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. 

Is Judaism a Religion? (Version 2.0)

Two hours into writing this post I realized that I had already written and published this post on this blog in 2014. Since the direction I took this time around is different than the direction I took last time, I decided to finish writing the post to see what would happen. I was happy with the result. Since I think this one is the better version, I decided to remove the other one from the blog.

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Spoiler Alert: My answer to this question is the same as the answer to the question:
"Are both of these figures Betty White?"

Is Judaism a Religion? (Version 2.0)

Three Reasons for this Post

I was motivated to write this post for three reasons - two of which are pet peeves, and the other of which is a national teshuvah-related musing:

Reason / Pet Peeve #1: Throughout my teaching career I've had a number of students who have struggled with their relationship to Judaism. Sometimes these students express themselves by saying things like, "I have problems with religion" or "I have mixed feelings towards religion." 

This irks me. I'm not bothered by the fact that they have problems or mixed feelings, but by their use of the blanket-term "religion." Sometimes I'll ask them, "Really? Which religion?" They look at me with surprise in their eyes and answer, "Um. Judaism?" to which I respond, "So why did you say that you have problems with 'religion' as a whole, rather than with 'Judaism' or 'Torah' or 'being frum'?" The answers they tend to give lead directly into the subject matter of this blog post.

[Just to be clear: I don't blame or judge these students for lumping Judaism into the larger category of "religion." This is merely a symptom of the mistake which will presently be discussed.] 

Reason / Pet Peeve #2: Similarly, I am bothered by the use of the term "Judeo-Christian values." I do not dispute the fact that there are certain political agendas which unite religious Jews and Christians finding themselves on the same side of the aisle. I'm not talking about this kind of thing (i.e. "Judeo-Christian agendas" or "Judeo-Christian political objectives"). I am referring to the persistent myth that Judaism and Christianity share a common value system or a similar core belief system. I even considered entitling this post "The Myth of Judeo-Christian Values."

Reason #3: I am writing this post on the 17th of Tammuz. The Rambam [1] writes: 

"Five tzaros (calamities) occurred on the 17th of Tammuz: (a) the Tablets were broken; (b) in Bayis Rishon (the First Holy Temple) the tamid (continual offering) was discontinued; (c) the walls of Jerusalem were breached [in the war leading up to] the destruction of the second [Temple]; (d) Apostamos, the wicked [Roman general], burned a Sefer Torah; (e) he erected an idol in the Beis ha'Mikdash."

Based on Tuesday's post about national teshuvah gemurah, we must conclude that all five of these events were caused by national chataim (sins), and that these chataim still exist within the Jewish people today. In this vein, I began musing about the last tzarah mentioned by the Rambam. I thought to myself: "If the chataim of the Jews at the time of the Second Beis ha'Mikdash resulted in avodah zarah (idolatry) being erected in our holiest site, what is the parallel that exists today? How have we, as 21st century Jews, enabled avodah zarah to be erected in our holiest sites?" 

Call it speculation, call it drash (homiletics), call it "using symbolism as a rhetorical device" - my mind associated to the contents of today's post. I will explain this association below.

Without further ado, let's tackle the question at hand.

Is Judaism a Religion?

When asked this question by students, I tend to give the following answer: "Either Judaism is not a religion, or Judaism is the only religion." This is just a cheeky way of answering: "No, Judaism is not a religion." My answer is based on three features which place Judaism into its own category, distinct from other religions. In order to sound fancy, let us refer to these as "the three pillars."  

1. Emunah vs. Faith: I have written several posts about the definition of emunah and the primacy of emunah in Judaism. Most, if not all, other religions are based on faith, whereas Judaism is based on emunah. By "faith" I mean conviction without (or in spite of) knowledge, evidence, and reason. By "emunah" I mean conviction based on knowledge, evidence, and reason. 

Faith and emunah are polar opposites. Since other religions demand a leap of faith, whereas Judaism is built upon a foundation of emunah, it doesn't make sense to classify them under the same heading - just as it wouldn't make sense to include a non-fiction book in the fiction section of the library.

2. Regimen: I have also written several posts about the definition of Torah (which, in this context, is interchangeable with "Judaism"). Ralbag defines Torah as "a regimen that brings those who practice it properly to true success." By "true success" the Ralbag means "comprehension of Hashem, to the extent that is [humanly] possible" which is achieved by keeping halacha, by pursuing intellectual and ethical perfection beyond the dictates of halacha - that is, by emulating Hashem's middos (actions) of chesed (kindness), tzedakah (righteousness), and mishpat (justice) - and by striving to comprehend as much science and Torah as possible. This is the Judaism I practice.

I challenge anyone to find a religion whose character and objectives match this description. There are religions which emphasize ethical development but neglect the development of the intellect. There are religions which advocate pursuing a relationship with God, but have nothing to do with chesed, tzedakah, and mishpat. There are systems which may be described as "regimens" which focus on the pursuit of human perfection, but leave God entirely out of the picture. To my knowledge, there is no other religion which presents itself as a divinely authored regimen for perfection as a tzelem Elokim (truth-seeking human being). 

3. Chochmah: Everything in Judaism is based on chochmah (wisdom), exhibits chochmah, and promotes chochmah. Every halacha (Jewish law) is determined by the unique method of scientific thinking which characterizes the study of Torah she'baal Peh (the Oral Torah). Every mitzvah was given for rational reasons that can be grasped by the human intellect - even the chukim (statutes). No element of authentic Judaism was dictated by arbitrary whim, decreed by inexplicable mystical intuition, or prescribed by religious sentiment. Every feature was arrived at through chochmah. With other religions this is simply not the case. 

These three features set Judaism apart from all other religions. This is why I believe that the answer to the question, "Is Judaism a religion?" is a firm: "NO." 

Rambam's Analogy

One might object, saying: "Fine - I'll accept the fact that Judaism is fundamentally different from other religions, but you can't deny that there are many similarities. For example, consider how many things Judaism and Christianity have in common: monotheism, prayer, reward and punishment, heaven and hell, etc. What do you have to say about that?" 

The best response I have seen to this line of reasoning is the Rambam's analogy in Iggeres Teiman. The Rambam writes:

Our religion differs as much from the other allegedly similar religions as a living man endowed with the faculty of reason differs from a statue which is ever so well carved out of marble, wood, bronze, or silver. When a person ignorant of divine wisdom or of God’s works sees the statue that superficially resembles a man in its contours, form, features, and color, he believes that the structure of the parts of a statue is like the constitution of a man, because he is deficient in his understanding of the inner organization of both. But the informed person who knows the interior of both, is cognizant of the fact that the internal structure of the statue betrays no skillful workmanship at all, whereas the inward parts of a man are truly marvelously made, and testify to the wisdom of the Creator – such as the prolongation of the nerves in the muscles and their ramifications, the branching out of the sinews and their intersections and the network of their ligaments and their manner of growth, the articulations of the bones and the joints, the pulsating and non-pulsating blood vessels and their ramifications, the setting of the limbs into one another, the uncovered and covered parts, every one of these in proportion, in form and proper place.

Likewise, one who is ignorant of the deeper meaning of Scripture and the inner dimension of the Torah would be led to believe that our religion has something in common with a counterfeit religion if he makes a comparison between the two. For he will note that in the Torah there are prohibitions and commandments, just as in counterfeit religions there are permitted and prohibited acts. Both contain a system of religious observances, positive and negative precepts, and reward and punishment. 

If he could only fathom the inner dimensions [of Torah], then he would realize that the essence of the true divine religion lies in the wisdom of its positive and negative precepts, all of which benefit man in his striving after perfection, and which remove every harm that would impede his [pursuit of] this perfection. These commandments enable people to acquire moral and intellectual qualities – the masses according to their ability, and the elite individuals according to their apprehension – so that the community of God becomes pre-eminent, reaching a two-fold perfection: a first perfection, by which I mean man’s spending his life in this world under the best and most agreeable conditions, and a second perfection, by which I mean the apprehension of concepts, each person in accordance with his capacity. 

The other religions which resemble our own have no inner dimension [of wisdom], but are [merely] stories and imitations which are intended for self-glorification, so that people will say that they are similar to so-and-so. However, their counterfeiting is patently clear to the wise. Consequently they become objects of derision and ridicule just as one laughs and smiles at an ape when it imitates the actions of men. 

The Rambam here identifies two qualities which differentiate "the true divine religion" from "counterfeit religions." The first is the chochmah of the Torah, which the Rambam analogizes to the chochmah that is manifest in the design of the human body. The second quality he points out is the essential objective of the Torah's mitzvos, which is to benefit man in his pursuit of human perfection by helping him to acquire moral and intellectual excellence. In contrast, other religions lack an "inner dimension" of chochmah, and are not designed to facilitate man's moral and intellectual development. 

[You might have noticed that these are two out of the three pillars that I mentioned above. At first I wondered why the Rambam left out the fact that other religions are based on faith, whereas Judaism is based on proof. Then I remembered that the Rambam subsequently devotes an entire section of the Iggeres Teiman to this very point, which is why he doesn't mention of it in this analogy.]

All of the apparent similarities listed at the beginning of this section are just that: apparent similarities.

• The Jewish concept of Hashem's Oneness (i.e. that God is Absolutely One, without any parts, qualities, similarities, divisions, multiplicity, or plurality of any kind) is completely different than the so-called monotheism of Christianity - especially the Trinitarian sects of Christianity.
• The Jewish concept of tefilah is utterly different from the infantile Christian concept of prayer, as I wrote about in Jewish Prayer (and Jury Duty).
• The Jewish concept of reward and punishment has nothing in common with the primitive parallel notions in Christianity, as I wrote about in Malbim on Hashgachas Hashem and Human Responsibility.
• The Jewish concept of "heaven" (i.e. Olam ha'ba, or the World to Come) bears no resemblance whatsoever to the childish heaven of Christianity, as I wrote about in Mark Twain: On Olam ha'Ba.

According to the Rambam, the same goes for EVERY seeming similarity between Judaism and Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or all the other religions. If you learn what Judaism actually holds in each case, you will see that the Judaism differs from the other religions as much as a Madame Tussaud wax figure differs from the person it was modeled after. 

Revisiting the Three Reasons

Let's go back to my three motives for writing this post: (1) my annoyance when people say they "have problems with religion" when they really mean they "have problems with Judaism," (2) the myth of "Judeo-Christian values," and (3) the modern-day corollary to Apostamos setting up an idol in the Beis ha'Mikdash.

re: Reason #1: In my experience, if a student characterizes his or her struggles as being "problems with religion," there is a good chance that the characterization is accurate. Every single time this has happened (so far), I quickly discover that the student is unaware of one, two, or all three of the features that Judaism apart from other religions. Once I help bring these students to the realization of what Judaism really is, it eventually dawns on them that many of their problems have nothing to do with authentic Judaism, and that Judaism supports their criticisms of "religion." This doesn't mean that they won't have other problems with Judaism, but I usually find that this "Aha!" moment creates an inroad and helps these students to be more open to hearing what Judaism has to offer. 

re: Reason #2: I think it's pretty clear at this point in the post that my feelings about the notion of "Judeo-Christian values" are well-founded - certainly according to the Rambam. 

re: Reason #3: Does Apostamos's erection of an idol in the Beis ha'Mikdash have anything to do with the subject of this post? Maybe, and maybe not. But I know one thing: the fact that so many Jews are ignorant of these three pillars indicates that Klal Yisrael has allowed Judaism to become defined by the concepts, values, and terminology of other religions. "They mingled with the nations and learned from their actions" (Tehilim 106:35). This undoubtedly qualifies as a national cheit (sin), and this cheit has resulted in innumerable personal and communal tzaros (calamities). 

Each and every Jew has a sphere of influence. Mine, as a teacher, extends to my students. Yours might be in your shul, or among your coworkers, or with your children. Regardless of how big or small one's sphere of influence is, each of us has a responsibility to practice Torah in a manner which reflects that  “[it is our] wisdom and discernment in the eyes of the nations, who shall hear all these decrees and who shall say, ‘Surely a wise and discerning people is this great nation!’” (Devarim 4:6). 

If you agree with me about these three pillars, then I encourage you to bring awareness to them in your Torah discussions. And if you disagree with me, then I encourage you to speak out against these pillars. The main thing is that you fight to restore authentic Judaism to its previous splendor. The truth will ultimately emerge and be established forever.

Jewish Prayer (and Jury Duty)

This blog post began as a Facebook note which I posted this past March, when I was summoned to jury duty for the first time. I wrote it as a Facebook note because I knew that if I tried writing it as a blog post, I'd feel pressured to treat it as a definitive, authoritative, comprehensive essay on Jewish prayer, and I would never end up finishing it. Now that I've written this disclaimer, I feel fine posting it here. :)

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Artwork: Reality Strobe, by Dan Scott

Jewish Prayer (and Jury Duty)

I always begin my introductory tefilah (prayer) classes by teaching my students the difference between the common religious notion of prayer and Judaism's concept of tefilah. This difference is reflected in the etymology of the words we use for each activity. 

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. 

I will attempt to illustrate this through a real-world example. Earlier this year I was summoned for jury duty for the first time. Day #1 was a terribly boring, stressful, bureaucratically inept experience. The jury selection process didn't even begin until late in the afternoon, and I didn't get called up until the very end. Shortly after I finally got called up, we were dismissed and instructed to come back the next day. 

During the interval between Day #1 and Day #2, I found myself in a state of conflict between my wants and my needs, and at the mercy of forces beyond my control - in other words, the perfect opportunity for tefilah! 

From a purely subjective standpoint, my wants were clear. Jury duty thus far had been miserable, annoying, and incredibly inconvenient for myself, my students, and my colleagues. The school needed to get other teachers to substitute for the eight classes I'd be missing, and most of my classes didn't lend themselves to continuing on in the unit without me. I wanted nothing more than to be back in school, teaching my students. 

The simple tefilah would have been to request to get out of jury duty. However, as I thought about how to formulate my request in tefilah, I admitted to myself that the desire to get out of jury duty stemmed largely from selfish desires. 

I then tried thinking about this in terms of my objective needs, and the objective needs of those around me. I found myself confronted with a dilemma. On the one hand, I was needed at school by my students and by my coworkers as a teacher of Torah. On the other hand, I was needed by the American Justice System, and by the individuals involved in this particular case. This realization was bolstered by my observation of how many unqualified people were in the jury pool, and how my presence as a Talmudically-trained, justice-minded, thinking juror would be an asset to all who were involved. 

I gave quite some thought as to how to formulate my tefilah to address this conflict - to balance my wants with the demands of objective justice, righteousness, and kindness, but to do so in a manner that would be genuine, and wouldn't involve lying to myself and asking for something I didn't truly want. 

In the end, I arrived at the following formulation: "please help me to be of the greatest service to my fellow human beings" - whether that resulted in me serving on the jury, or getting off jury duty and returning to my students. This was a request that I was able to make with honesty which factored in my recognition of my own bias from my selfish preferences and my lack of knowledge as to which outcome was truly better. 

I ended up getting turned down in the jury selection process at the end of Day #2, which made me quite happy. I am not a navi (prophet), so I have no way of knowing whether my tefilah played any role in this outcome. But I do know one thing with certainty: the activity of davening (i.e. self-evaluation in the framework of objective reality) was extremely beneficial for my development as a Jew and as a human being, and that alone made my tefilah valuable.