A New Strategy for Tefilah (Prayer)

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Artwork: Call to Mind, by Terese Nielsen

A New Strategy for Tefilah (Prayer)

Flashes of insight can come from the most unexpected of places. A couple of weeks ago I randomly decided to watch a YouTube montage of every movie that has won the Academy Award for "Best Picture" from 1927-2018. The video featured a 5-10 second clip from each movie. 

I wasn't even really watching this video. I just had it on for background noise while I prepared for the upcoming school year. Suddenly, my ears perked up upon hearing what immediately struck me as a profound truth. I paused the video and rewound it so I could listen again with full attention. 

The movie was the 1941 winner of "Best Picture," and was called How Green Was My Valley. I know nothing about the plot of the movie or the broader context of this line, other than the fact that the main character's name is "Huw." Here's the quotation from the movie in its immediate context (thanks to a copy of the script I found online):

“For so God has given you a chance to make spirit within yourself. And as your father cleans his lamp to have good light, so keep clean your spirit, Huw.” 

“How, sir?" 

“By prayer, Huw. And by prayer, I don't mean shouting, mumbling, and wallowing like a hog in religious sentiment. Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking. When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying. Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit.”

When I heard this, I couldn't help but note how closely this idea of prayer resembles Judaism's definition of tefilah (prayer). I wrote about this in a very short post entitled Jewish Prayer (and Jury Duty). Here is the relevant excerpt in which I presented my understanding of what tefilah is:

The English word "pray" comes from the Latin "precari" which (according to Google) means "to ask earnestly" or "to beg." In stark contrast, the root of tefilah (תפילה) is P.L.L. (פ.ל.ל.) which means "to judge" or "to evaluate." When we speak of prayer as a verb, in Judaism we use the reflexive form "le'hitpalel" (להתפלל) which means "to self-judge" or "self-evaluate." [Note: from this point on I will use the Yiddish verb "daven" in reference to tefilah in order to avoid confusing it with the non-Jewish concept of prayer.]

On the surface, it would seem to be a contradiction to say "le'hitpalel to God." How can we use a reflexive verb to describe an action directed to a subject which is not the self (i.e. God)?

The answer to this question cuts to the core of what tefilah is. According to my understanding, is that le'hitpalel means "to judge oneself in God's framework" - that is to say, to evaluate who we are, what we need, and what we have been given, all in the framework of objective reality (i.e. through "the eyes" of God).

Tefilah can be thought of as the ultimate "reality check," in which we attempt to bring our subjective wants in line with our objective needs, and in line with the objective reality of God's will. In assessing our needs and thinking about how to obtain them, we are forced to confront our own limitations - which factors are in our control, and which are not, and how dependent we are on God's righteousness, justice, and mercy. From this position of humble recognition, we ask God to assist us in those areas which are outside of our control.

This last point brings us to another significant difference between tefilah and prayer. We ask for Divine assistance because we believe in the possibility of Divine intervention. However, getting our tefilos answered is not the main reason why we daven. The essential value of davening lies in the personal growth and understanding we gain from the act of self-reflection in the framework of objective reality. 

To be clear: the definition of prayer in How Green Was My Valley is not synonymous with Judaism's definition of tefilah. We certainly do not hold that tefilah "is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking." There is much more to tefilah than that, both in terms of our involvement and God's involvement. Moreover, in the era after the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah (Men of the Great Assembly), our activity of "self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework" is aided by the nusach ha'tefilah - the set text of Jewish liturgy. In other words, the thinking we do in our tefilah is "aided" or "guided" by the text that was established by the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah.

Nevertheless, we do maintain that tefilah, at its core, is "good, clean, direct thinking." We acknowledge this at the end of every tefilah by saying: "yihiyu l'ratzon imrei fi v'hegyon libi lefanecha, Hashem, Tzuri v'Goali - May the words of my mouth and the thoughts of my mind find favor before You, Hashem, my Rock and my Redeemer" (Tehilim 19:15) - thereby characterizing tefilah as an activity of articulated thinking before God. 

This is also reflected in the Rambam's psak that although one is obligated to verbally enunciate his tefilah, he nevertheless fulfills his obligation if he didn't verbalize anything, but merely went over the words in his mind. This shows that even from a halachic standpoint, tefilah is essentially a cognitive act - not an act of recitation. 

And yet, how many of us actually relate to the activity of tefilah as an activity of thinking? When we stand up to daven shacharis, minchah, and maariv, do we frame what we are about to do by telling ourselves: "Okay - time for five minutes of good, clean, direct thinking"? Or do we frame tefilah as an activity of "reading from a sidur" or "reciting a text" or "fulfilling an obligation" or some other type of thing? 

Compare our tefilah mentality to our talmud Torah (Torah study) mentality. When we sit down to learn Torah, we definitely frame it as an activity of "good, clean, direct thinking," and we mentally prepare ourselves to engage in concentrated thinking. Our approach to tefilah should feel the same way. Indeed, this is why Chazal classify both tefilah and talmud Torah as "avodah she'ba'lev" (service of the mind), in contrast to "avodah she'ba'guf" (service of the body) - but how many of us really feel that we are doing the same type of thing when davening as we do when learning? 

There is, however, an important distinction between these two acts of avodah she'ba'lev. It is this distinction which is the basis of the "new strategy for tefilah" that I am about to propose. The distinction is expressed in the second half of the quotation from How Green Was My Valley: 

“And by prayer, I don't mean shouting, mumbling, and wallowing like a hog in religious sentiment. Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking. When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying. Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit.”

Although the ultimate goal of talmud Torah is to put into practice what we learn, this isn't part of the act itself. Learning, as an activity, is pure thinking. In contrast, tefilah is a specific method of guided thinking which culminates in self-transformation and self-actualization. Our tefilah is successful insofar as it "makes our thoughts into things that are solid" and "becomes part of ourselves in body, mind, and spirit." 

In this sense, tefilah can be thought of as a form of metaphysically grounded self-guided psychotherapy. And just as psychotherapy cannot be deemed a success unless it produces real change in the way we live, so too, tefilah (textually aided self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework) cannot be deemed successful unless it leads to a real transformation of the self. The Radak on the phrase "hegyon libi - thoughts of my mind" (Tehilim 19:15) explains that "hegyon" refers specifically to "machshavah," which the Rambam defines as "actionable thought." 

Of course, this requires that we actually understand what we are saying when we daven - not only the words and the ideas, but how to internalize these ideas in an actionable manner. This is no simple feat. It requires a lot of thinking and learning outside of tefilah. 

The prospect of devoting time and effort to learning the meaning of the liturgy might be daunting for some, but if you really want to get the most out of your tefilah, then you've gotta start somewhere. My suggestion is to begin with the English translation. Approach it like you would approach anything else you learn (e.g. Mishlei or Tehilim). Ask questions. Raise problems. Try to think of answers. Focus on getting the main idea rather than getting bogged down in the details. Take it one line or one paragraph at a time. Your goal should be to get to the point at which, when you encounter these words in tefilah, you can think them rather than merely recite them. 

Let us conclude by summarizing this new strategy for tefilah - which, truth be told, is really more of a new perspective on tefilah than a specific method:

"Prayer is only another name for good, clean, direct thinking." Recognize what tefilah is: it is an activity of thinking (i.e. self-reflection/self-judgment in God's framework, guided by the text established by the Anshei Knesses ha'Gedolah). 

"When you pray, think. Think well what you're saying." It's not enough to merely recognize that tefilah is thinking. You actually have to think your tefilah! In order to do this, you will need at least a minimal level of comprehension of the words. To the extent that you understand the ideas behind those words, you will find it more natural to think them when you say them.

"Make your thoughts into things that are solid. In that way, your prayer will have strength, and that strength will become a part of you: body, mind, and spirit." Lastly, remember that tefilah is not theoretical thinking, but practical thinking. Carry through with those thoughts into considering how you will think, feel, and act differently as a result of your tefilah than you previously did. 

I realize that this is easier said than done, but I hope that by saying it, the doing part will become more within reach. 

I Hate Sukkah (in a Good Way)

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My Dinner with Andre (1981)

I Hate Sukkah (in a Good Way)

Exordium

I hate the mitzvah of sukkah.

"Whoa there, buddy!" one might object. "Hate is a strong word!"

Yes - and it is a strong feeling I have towards the mitzvah of sukkah ... but only at very specific times, under a narrow set of conditions.

I love the mitzvah of sukkah at the onset of Yom Tov, when we first make kiddush and say the berachah of leishev ba'sukkah. I love the mitzvah of sukkah the first night, when I sleep beneath the s'chach under the stars. I love Yom Tov afternoons when the air is cool and the sun is warm and I curl up with a nice book in my sukkah and read the afternoon away. In fact, I love the mitzvah of sukkah for most of the holiday. 

But when do I hate it? Usually on the 4th or 5th night, at around 10pm, when I'm ready to go to sleep, and the forecast says 15% chance of rain between 11pm and 2am, and it's warm inside and it's cold outside, and I haven't gotten a restful sleep for days, and it's windy but not windy enough, and I want to catch a cold so I'm patur (exempt) but I'm not actually sick yet, and I haven't taken my usual Yom Tov nap because then I'd have to sleep outside, and the vast majority of the people I interact with over the holiday don't sleep in their sukkot because they don't know it's obligatory or they think they have a heter (halachic license to get out of the obligation) or they actually have a heter, but regardless of the reason I must suffer my sukkah-angst in isolation from most of my fellow Jews, and everyone is talking about how nice the weather has been and all I can wish for is torrential rain and meteorological misery so that I can spend the rest of the holiday safe and sound in my own bed indoors, and I am filled with religious guilt for having such a hostile attitude towards one of the 613 mitzvos, and then I am filled with philosophical guilt over my religious guilt, and then I am filled with existential grief over the fact that I am a pathetic psyche-laden intellect in a physical body in a physical universe obligated in a physical mitzvah designed to help me transcend my attachment to the physical and all I can do is complain about my discomfort. 

That is when I hate the mitzvah of sukkah.

But I call this hatred a "good" hatred because it is by design, and it was designed for my benefit - as is the case with all mitzvos. 

Sukkah as a "Skillful Frustration"

I have written on previous occasions about Bruce Lee's concept of "skillful frustrations." Bruce Lee taught that "People have to grow by skillful frustrations – otherwise, they have no incentive to develop their own means and ways of coping with the world." In these articles I have explained how the entire system of mitzvos can be thought of as a regimen of "skillful frustrations" which facilitates each person's development as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking intellect).

The mitzvah of sukkah is a perfect example of this. Let us review the basic halachos, as codified by the Rambam in Hilchos Shofar, Sukkah, v'Lulav:

6:5 – What is the mitzvah of sukkah? That a person should eat, drink, and dwell in a sukkah for all seven days, both by day and by night, just like he dwells in his home during the other days of the year. For all seven days a person should make his home temporary and his sukkah permanent, as it is stated: “In sukkos shall you dwell for seven days” (Vayikra 23:42) How? His attractive utensils and attractive bedding [should be brought] to the sukkah. His drinking utensils - i.e., his cups and crystal pitchers - [should be brought] to the sukkah. However, utensils used for food - i.e., pans and plates - [may be left] outside the sukkah. A candelabra [should be brought] to the sukkah. However, if the sukkah is small, it should be left outside the sukkah.

6:6 – We eat and drink and sleep in the sukkah all seven days, both by day and by night. And it is prohibited to eat a meal outside of the sukkah for all seven days, unless he ate a “temporary eating” of a k’beitzah or less or a little more. And we do not sleep outside of the sukkah, even a nap. It is permissible to drink water and eat fruits outside of the sukkah, but someone who is strict with himself and doesn’t even drink water outside of the sukkah is praiseworthy.

6:7 – Eating on the first night of Sukkos is obligatory, and even if one only ate a kazayis of bread, he has fulfilled his obligation. From then and on it is optional: if one wants to eat a meal, he must eat it in the sukkah, but if he only wants to eat fruits or nuts for the entire seven days, he may heat outside of the sukkah - just like the law of eating matzah on Pesach.

6:9 – Throughout the seven days [of the festival], a person should read in the sukkah. However, when he attempts to comprehend what he reads in depth and appreciate its details, he should do so outside the sukkah, so that his mind will be settled. When a person prays, he may pray inside the sukkah or outside the sukkah, as he desires.

As you can see, the mitzvah of sukkah takes all of the activities of our daily existence - eating, drinking, sleeping, learning, praying - and skillfully frustrates them by either forcing us to do them in the sukkah, or by forcing us to analyze whether we need to do them in the sukkah. Halacha makes it impossible to fall back on our habits.

This reminds me of a scene from the movie My Dinner with Andre (1981), in which Andre tells Wally about a friend of his named ROC who would implement his own "skillful frustrations," just to change things up. This topic leads them to a broader discussion which parallels our analysis of the mitzvah of sukkah. I will underline the most pertinent passages for emphasis:

ANDRE: But ROC used to practice certain exercises, like, uh, for instance, if he were right-handed, all today he would do everything with his left hand. All day, eating, writing, everything ... opening doors ... in order to break the habits of living. Because the great danger, he felt, for him, was to fall into a trance, out of habit. He had a whole series of very simple exercises that he had invented just to keep seeing, feeling, remembering. Because you have to learn now. It didn't used to be necessary, but today you have to learn something, like, uh ... are you really hungry or are you just stuffing your face because that's what you do, out of habit? I mean, you can afford to do it, so you do it, whether you're hungry or not. 

ANDRE: You know, if you go to the Buddhist Meditation Center, they make you taste each bite of your food ... so it takes two hours, it's horrible, to eat your lunch. But you're conscious of the taste of your food. If you're just eating out of habit, then you don't taste the food, and you're not conscious of the reality of what's happening to you. You enter the dream world again. 

WALLY: Now, do you think maybe we live in this dream world because we do so many things every day that affect us in ways that somehow we're just not aware of? I mean, you know, I was thinking, um, last Christmas, Debbie and I were given an electric blanket. I can tell you that it is just such a marvelous advance over our old way of life, and it is just great. But, uh, it is quite different from not having an electric blanket and I sometimes sort of wonder, well, what is it doing to me? I mean, I sort of feel, uh, I'm not sleeping quite in the same way. 

ANDRE: No, you wouldn't be. 

WALLY: I mean, uh, and my dreams are sort of different and ... and I feel a little bit different when I get up in the morning. 

ANDRE: I wouldn't put an electric blanket on for anything. First, I'd be worried I might get electrocuted. No, I don't trust technology. But I mean, the main thing, Wally, is that, I think that that kind of comfort just separates you from reality in a very direct way. 

WALLY: You mean ... 

ANDRE: I mean, if you don't have that electric blanket, and your apartment is cold, and you need to put on another blanket, or go into the closet and pile up coats on top of the blankets you have, well, then you know it's cold. And that sets up a link of things. You have compassion for the per ... well, is the person next to you cold? Are there other people in the world who are cold? What a cold night. I like the cold, my God, I never realized. I don't want a blanket, it's fun being cold, I can snuggle up against you even more because it's cold. All sorts of things occur to you. Turn on that electric blanket, and it's like taking a tranquilizer or it's like being lobotomized by watching television. I think you enter the dream world again. 

ANDRE: I mean, what does it do to us, Wally, living in an environment where something as massive as the seasons, or winter, or cold don't in any way affect us? I mean, we're animals, after all. I mean, what does that mean? I think that means that instead of living under the sun and the moon and the sky and the stars, we're living in a fantasy world of our own making. 

WALLY: Yeah, but I mean ... I would never give up my electric blanket, Andre, I mean, because, uh, New York is cold in the winter, I mean, our apartment is cold. It's a difficult environment, I mean, our lives are tough enough as it is, I'm not looking for ways to get rid of the few things that provide relief and comfort, I mean, on the contrary, I'm looking for more comfort because, uh, the world is very abrasive, I mean, uh ... I'm trying to protect myself because, really, there are these abrasive beatings to be avoided everywhere you look. 

ANDRE: Yeah, but, Wally, don't ... don't you see that comfort can be dangerous? I mean, you like to be comfortable, and I like to be comfortable, too, but comfort can lull you into a dangerous tranquility. I mean, my mother knew a woman, Lady Hatfield, who was one of the richest women in the world, and she died of starvation because all she would eat was chicken. I mean, she just liked chicken, Wally, and that was all she would eat, and actually, her body was starving, but she didn't know it cause she was quite happy eating her chicken, and so, she finally died. 

ANDRE: See, I honestly believe that we're all like Lady Hatfield now, we're having a lovely, comfortable time with our electric blankets and our chicken, and meanwhile we're starving because we're so cut off from contact with reality that we're not getting any real sustenance ... cause we don't see the world. We don't see ourselves. We don't see how our actions affect other people.

Herein lies one of the key features of the Torah regimen. Andre and Wally recognize the dangers of our comforts, our habits, and our tendency to isolate ourselves from reality - and yet, Wally admits: "I would never give up my electric blanket." But that is exactly what the Torah forces us to do - not permanently (like ascetic monks), not arbitrarily (like ROC's personal routine-changes), but skillfully, in a manner calculated to lead us towards specific fundamental insights about ourselves and reality.

But what I like about the comparison between My Dinner with Andre and the mitzvah of sukkah is how it highlights the fact that even if a person didn't know anything about the purpose of this mitzvah or the themes of the holiday, the very act of observing this mitzvah would nevertheless lead to insights which trigger personal growth. 

A Personal Sukkah-inspired Insight

I'd like to share one of the insights I had a few years ago. Before I do that, I'll present the background ideas which made this insight possible.

In the Moreh ha'Nevuchim 3:43 the Rambam explains that Pesach and Sukkos share a common moral theme:

As for the moral lesson, it is that man should always remember the days of bad amid the days of good, so that his gratitude to God should become great and so that he should achieve humility and submissiveness. Accordingly, matzah and maror must be eaten on Pesach to remind us of what happened to us. Similarly, we leave [our] houses and dwell in huts, as is done by those who toil in deserts and wastelands, in order to remember that this was our situation in times before: "that I made the Children of Israel dwell in huts, etc." and that we were moved from this [situation] to dwell in richly ornamented houses in the best and most fertile places on earth, due to Hashem's kindnesses and His promise to our fathers, inasmuch as they were perfected people in their philosophical outlook and in their moral character; I am referring to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. For this, too, is one of the pivots of the Torah, I mean the belief that every benefit that will be or has been granted is due to the zechus Avos (merit of the Forefathers), since "they kept the way of Hashem to do righteousness and justice" (Bereishis 18:19).

Sukkos is first referred to in the Written Torah as "the Festival of the Gathering at the close of the year, when you gather in your work from the field" (Shemos 23:16). In an agricultural society, this is the time of year when we would be most prone to feelings of haughtiness and entitlement, as if we were the sole causes of our own success. In this state of abundance, indulgence, and self-congratulation, we would be prone to forgetting our humble origins as impoverished slaves in a tyrannical and abusive regime. We would forget that we owe all of our thanks to Hashem - and His promise to the Avos - for taking us out of that wretched situation and ultimately enabling us to reach the state of prosperity that we now enjoy.

Not only are we enjoined to remember our impoverished past, but we are commanded to take responsibility for the impoverished members of our own community - during Pesach, Sukkos, and every Yom Tov meal, as part of the mitzvah of simchah (rejoicing). The Rambam writes in Hilchos Shevivas Yom Tov:

And when he eats and drinks [at his holiday meal] he is obligated to feed the convert, the orphan, and the widow along with the other downtrodden poor. But someone who closes the gates of his courtyard and eats and drinks – he, his children, and his wife – and doesn’t provide food and drink for the impoverished and embittered: this is not the simchah of mitzvah, but the simchah of his belly. These are the people about whom it is said: “their sacrifices will be to like the bread of mourners, of which all who partake are defiled, because their bread is for themselves” (Hoshea 9:4). Simchah like this will be a disgrace for them, as it is said: “and I will scatter filth upon your faces, the filth of your festive offerings” (Malachi 2:3).

In other words, if a person attempts to rejoice on the holiday without caring for the poor, his mitzvah of simchah is transformed into a self-indulgent travesty. 

Okay. Now we are in a position to appreciate the insight I had on Sukkos several years ago.

It was the 4th or 5th night of Sukkos at around 10pm. The forecast was uncertain: there was a chance it would rain between 11pm and 2am, but the probability wasn't high enough to wait it out. I was sleep-deprived, moody, and resentful of the mitzvah. I waited until I was too tired to resist, and then I started getting ready for bed. As I dragged my mattresses and blankets out into the cold night, I hoped that it would rain so I could finally get a good night's sleep indoors. Lo and behold, at around 12pm, I awoke to the pitter-patter of raindrops. I rejoiced! Finally, I could go in.

And then it hit me: I can go indoors ... but there are countless human beings out there who can't. I thought about the millions of people who are homeless, who sleep out in the cold every night, and cannot go indoors because they have no place to go. 

The idea from the Rambam about "remembering the days of bad amid the days of good" and the halacha about caring for the poor as part of our rejoicing on Yom Tov suddenly clicked. My childish gratitude for being allowed to go inside shifted into a true gratitude for all of the good in my life: that I have a home, a family, a bed, clothing, electricity, water, financial security - and more importantly, that I have the system of Torah, with all of the moral and intellectual perfection it has helped me to attain, which made this moment of insight possible. 

Was this a “new idea”? Of course not. I knew that homeless people exist, and that they have nowhere to go. But it was only via the observance of this mitzvah that I encountered this insight in such a visceral way, during a time of the year (i.e. an opulent holiday filled with food and drink) that I wouldn’t have otherwise given any thought to anyone but myself? Not only that, but because this moment of insight was so powerful, it altered the way I view and interact with poor and homeless people in general, for the better. 

Concluding Thoughts

As Andre told Wally, the electric blankets and the chicken act like tranquilizers, creating a cocoon of comfort which muffles the harsh realities of the outside world. But thanks to the mitzvah system, we are compelled - often against our will - to temporarily and strategically deprive us of these comforts. Whether it's giving up the "electric blankets" of our houses on Sukkos or giving up the "chicken" of our chametz on Pesach or kashrus or niddah or Shabbos or tefilah or shaatnez or any of the other 613 mitzvos - there is no shortage of "skillful frustrations" to spur our personal development. 

And it is this thought which makes my periodical animosity towards the mitzvah of sukkah bearable - and indeed, a discomfort for which I am deeply grateful. 

Have a chag sameach, filled with skillful frustrations!