Tefilah

Jasmine is the office "mommy." She's warm, cuddly, the type you want to confide in. She has three beautiful children. She has not been married to her (jerk) ex-husband for a number of years.

A few months ago (before the corona madness began in earnest), she stopped by my desk and asked me to pray for her. She grew up Christian, but the type of uptight Christian that preaches constant hellfire and brimstone, so she's drifted away from that. 

She explained that she considers herself as "spiritual." I can attest that she's a good person, a moral person, and believes in God. Nor is she elitist, as she believes all prayers have validity, including mine. She tries to do the right thing. She's kind to others.

She started seeing this guy, she said happily, and she's excited about it. The type of excited that she can't sleep at night, wondering what will be (golly, that sounds all too familiar).  

She's a freelancer; another one of her employers is frum. He told her he would pray for her at the Western Wall, that she can find her man. 

I've always struggled a bit with the concept of prayer. I've asked many rabbanim about it, and many couldn't quite give me an answer. 

Because if: 

(a) Everything Hashem does for me is for the good; and 
(b) I don't know what is good for me; then 
(c) should I be davening for specific things? 

I believe that I am small, so small I cannot possibly fathom His reasons. I was davening for years to find my bashert, but because I was single I was able to devote all of my time to Ma when she became ill. 

I don't want to daven as though I'm banging my head against a brick wall, only to realize that my salvation was the other way. 

I try to daven for guidance. I try to daven that I make the best possible choice in whatever situation I end up in. I daven in gratitude, asking that health and peace and comfort continue for us all. 

I do have a list of single ladies I daven for. Now I daven for Jasmine too. 

For me, davening is sort of confusing. I'm not sure what my intent should be, what the outcome is. Will I have the clarity to see His plan? My vision sucks as it is.  

Over the years, my list of single ladies has dwindled. I don't believe it was because of me. But I'm joyous when I can strike another one off as she prances off with her beloved. 

Davening is what we do. So I'll continue too, even if I don't quite understand what I'm aiming for.

Mach a Bracha

Until now, I have been somewhat out of the Jewish music loop. But when one's baby demands music, all the time, and Elmo is the devil incarnate (his cackling laugh, shiver), one becomes reacquainted rather quickly. 

My sappy hormones haven't tapered off yet, so I find myself clutching Ben and sniffling to "Ivri Anochi" ("It's so bee-yoo-tee-ful, waaaaah!")

But one of the videos that popped up in my YouTube viewing---"Mach a Bracha" by Shmueli Ungar---has given me food for thought (pun intended). 

For one thing, the video, in my opinion, is particularly well done, which is hard for a Jewish music video (we definitely have more limited budgets than the last "Idol" winner, let's not kid ourselves). 

Secondly, it's the message . . . 

Ma used to say, "Mach a bracha" when she would place a bowl of deliciousness on the table. 

Her father, my Zeidy, used to get upset by the standard Shabbos kiddush. People are standing around, he would note, barely keeping track of what they ate—was the right bracha said? Did they say a nuch bracha? 

A number of years ago, we were in a different shul for Shabbos for a simcha. Whilst at the kiddush, a teenage girl stopped next to us, seemingly looking at the wall. We turned, and noticed she was diligently saying "al hamichya" off of a beautiful glass display. 

Ma was so inspired by this, remembering her father's pet peeve, that she decided to have a similar one made for our shul. 

I'll be honest: Ben doesn't really let me daven (he always wakes up when I try to) and my regular nuch brachas have suffered as well. This video reminded me about the importance of brachas, how the one we recite once a year is no more exalted than the ones we make every day, the shahakols, asheir yatzars, al hamichyas.  

The beginning scene, where he's about to eat a mundane bowl of Rice Krispies, is an ideal example of how we use our brachas to turn all we do, even the most profane, into a great act of service. 

Rosh Hashana Cometh

Self-flagellation and I are old friends. If I am calm and content, my subconscious says, "That's enough of that, now," and obligingly rustles up a memory from 2nd grade that proves what an unworthy human being I am. 

 

Gordon Marino ponders the purpose of remorse ("What's the Use of Regret?"), a topic which is rather apropos for Rosh Chodesh Elul, no? 

"Self-forgiveness" shouldn't be encouraged, he says, for that merely removes responsibility or an incentive to improve; self-torture should not be endless, however, since we "lose faith in ourselves," and ruminate helplessly on the past without progressing into the future. 

We can learn to let things go, but before we let them go, we have to let regret get hold of us. Perhaps the old biblical formula is best — repent, ask for forgiveness with a sincere resolve to change your ways.

Ah, the old biblical formula is best! What a surprise. 

Kierkegaard observed that you don’t change God when you pray, you change yourself. Perhaps it is the same with regret. I can’t rewind and expunge my past actions, but perhaps I change who I am in my act of remorse. 

Without reflection of past sins (Viduy?), one cannot change. Isn't that what we're here for? We're here to do, initially imperfectly, then acknowledge our mess-ups and act upon that to elevate higher. 

Who's Watching You?

"You really can tell a person's character from up here, you know?" 

My shulmate nodded, smiling knowingly. Us womenfolk have a distinct advantage from our upstairs perch. The poor gentlemen are under observation, like amoeba beneath a microscope. One can tell who is serious, who is focused, who is dignified . . . and who isn't. 

Then it hit me. "What does the Eibishter see," I asked, "when He looks down at us?" 

Oh snap. 

The Actual Requirement

It's really not my intent to talk smack about my Bais Yaakov. Yet so many years later I'm still untangling myself from the binding knots of misinformation. 

Like what a woman is required to daven. 

Maurice Minkowski

For years I nourished—and that's on me—an "all or nothing" approach to prayer; for years, on weekdays, I only managed Birchas HaShachar, since if I only had a few spare minutes (as opposed to thirty) I believed that saying something as opposed to all was "no good." 

It was only in the last couple of years I recognized my folly, and I made an effort to ram in what I could—at least birchas Sh'ma, Sh'ma, and Shmoneh Esrei—but feeling like a sub-par Yid in the process. 

And then I hear this shiur. 

How could us gals have been so misinformed? Ashkenazi women are only required to say Birchas HaShachar, Sh'ma and Shmoneh Esrei. Zeh hu. Not even P'sukei D'Zimra. 

In the old country, mothers would begin davening on Shabbos from Nishmas. I must shamefully admit that when I first heard this, I smugly thought how "they didn't know better," when, er, they knew far better than me, with my official Jewish education. 

I had learned from the family guru about "skipping"—that if, say, arriving late to shul, it is more important to daven with the tzibbur as opposed to starting from the beginning (while everyone is answering Kedusha). Yet as soon as leining began, I would catch up there. But it would seem that I don't have the requirement to say P'Sukei D'Zimra, so it would be more important for me to listen by leining. 

Of course I shlep around Jewish guilt baggage, what I could do better, how I messed up . . . and all this time, I was beating myself up for something I didn't even do wrong. 

When you know better . . . 

Altogether Now

On Rosh Chodesh and Chanukah, I cannot help but remember my schoolgirl days when reaching Hallel. The institution's policy was that for Hallel, all the girls would gather in the auditorium, and would sing it altogether. 

I have been told my singing ability is questionable, yet when hundreds of children belt the tunes out, it doesn't matter. Singing together was an uplifting experience. No matter what was contributed, a softer voice, a jarring bellow, a mellifluous harmony, a discordant squawk, the end result was the same: Beautiful unity. 

I feel an additional pleasure, though, greater than flow, when I sing in a choir. It’s a mode of singing that strikes a balance between feeling necessary — each voice must participate to achieve the grand unified sound — and feeling invisible, absorbed into the choir, your voice no longer yours. I can work hard, listen hard and disappear, let the ocean of sound close over me. It is comforting to disappear into all that sound and to know that no one else will hear me, either. The performance feels like a secret.

A choral group may possess unity, but that unity depends on the behaviors of its individuals. . . There were some true believers there and some young, lost people who had been imperfectly absorbed into faiths that their former lives demanded of them. Their desires joined mine. Imagine a web of gazes all around the room: the baritones looking at the basses, the second sopranos all looking at, singing to, training their longing on the same lethally hot countertenor. Doubtless some of them were thinking of God.

So writes Sarah Manguso, in Letter of Recommendation: Choir. Whilst Jewish (I think), she joined a church choir in college for the above experience. 

That transcendence stays with me for the rest of the year following Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur. I dare to presume that everyone's favorite piyut is "Ki Anu Amecha." There is an increased surge in the room's energy when it is reached. The words are simple for such eloquent yearning—where we all join together, on various levels and beliefs, as one. 

Daven

I was rolling as I watched the black-ish episode, "God." The scene where Dre struggles to concentrate while praying was so, pathetically, true. 

Following those rare moments of rapt kavana, I feel like high-fiving myself—good job! You stayed on message, girl!—only to flunk all over again the next day, as I suddenly recall what face creams I should reorder during Baruch She'amar. Girl, you suck. 

It is a work in progress. According to the method of meditation, instead of beating up oneself if thoughts drift, merely draw it back into the center, and move on. Not a bad idea if self-flagellation poisons the rest of prayers. 

Every week, the NY Times Magazine recommends a poem. Matthew Zapruder submitted this: 

Yehoshua November integrates his Orthodox Judaism with the everyday, through poems of radical clarity. Throughout his work, he shows that religious faith can be compatible with a poetry of deep, uncertain feeling. Poem selected by Matthew Zapruder.

Credit Illustration by R. O. Blechman

Prayer

Before the Silent Prayer,
some slip the hood of their prayer shawls
over their heads,
so that even among many worshipers
they are alone with God.

Primo Levi wrote about the sadness of
“a cart horse, shut between two shafts
and unable even to look sideways ... ”

Let me be like those pious ones
or that horse,
so that, even amidst a crowd,
no other crosses the threshold
of my dreaming.

During davening, the avodah, we are supposed to stick to one message: "Know before Whom you stand." To be a blinkered horse, indeed.  

My Purpose?

I had believed that my purpose is to find my spiritual partner and have children to teach them the ways of the Force—uh, sorry, Judaism. 

So my prayers have been somewhat petulant lately. "Hey, Eibishter? What up. 'Memba me? You know how You have in Sh'ma, 'V'shinantam l'vanecha'? So, um, could You, like, send me the means to have those vanecha? Why else was I put on this earth, complete with early childhood training—didn't You see how dope I was with my nephew's tantrum, not appeasing him and all? Could You help a girl out by sending her her zivug, like, yesterday?" 

I had been getting more and more frustrated, whining self-pityingly at the Lord for His seeming lack of comprehension. "Seriously, Dude, how are You not understanding this? I'm trying to serve You and honor You by raising a next generation in Your Name, but I'm being set up with Jar-Jars!" 

In a sulk, I listened to an endless stream of Rabbi Daniel Glatstein shiurim. In one shiur, he mentioned that a Jew is not required to become a doctor because he might save a life in the future; a Jew only has to concern herself with the situation at hand, before her.

It cannot be my purpose is restricted to that which I cannot control, I comprehended. A Jew must focus on the situation at hand. Ergo, there is purpose in how I live now. 

As I heard from Esther Wein, a Jew's purpose is to give honor to the Eibishter. That can be done in a multitude of ways, and according to my simple understanding, that would be doing mitzvos—both bein adam l'Makom and bein adam l'chaveiro—with as much diligence as I can. 

Honoring my parents; davening with focused kavana; watching my speech; saying brachos with more care.  

In another shiur of Esther Wein's, she quotes from Sefer Yishayahu (Perek 56). Hashem is addressing the childless and geirim of millennia ago. 

Happy is the man that doeth this, and the son of man that holdeth fast by it: that keepeth the Sabbath from profaning it, and keepeth his hand from doing any evil. Neither let the alien, that hath joined himself to the LORD, speak, saying: 'The LORD will surely separate me from His people'; neither let the eunuch say: 'Behold, I am a dry tree.' For thus saith the LORD concerning the eunuchs that keep My Sabbaths, and choose the things that please Me, and hold fast by My covenant: Even unto them will I give in My house and within My walls a monument and a memorial better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting memorial, that shall not be cut off. Also the aliens, that join themselves to the LORD, to minister unto Him, and to love the name of the LORD, to be His servants, every one that keepeth the Sabbath from profaning it, and holdeth fast by My covenant.

Shabbos. Do I really have the right perspective of Shabbos? We're told it's major, but it has been watered down to a "recharging from high tech life" sort of day. There are so many halachos I'm ignorant of, actions I refrain from doing that are actually permissible, as well as erroneously transgressing Shabbos from ignorance. 

I did some browsing and came across a series on Shabbos by Rabbi Efraim Stauber. They are helping me rethink it completely. 

I have heard singles say they are frustrated because they don't seem to have a role in a couple-focused community. What if we make Shabbos our thing? Not necessarily in terms of meals—Shabbos is not about cholent—but in terms of keeping it better? Not looking at it as a day of restriction, but as a day of love between us and the great big Papa in the sky? 

 

I have been ignoring the much that is within my purview.    

The Doctor Will See You Now

I am a ponderer, a ruminator by nature. I need time to calculate, plan, consider, mull, etc. At times, suddenly there will arise from the incoherent roil of thoughts an "AHA!" (in this case, "Aha!" being synonymous with "Eureka!", as opposed to alpha-hydroxy acids). 

Additionally, what I have also realized is that I can have heard this same exact concept elsewhere, nodded in agreement, yet still had not truly internalized it. I have noted that there can be epiphany-lag between a brilliant point told to me and a brilliant point "AHA!"ed by me. 

This happened on a morning in shul, when, to my embarrassment, my mind floated ethereally, not quite focused on the page. The reason, perhaps, for this lack of attention was due to my previously implemented cop-out: I'm too fakoched to daven. 

Via myjewishlearning.com

"Fakoched" needs more than one word to translate. It's like . . .  anxious preoccupation that is so overwhelming that one has difficulty seeing beyond oneself. So those mornings when your next door neighbor doesn't respond to your cheerful "Good morning!", and her brow is furrowed and her mouth is twisted, yeah, she's fakoched. 

My reason for being fakoched? Well, it doesn't take much. But that is not the point of this story. 

I had just realized with a delicate "Ping!" that when I claim that I am too worried to daven, that is an oxymoron. It's like going to psychiatrist and saying, "Look, I'm really too stressed to talk about it," then proceeding to sit there for the rest of the paid-for hour wringing hands and chewing lips.

If that metaphor is insufficient, consider as though one is seated by a restaurant, proffered a menu, and then announces, "I'm too hungry to order." The chef is in the building, ready and waiting, but not availed of. 

To add busha in the mix, I have heard this idea previously. I am quite the fan of Chevi Garfinkel (available on torahanytime), and one of her specialties is kavanah. I thought I had heard her. But I hadn't yet transcribed her words onto my brain and soul. 

I am at the point of conceiving the Divine that if I have something what I could consider "bad" in my life, to the Heavenly Court it is something necessary. I want to quietly accept, not feverishly demand (although for others, I politely request). When I daven, I try to ask for the mental acuity to deal with the situation.

But not when I'm really fakoched. When I'm really fakoched, I procrastinate with davening until I no longer have the time or space for it, insisting I'm just not "there." Yet the irony is that I will overcome my fakoched state by speaking with my Bashefer. 

OK, Doc, here goes . . .    

Consequence

Rabbi Jeremy Kagan: 

It says in Parshas Noach: 

 וַתִּשָּׁחֵת הָאָרֶץ, לִפְנֵי ה

and

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, וְהִנֵּה נִשְׁחָתָה:  כִּי-הִשְׁחִית כָּל-בָּשָׂר אֶת-דַּרְכּוֹ, עַל-הָאָרֶץ

Then:

וְהִנְנִי מַשְׁחִיתָם, אֶת-הָאָרֶץ

"The world was destroyed before Hashem"; "Hashem saw the earth, and it was destroyed, for all flesh destroyed His ways on earth." Then Hashem says, "And behold, I shall destroy them with the earth." 

Rabbi Kagan continued, "Any good seminary girl will say,"—at which point he squeaked in a feminine falsetto—"'The world was destroyed spiritually!' But it is more than that."

The sins of that generation were theft, immoral relationships, and idol worship. What all these three sins have in common (he didn't have time to explain how idol worship works into it, but it does tie up) is "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine." Which means the world was without boundaries. 

Hashem then said, "You want to live a life without boundaries? So to the world will be without boundaries!" And water was released from its bonds, flooding the earth. 

I heard a similar concept from Rabbi Daniel Glatstein. The Churban wasn't a punishment, it was a consequence (in general, there is no schar v'onesh in this world, by the way). We were goofing off on the avodah. We weren't respecting it. Hashem says, "Look, if you don't want to serve Me, don't do Me any favors! You think I need your service? Don't bother!" And so destroyed the Bais HaMikdosh.  

 

I think we forget to what extent we shape our reality. We can create those consequences that we find so bewildering. Like I previously posted: 

. . . one Shabbos in shul, my brain activity went into hyperdrive. 

It is a repetitive message of Rabbi Yisroel Reisman that "Bishvi li nivra haolam": "For my sake, this world was created." Meaning, even if one has been shoved into a seemingly "unfair" position, one has to analyze her own behavior. 

For instance, it is a constant aggravation of mine that shul attendees tow along underage children who are incapable of maintaining the necessary silence to permit others meaningful prayer. Usually I would be mentally cursing out the parents as they halfheartedly shush the high-pitched squeaks and squeals of their young. 

But then, that fateful day, I recalled Rabbi Reisman's point. If I did not choose to discipline myself sufficiently to devote true kavana to my davening, why would Hashem provide me with ideal praying surroundings? I have idly daydreamed through many a shacharis; am I deserving of a shriek-free environment?

Do we self-sabotage by not giving our all in the first place?   

Be Careful What You Wish For

My bedroom windows face full east. This poses a wee bit of a problem in the spring and summer months, as my eyelids are forced open at approximately 5 a.m., when blaring sun rattles me awake. 

I concocted a means to block the light with a McGyver-esque contraption composed of 3M hooks, tent poles, and blackout curtains I purchased on Amazon. Yet no matter how I drape them, one beam manages to pierce through. 

Feeling quite pushed to the limit after a number of nights of hindered rest, I decided, what the heck. After all, enough morahs insisted you could ask Hashem for anything, even new shoes. 

I blubbered, "Hashem, You know me. If I don't get the right amount of sleep, I'm not very pleasant to be around. If You could be so kind, and help me out, so that I can stay asleep until close to 6, I would be very grateful. Thank you." 

I dozed off, confident my plea was heard. 

I was then coaxed into consciousness by a muffled thump. I slowly ascended to the surface, blinking drowsily. Wow, did I make it until 6? My hand patted about for the clock. 

1:26, the red digits gleamed.

What? 

I looked about the room. Something wasn't right. Wait, where did my shades go? 

The 3M hooks had called it quits, and the bright streetlamp shone inwards. 

Look, I soothed myself. Hashem has His ways. Maybe this is the means to recalibrating your internal alarm. You'll see! 

I couldn't fall asleep. I had awoken bright-eyed to seize the day, not muzzily enough to slumber yet again. I read. I did yoga. I did deep-breathing. 

Eventually, almost nearly as soon as I had to get up, I managed to drift off. 

My personal message from this? The Eibishter wacking me upside the head for being a wuss. 

One Amongst the Many

I'm in my late 20s and have been reading Modern Love since I was a teenager. I have the most supportive family and friends. I have a challenging and rewarding job I enjoy. I love living in New York and traveling even more, and work hard to see as much of the world as I can. I didn't feel heartbroken when my engagement to my boyfriend of many years ended this spring because it always felt wrong and I finally felt free. 

But now, finally single, I find myself an addict just as the author has described. Loved ones describe me as rational, pragmatic to a fault and successful in whatever I put my mind to. But in love I am the opposite. I put so much stock into an intense initial connection or early excitement of a new encounter only to find myself heartbroken when it doesn't work out.

I wish I could find the balance that the author achieved. I wish I didn't feel this massive hole in both my head and my heart every moment of every day wondering how and when I will find that person I'm meant for. I wish I was convinced of my self-worth in the way my family and friends say I should be. 

Instead, I just feel like a desperate little girl with no control over her life seeking something you can't force yourself to find. I truly hope one day I have a happy ending to share like the author of this column does. 

—K, N.Y.C.

This letter was printed in response to this article, "Overcoming Love Addiction: One Apple Martini at a Time" by Peter DeMarco. A diagnosed "love addict" who saw a fairy tale ending in every encounter with a female, he was eventually redeemed by an offhand comment to become a teacher. In pursuing that career, the void he desperately attempted to fill was appeased, and shortly thereafter established a romantic yet healthy connection which led to his happy marriage. 

But it was the above letter that spoke to me. I could have written part of it. 

I do find, at times, days, weeks, or even months of calm, however. I think the secret is when I take the individual out of the equation. 

Prior to Rosh HaShana, I listened to a number of online shiurim to get my focus in the right place. They tend to all be delivered by Rabbi Daniel Glatstein. Since his shiurim are delivered to numerous audiences, there can be some repetition, but when the same sentiments echo more than once they stick to you. 

A Navi geek, I perked up when he cited the story of the Isha haShunamis. Quick rundown: A wealthy woman, the Isha haShunamis, eagerly accommodates Elisha whenever he is in town, even having another floor added to her home to provide him with a private sanctuary. 

Grateful for such comfort, Elisha sends Geichazi, his sidekick, to discover any wants or needs she may have. She informs Geichazi: "I dwell amongst my people." The meforshim glean from that statement that she wished to be included in the zechusim of klal Yisroel, not to be singled out.

Geichazi reports her response to Elisha, who was probably flummoxed. A navi, especially of his repute, was probably begged for brachos all the time. Not wishing to leave without some sort of compensation, he realizes that she has no child. Without her say-so, he blesses her with one. 

 

Rabbi Glatstein references this happening to reinforce the importance of viewing oneself as part of the kehillah. Then the gray cells began to percolate: 

Do you think that the Isha HaShunamis didn't suffer over her barrenness? That she hadn't plead, wept, sobbed for a child, as Sarah, Rochel, and Chana did? And yet here she is offered, on a gleaming silver platter, an opportunity to ask for anything. 

But at this point, she had already made her peace, by realizing she "dwells amongst her people." (I'm guessing that if she's the type to build a second floor on the chance Elisha may visit, she was probably an all-around mitzvah lady.) She is one of many, a nation with a cause. It gives her joy and purpose to care for this great man, without any thought of return. When she selflessly gave, without ulterior motive, she was showered in bracha.

Because there are a multitude of stories that display the same moral—giving freely opens many doors—am I even capable of giving freely? In the middle of the spiritual high that is generosity and consideration, a little voice pipes up, "Look how nice you are! You'll probably get something for this!" It saddens me when I hear it. I want to give like she gave. 

In the meantime, until that day, I forget about my own obsessions . . . and dwell amongst my people.     

For the Scoffer

From my perch in the women's section, I can observe quite a lot, gentlemen; that lacy curtain is like a one-way mirror. 

 

There is one fellow who spends davening browsing the room for another chatty soul, bouncing from tallis to tallis. This time, his eyes brighten as he thinks he has found a willing conversant, close to his age, too! He scurries up to him, and begins to yammer, a smirk distorting his face. 

However, it is in middle of Kaddish. He knows better, I'm sure, but hasn't managed to overcome that challenge just yet. 

But his mark has. Nodding politely while remaining mute, he fiercely answers the "Amein"s and "Brich hu"s. After last "Amein," he pointedly turns to the now somewhat-deflated interloper with "Now I am available" body language. The talker slinks away.

Years ago I had heard Rabbi Mordechai Becher speaking on the topic of kiruv. According to Rabbi Moshe Shapiro: "Just don't get in Hashem's way." 

After the Yomim Noraim, there are many around us who try to do better. But as Rabbi Wein once pointed out, their peers often don't let them. If they come to shul on time, on come the sneers. "Oh, your wife kicked you out of bed?" For many, that sort of mocking feedback cannot be carelessly ignored, and, disheartened, they slip back into their old bad habits.   

"Repression of the Sublime," as seen by Rabbi Weinreb. We know we can do better, but we deny it, with the help of the scoffer—the external scoffer and the internal scoffer.

Keep coming to shul on time; keep silent during Kaddish. The idiots will shut up soon enough, and may even copy your example, quicker then you think. For they will have been reminded they are capable of the sublime, and that no amount of scoffing can shift it.  

Irreverant or Serious?

Hey, God! I hope you're there. 
I want you to hear my prayer. 
That graven image on my shelf:
Is it really You or just myself?
Well, anyway here it goes:
Please keep me on my toes.
Help me past my worst mistakes, 
Doing it for both our sakes, 
For an example of perfection
To the Proctors in my section;
Or merely for the Heaven of it,
Like bread, for the leaven of it. 
For whatever reason may incline, 
Please act for Yours and mine. 

      — Chapterhouse: Dune, Frank Herbert

Trigger Happy

It had not been a good day. 

Despite the fact that my single state primarily involves, well, me, some supposedly "concerned" individuals concluded this "tragedy" is not only of epic proportions, it is also my fault. 

Shame on you. Blame on you. Your fault, your fault, your fault. 

You won't go out with that specific guy. You won't go to an uncertified "dating coach." You have this stupid belief that Hashem makes the matches. And while you have gone to 500 shadchanim, you didn't contact the 501st. 

See? Your fault. 

I was fine until they showed up. The ensuing agony was all the worse because I thought they were on my side, the ones who are supposed to give me unconditional emotional support. Instead, although they have never set me up, they decided to grimly mount their pedestal of righteousness and mete judgement upon me, then clamber down go about their day while I wallow in a pool of my own spilt blood, purpling with bruises. 

I needed comfort. As I have discovered, the best place to look is in Tehillim. In mine, there is a page which lists which psalms to say in certain situations. I was torn as to which situation I was in. Was I seeking peace? Hashem's guidance? Did I need to express gratitude? How about simply being in a bad place? I opted for the basic "finding one's spouse": 32, 38, 70, 71, 121, and 124.

I chose to read the English first, by the dim light of my Kosher Lamp. As I absorbed the words, I became puzzled. It didn't say anything in these p'rakim about finding a spouse. It was all about being pursued, how sinned upon I am, and how Hashem will redeem and save. 

Not the right perek, but I couldn't resist the girl archer.

I closed the Tehillim soothed, but confused. That had been my daily (weekly, monthly, yearly) experience, being judged and condemned, attackers snapping at my heels, and so I was pacified. Although, I don't wish these individuals harm; I just want them to leave me alone, if they opt not to help me. 

But why these specific psalms, for all those unmatched men and maidens? Nothing in there about how tough the singles scene is, or unfulfilled purposes, or even loneliness. Perhaps because nothing has changed, even since the ancient world: The God-given situation one has been placed often has the bystanders blaming the victim.

I know why they blame—basic Brené. They fear being caught in the same helpless web, and erroneously believe that by sneering and shunning they can avoid that trap. 

I can't expect someone who got married 1-2-3 at 21 to understand. I wouldn't. I only understand because I am here. 

For all those out there, who observe others and don't understand—take the finger off the trigger. 

Me included.

Mindfulness and Marriage

I had already grasped that the method of mindfulness meditation is to focus on breath, slowly bringing the mind back from any distractions, but I didn't know that it is also the point of mindfulness meditation. That is what I learned from this Charlie Rose interview with Dan Harris, the news anchor who had a panic attack on the air. 

The more I hear about mindfulness meditation, the more I believe that it is davening's parallel. I am working to finally achieve true focus during davening, and using the methods of mindfulness meditation has been the most instrumental. 

In other news, it is incredibly gratifying that two days after presenting my thesis on the post-Holocaust marriage model, corroborative material is printed.

Her embrace of Marxism led to a young man who within a week became her first husband. The haste, she said, reflected her loneliness and sense of displacement.

It is “unnatural and unworthy, how I lost my family,” she said. “At my age now, it is normal not to have grandparents, parents, uncles or aunts. But when it happens as it did, you cannot simply get over it.”

Marrying within a week happened “because we felt so terribly alone that it was quite natural to say yes, now at least I have a husband, and one belongs somewhere.”

Hey, she said it. And me.     

I'm In My Own Way

Babi is getting on. She is, b"H, well into her 90s, and as time passes she grows more and more infirm. She relies on her aide to lift and drag her about the house. A wheelchair is parked in her living room, a walker stands sentry by the door, and steps . . . steps are over. 

But in the deepest, darkest night, when she tosses and turns, reliving distant times and countries, she can fling back her covers, hop out of bed, and competently pace about the room, while her aide watches in jaw-dropped shock. 

Our minds put limitations on our bodies. Even when I am bone-tired, or burning with fever, if something has to be done, then I manage to dredge up the strength to do it. Otherwise, I would claim that I can't. But I can.

Our minds put limitations even on our minds. How often do we think self-improvement is beyond us? That bending a bad quality to the force of our will is impossible? 

In high school my davening was wonderful. As soon as I opened the siddur, my eyes gravitated to the words and I was able to recite them with all of my essence, passion, and concentration. 

Then, when I hit 19, it became difficult. I lost the ability. 

At first I tried "tricks"; reading the English translation, flicking my focus from one page to the next, making sure to enunciate the shva nuhs and shva nuchs . . . nothing gained traction. 

Then I realized that my problem was that by using "shortcuts," I was providing my brain the excuses it needed. It's not my fault, it protested, it's the siddur's fault. 

No. It was mine. I had fallen into the habit that once I open that siddur, my mind would automatically wander. I associate davening with day-dreaming. 

There's no easy way to go about this, I epiphanied. I'm going to have to actually work at it. 

Which meant that every time I opened the siddur, I can no longer mentally goof-off; I have to think of it as active service, as avodah. Beginning from "Mah Tovu," my brain is at work, focusing, inspiring, enunciating. 

I believe that I am making some progress. It's not successful every time, but more than it used to be. 

There are no shortcuts. There are only choices.             

Purpose of Prayer

We have to beg the Ribono Shel Olam, as we say every day in Maariv, "Vesakeinu be'eitza tovah milfnecha. Set us right with good counsel from before you." We have to beg the Ribono Shel Olam to give us the wisdom to deal with these problems and to direct us to effective sources of counsel and guidance. Parents have to cry out to the Ribono Shel Olam, "This is my future, and this is what we're here for. Nothing else matters. Help us!"

Rav Yechezkel Abramsky zatzal, the great gaon and tzaddik, once walked into the apartment of the Brisker Rav in Yerushalayim and saw him and his children sitting around the table. The Rav was saying a dvar Torah, and his children were listening intently, their faces shining.

Later, Rav Abramsky asked the Brisker Rav, "What is the secret of your chinuch? How were you zocheh that every single child walks faithfully in your footsteps?"

"My secret in chinuch?" said the Rav. "Tehillim mit treren." Tehillim with tears.

That is the way to bring up children. Tehillim with tears. This potent combination gives us an awareness of how to protect our children our children from harmful influences. From this, we gain the sensitivity to understand how to speak to them, when to rebuke and when not to rebuke. From this, we gain the siyata dishmaya to inspire them to want to walk in the footsteps of their parents. And from this, the Ribono Shel Olam directly inspires them with yiras shamayim. — With Hearts Full of Love, HoRav Matisyahu Salomon 

I used to think that davening was about demanding a certain result from Hashem, but when I comprehended my, well, weenie-ness in the Great Cosmic Scheme of Things, I felt rather cowed. Who am I to insist, to dictate, to tantrum to the Ultimate Watchmaker? 

Additionally, my laundry list recital I rarely felt good, merely unhappy with what I still didn't have, and what the others I asked for still didn't have. How long can a person bang on the door before deciding to resort to jimmying open the window? 

A change of perspective was needed, and the above segment helped. 

It's not about hoping for different circumstances, it's about asking that while I'm in this situation, I make the best possible choices to bring about the best possible outcome. We have bechira, after all, and our choices do matter. 

It's when we succumb to habit as opposed to make conscious choices that we mess things up. Once we are davening for awareness, we are aware. 

In the Nusach S'fard Shmoneh Esrei, there is a Yehi Ratzon inserted in Elokei Nitzor: "V'shelo echos hayom v'shelo achisecha." That I do not become angry today, and that I do not anger You.

I've been saying this since childhood, but I wasn't aware that I was until I finally took a glance at the English. Now, if I remember, I am aware when I feel anger, and try every which way to prevent it from its crippling hold. Did Hashem prevent my anger? Well, in awareness I asked Him that I shouldn't get angry, and in turn, because I was aware because of the request, I made a point to keep fury at bay. 

But He is the one who lets the reminder pop into my head.

Davening isn't about shoving every single thing in Hashem's hands and saying, "You take care of this, and this, and this . . . I'll be in the mall." 

There is a lot of stuff I can't control; that I leave with Him. But the stuff I can? My reactions, my words, my outlook? That's me. I just need to be aware and choose.   

Concentrating on Kavanah

In my constant, ever uphill battle to achieve some level of davening nirvana, I have recently fathomed that prayer is a form of meditation. 

High school had been a wonderful davening era, where I would plunge into the depths of the words themselves, wipe my mind of all extraneous thought, and simply commune, complete with a residual buzz following. 

Via ktahs.org

I swiftly lost that ability, and have been struggling these last 10+ years to acquire it yet again. But I would try through gimmicks, through shtick, through shortcuts. It is only now that it has dawned on me that there is no easy path to focus; one simply must focus. 

In an article about using mindfulness methods to treat A.D.H.D. ("Exercising the Mind to Treat Attention Deficits" by Daniel Goleman), meditation practice is explained:

To do so, researchers are testing mindfulness: teaching people to monitor their thoughts and feelings without judgments or other reactivity. Rather than simply being carried away from a chosen focus, they notice that their attention has wandered, and renew their concentration.

The first minute or so of davening can go so well. "Yeah, I'm focused! I'm enunciating every single word, boo-yah!" Then my train of thought frantically unravels . . . "Oh, shoot. Why was I thinking about that friend I had when I was 5? How exactly is she relevant to this conversation?" 

This is the moment of choice. One can become frustrated and give up, monotonously rattling off the rest of shacharis with self-loathing, or one can calmly brush the idle ruminations aside and recenter one's concentration.   

"All or nothing" is a bad habit, and it has certainly held too much sway over my tefilah practices. Bit by bit, bit by bit.