I grew up in a medium-sized Conservative congregation in Massachusetts. I listened intently to my rabbi when he spoke. He was always articulate and thoughtfully considered when he rose to the lectern. I admired him so much that I modeled myself after him after I was ordained. I kept his modulation and speaking style inside of me all those years until the time I began to speak as a newly minted rabbi. I was delivering words but the thoughts and ideations were not mine; they belonged to my teacher and mentor, my rabbi.
Yet one thing I began to note as I took my first post - also in Massachusetts – was that I cannot remember a single time when my rabbi referred to God from the bima. Of course he spoke on tzedaka, kindness, Jewish history and philosophy, current news that affected the congregation and Jewry as a whole, coping with life’s pain and the ever-present theme of the threat of assimilation. God was left outside the Sanctuary doors as the congregation was led in familiar tunes, but not understood, by the cantor.
Not surprisingly, I followed the example of the man I admired. It was not until I started frequenting hospitals, nursing facilities and homes where my congregants asked me to pray for them that I began to realize that I had grown to be a community-minded, historic proud Jew but one who had yet to establish a relationship with God. Now, my members taught me the need to reach deep within myself in order to bring to them the healing they desperately wanted.
I spent the next years learning how to speak to God, pray with people in distress, and listen to the Voice that was seeking me but the one I had not yet acknowledged.
So what have I learned?
I have learned that each person develops his or her own relationship to God. No two are alike.
I learned that many people, maybe even most, have had personal experiences when they felt touched by God, what is called a personal revelation.
I learned how to feel the prayers instead of saying them, sometimes lingering over a word or phrase for long stretches of time.
I learned that kavannah means meaning what you say, not saying words. An example is Atah, an almost ubiquitous word meaning, “You.” When I consider that I am opening my heart to the Master of the Universe directly I can become filled with awe. Or the word “Olam” which means “world,” “universe,” “cosmos” and that which is “hidden.” This word “Olam” is sated with power.
I have learned that praying while holding someone’s hand for much needed healing can bring welcome tears of joy and want.
I have learned that children understand God intimately when they are introduced to the Holy One and that when we draw close to death we come to that same place of understanding once again.
I learned that talking about God is one of the most intimate things two people can do.
I learned that meaningful prayer for me is less about asking and more about my appreciation of what I have (clothes, food, a home, freedom from slavery…) and what is not missing (I have arms, stomach, breath, a functioning heart…).
I learned that God answers prayers in the form that we need, not want.
I learned that God may appreciate my Hebrew but He understands my English just as well, if not better.
I learned that sometimes just calling God’s name is enough (Ribbono shel Olam is my preference).
I learned that God also weeps for us.
I learned that I am never alone.
