This is our Siddur, our prayer book for Shabbat. It is blue, and bound; and it contains exactly three hundred and fifty pages of traditional Jewish prayer, the stuff of legends that has been uttered by our ancestors throughout the ages. There is a prayer for waking up in the morning, and a prayer we say as we don the talit or read from the Torah. There are the set order of prayers that we say for Shacharit (the morning service), Mincha (the afternoon service) and Ma’ariv (the evening service.) There are prayers that are specific for Shabbat and there are prayers that we only say on special Jewish holidays. If you look carefully through this siddur, you will find the correct kiddush to say on Simhat Torah and if, by chance, you find yourself on Shabbat Rosh Hodesh Hannukah, then you will have at your fingertips the absolute longest version of Birkat HaMazon (the Grace after meals) that is possible in the calendar year. You get the point. Anything you could want to say a prayer about, can be found in this one blue book, in this singular siddur. In fact, that’s why it is called a siddur in the first place: Because siddur means ‘set in order’ and this book contains the blueprint for putting our prayer-lives together, piece by piece.
But, does it really contain every prayer? And I’m not talking about those prayers that aren’t in this version, but can be found in the maroon, weekday Siddur Sim Shalom. Instead I am talking about the prayer that parents should say when their sixteen year old first gets her driver’s licence. Or the prayer that we might say upon gazing upon the golden walls of the Old City of Jerusalem at dusk. Or the prayer that we would say with a loved one in a hospital room, waiting, hoping for good news. Where are these prayers in our fixed siddur?
Now sure, there are some traditional Jewish b’rachot, blessings that might apply to these non-traditional situations: for example there is the good ol’ Shehechiyanu: the prayer of thanksgiving which praises God for enabling us to reach the extremely momentous occasions in our lives. And it may very well be the perfect prayer to say while gazing at Jerusalem, or perhaps when your favorite baseball team wins the World Series? (Yes, I’m still harping on that!)
But there are times when even the great Shehechiyanu doesn’t cut it. There are the difficult times filled with worry and trepidation when we might feel the need for a prayer. Or there are moments of mixed emotion when we are happy to enter into new stages in our lives, but hesitant to leave a piece of ourselves behind.
Essentially what I am saying is that sometimes in the varied tapestry of experiences that is life, we are confronted with a moment so unique, that a formulaic prayer just can not fully satisfy our spiritual needs. Allow me to tell you a story that illustrates what I mean:
A few years back, when I was in rabbinical school, my good friend and colleague Rabbi Adam Watstein did a summer internship in pastoral care at Dartmouth University. He was one of only two Jewish seminary students in his group, the vast majority of his compatriots coming from different streams of the Christian faith. At the end of one of their introductory sessions together, the Reverend who was the supervisor of the program asked Adam if he would please lead the group in a closing prayer. They all rose to their feet, clasped hands and stood in a tight circle. This must have been when the beads of sweat began to appear on Adam’s forehead as he sought the Jewish prayer that would suit this particular situation. After several moments of awkward silence had passed Adam finally burst out saying:
אשרי יושבי ביתך, עוד יהללוך סלה!
You see, Adam’s first instinct, and my first instinct for that matter, is to mine the depths of the Jewish textual tradition for the perfect prayer for that particular moment. Needless to say, Adam’s Ashrei, was probably not the prayer that his supervisor or his Christian colleagues were anticipating. The problem is that personal, spontaneous prayer is just not something that we modern Jews are that familiar.
I too encountered this problem with spontaneous prayer during my time as a student chaplain. During an orientation session on praying with patients ‘the Jews’ in the room were given a crash course on praying extemporaneous with the patients we were to visit. My supervisor, an Orthodox Rabbi by the way, suggested that we approach our prayers with patients as a letter to God. “Try beginning with the words, ‘Dear God,’” he said “Then try and incorporate all of the desires that your patients had discussed with you into your prayer, the result may sound something like this:”
Dear God, we ask that you please look down upon Jim and see his immense suffering. Jim wishes to get better Lord, and Jim wants you to take some of the pain away from him right now. Please God also protect Jim’s family as his pain is only increased by the knowledge that they are worrying about him, so please send them strength and solace. Finally God, Jim asks that he be moved to a step-down-unit soon, so that he can get some peaceful rest. Amen.
Putting aside the Theological issues that might arise from this particular prayer for a moment, does this seem strange to anyone? That we as human beings might gain spiritual support from a moment of personal prayer that begins with the words “Dear God.” I mean we giggle when a child writes a Christmas Letter to Santa Claus and sends it to the North Pole via first class mail, is this verbal letter to God any different? And besides, isn’t this just some modern fabrication of prayer as shaped by our contemporary desire to make everything tailored to the here and the now?
Well, let’s take the last question first. No, this is not simply a modern manifestation of the concept of prayer. It is actually an ancient tradition and indeed a very Jewish idea. Before the Psalms were the Psalms, they were individual poems of spontaneous prayer that reflected the poet’s personal experience with feelings of elation or trepidation. Indeed in this morning’s Torah portion, Parshat Hayei Sarah, we actually encounter the very first example of a Biblical “Dear God” prayer. This moment comes at the very start of our reading this morning in Chapter 24 (By the way, Chapter 24 is the longest chapter of the Torah, so if you are interested in sponsoring a chapter for our Lea’s Letters: A New Torah for our Temple project, you would really get a lot of bang for your buck with this one.)
In our story, the servant of Abraham, who according to the Midrash is the very same person known as Damesek Eliezer, Abraham’s personal servant who was mentioned by name in Chapter 15, is sent back to Abraham’s far-flung home town to find a bride for Isaac. We can imagine that Eliezer feels immense pressure associated with his journey, after all, his master Abraham stressed the incredible importance of finding the perfect woman for his son Isaac to marry. The Torah tells us that as soon as he arrives at Aram-Naharayim, in the city of Nachor, he kneels down by the well to pray, and he says:
“Adonai, Elohei Adoni Avraham,” “O Lord, God of my master Abraham, grant me good fortune this day, and deal graciously with my master Abraham. . .Let the maiden to whom I say ‘Please lower your jar that I may drink,’ and who replies ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels’ - let her be the one whom you have decreed for your servant Isaac. Thereby shall I know that You have dealt graciously with my master.”
That is his prayer. His humble, simple, but heartfelt prayer. “Dear God, let me succeed in this awesome task, let me find the woman who embodies the qualities of my master, the woman who embodies Hesed, lovingkindness.”
And what is God’s response to the personal prayer of Abraham’s servant:
וַֽיְהִי־ה֗וּא טֶ֘רֶם֘ כִּלָּ֣ה לְדַבֵּר֒ וְהִנֵּ֧ה רִבְקָ֣ה יֹצֵ֗את
“He had scarcely finished speaking, when Rebekah came out with a jar of water on her shoulder.”
Not only is the servant’s prayer answered, not only is his prayer answered promptly, but it is answered completely. God sends Rebbeca, who immediately shows her lovingkindness and a generous spirit to Eliezer and to his camels as well. And not only is she kind of heart, but she happens to be from Abraham’s family lineage to boot, thereby ensuring the continuity of the Jewish people. If this isn’t a case of “from your mouth to God’s ears,” then I don’t know what is.
The rabbis of the midrash are a little uneasy with Eliezer’s spontaneous prayer, but as they said:
אליעזר שאל לא כהוגן, והשיבהו כהוגן
Eliezer may have asked something from God in an unusual way (namely spontaneously), but God answered him in the usual way, (namely God hear his plea.)
I think we modern Jews can learn a lot from this ancient non-Jew. Although we must continue to celebrate the siddur and the ancient poetry that is contained within it; we also must find new ways to be innovative with our approach to prayer. We must give ourselves the freedom to explore a relationship with God that allows for spontaneous prayer. Why not begin and end each day with a whispered prayer of thanksgiving? Why shouldn’t we feel comfortable holding the hand of a love one in a time of need and invoking the power of God? If we have the courage to speak from our hearts now and again, to reveal to God our innermost thoughts or desires, who knows, maybe God will meet us halfway. Maybe we should try and emulate the lesson of the humble servant Eliezer, and have the courage to feel vulnerable
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