Shmuel could be his apprentice, and the shepherd was thrilled to have the young boy’s company and help. And so , unlike his brothers and his cousins and everyone else in his family, Shmuel did not go to Cheder. Instead, he spent every day in the fields and meadows learning how to be a shepherd. Shmuel was thrilled. He loved the animals, he loved being outdoors, he loved being with the shepherd, and he loved learning how to play the flute, which the shepherd taught him as they sat for many hours every day with the flocks of animals. Shmuel always felt that he was praying as he played his flute.

In time, the two youngest brothers, Simcha and Yitzchak, were also old enough to go to Cheder, and they joined their oldest brothers, and showed that they too would soon be star scholars. Moshe and Rachel were proud of all of their sons in Cheder, and of course loved Shmuel dearly, but worried about him in a way that they did not worry about the other four boys.

As each of the boys grew, they reached Bar Mitzvah age, and Meir, Menachem, simcha and Yitzchak all led the prayers of the congregation on their respective Bar Mitzvahs beautifully. Shmuel did not, but instead quietly celebrated his Bar Mitzvah playing his flute in the fields. For him, playing the flute was praying. He always felt that he was talking with God as he played his quiet tunes.

When Shmuel was about fourteen, the old shepherd decided that it was time for him to stop going to the fields with the flocks, and Shmuel became the official shepherd for the village. It was bitter-sweet of course for Moshe and Rachel, they were proud of their son, but it was never what they would have dreamed for one of their children.

Now, all of these years, there were two days every year when Shmuel would not take the flocks to the fields, on Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. On those days, he would join his grandfathers, his father and his brothers in the synagogue, where everyone would gather to join the Baal Shem Tov in the holiday prayers. Every year Shmuel sat quietly, unable to speak the words of the prayers, unable to read. He loved the melodies of the community praying around him, but as the years passed, he felt sad that he couldn’t join in.

One year on Rosh HaShanah, Shmuel was sitting with his family as usual, in the midst of the prayers, and he happened to look up at the Baal Shem Tov. As the prayers were being sung all around him, Shmuel again longed to join in. He noticed that the Baal Shem Tov seemed to look concerned. Shmuel sat and wondered what he could do to add his voice to the prayers of the community. His hand went to his flute in his pocket, and at once it was obvious how he could join in. He pulled out his flute and began to play a beautiful melody that wove harmoniously with the prayers of the congregation. He played with all of his heart and all of his soul, so happy to finally have found a way to participate in the community.

But the community stopped their praying, and a sound of shock and horror went through the room. Suddenly, men were shouting at Shmuel to stop, shouting at Moshe, Shmuel’s father to stop him, shouting at the Baal Shem Tov to stop him. Moshe rose to reach out and grab Shmuel’s flute, but the Baal Shem Tov reached them first, and, putting his hands on both Moshe and Shmuel’s shoulders, the Baal Shem Tov said, “Finally, our prayers will truly reach Heaven as a full community, because Shmuel has joined us with his pure love, joy and devotion. We needed his voice in order for God to hear all of us. This is how he prays, and though it is different than our prayers, it is wonderful.”