Elul Group - Davening Thoughts

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

First and foremost, a hearty yasher koach to Caryn and Ruthie for once again arranging this group.

While I must admit that I have not been able to read all of the divrei Torahs, the ones that I have read have been inspiring, moving and strengthening in that it helps to “hear” people touch upon so many concepts that I see in my own life. I would like to also apologize to the group for the days I missed saying tehillim. Hodu L’Hashem, we were blessed with a little boy on 21 Av (which was 6 August) so the first few weeks of Elul were kind of a blur.       

Our Rabbis have taught: On entering the barn to measure the newly harvested grain one shall recite the benediction, ‘May it be Your will O Lord, our God, that You may send blessing upon the work of our hands.’ Once he has begun to measure, he says, ‘Blessed be He who sends blessing into this heap.’ If, however, he first measured the grain and then recited the benediction, then his prayer is in vain, because blessing is not to be found in anything that has been already weighed or measured or numbered, but only in a thing hidden from sight” (Talmud Taanit 8b).

More succinctly put, as noted on the same Talmudic page, “In the school of Rabbi Ishmael it was taught: Blessing is only possible in things not under the direct control of the eye, as it is said, ‘The
Lord will command the blessing with you in your barns’” (Deuteronomy 28:8).

We are in the midst of the time of year when this message is particularly appropriate because we are all focussed on analyzing the year that has passed and contemplating what we want for the future. Living in a world where there is so much immediate gratification and so much technology that allows us to discover the unknowable,  we often approach situations with a desire, almost a need, to know the answers to all of our questions and all of the undetermined aspects of our life.

During the course of my pregnancy, I was in a position where my doctor was placing a lot of pressure on me to go for extra testing to make sure everything was as desired (given my age).

A natural worrier, this pressure caused a great deal of anxiety for me until I thought about this concept. Now was the time to step away from my need for control and to remember that HaShem runs the world. I told the doctor that I was going to go with the faith in God plan. Having refocused my brain on emunah (rather than worrying), it was time to transform that into action.
Davening, however, has never been easy for me. I have a hard time concentrating, prioritizing my time and most importantly, as anyone who knows me will agree, asking for something.

Once upon a time, I davened Shacharit and Mincha every day. The year I was in aveilus for my father, I even went to a mincha minyan most days. Baruch Hashem, life got busy, and I found myself missing mincha more often than not. Then life got busier still and my davening time was reduced to birchat hashacher...often mumbled while serving breakfast. Like many people, my davening increased in times of difficulty, but that often faded.

My davening actually began to increase a little over a year ago, not because I felt that I was connecting to Hashem, but because I thought it was important to set an example for my children. Now, however, I was davening for me.

I would love to say that my davening was transformative...the challenges I faced before are still there. When I go to daven, however, I try to remember that HaShem wants our requests and that He gives us a multitude of opportunities to turn to Him.

During the Aseres Ymai Teshuva, we change our davening - which is an excellent opportunity to work on concentration! - and I think that the alteration from haKel Hakadosh to HaMelech HaKadosh is a powerful reminder of our opportunity to make requests. HaKel is the idea of a deity, which is far less approachable than HaMelech, the King.

I am going to close now with a bracha that we should all only have simple things to daven for and that each of you should be blessed with bracha, parnassa, simcha and shalom.

(I apologize, I usually write more cohesively, but Asher seems to know every time I sit down to concentrate.) I will be giving tzedakah to Midreshet Rachel V'Chaya.

Twenty Years Since Leaving Egypt

In our household, there is no holiday quite as beloved as Sukkot. One might find that funny since I hate being cold and I live in Montreal, Canada, where winter comes early and it has been known to snow on the holiday.

My husband, David, loves building his sukkah - and the personal possessive pronoun is the way he thinks of it. He even calculates how many invitations we get to other people’s sukkot over the holiday to make certain that we are home the majority of the time, preferably with guests.

When we first purchased our home, the attached courtyard/patio was a huge draw because of its ability to be transformed into a sukkah. There were, however, several issues to contend with before we could make a proper sukkah there. For instance, the existing walls are not quite tall enough. Luckily, my husband used to work in construction, and so, after consulting with our rabbi, he got to work making creative adjustments. Since then, once a year, he proudly gives friends a tour of the halachic (Jewish legal) concepts he used to “create a kosher” sukkah.

Our beautiful sukkah is not, however, the reason for my special feelings about the holiday of Sukkot. For me, there is a sentimental connection, particularly to Shabbat Chol Hamoed (Shabbat during the interim days of the holiday). Shabbat Chol Hamoed, you see, is the anniversary of my starting to observe Shabbat.

It all began just over twenty years ago when I spent my junior year of college at Hebrew University in Jerusalem. During that first month, when all the students moved about testing different friendships and cliques, I made arrangements with two friends to use the upcoming fall break, which began right after Yom Kippur, for a tour of Egypt. At the time, it didn’t occur to me that we would be traveling over the Sukkot holiday.

In the time between booking the trip and our departure I had become close with a group of students who were becoming observant - a path that I had also begun the year before. Even before I boarded the plane to Israel, I knew that I was going to become more traditional, but I did not expect to actually become Shabbat observant. With this new group of friends, I found the company of people striving toward the same goals and enjoyed beautiful Shabbat meals with local families. Additionally, the experience of celebrating the High Holidays in Jerusalem had a profound impact on my connection to traditional Judaism.

Coming off the high of a particularly inspirational Yom Kippur, I was suddenly faced with a true conundrum - whether to go on the very expensive trip for which I had already paid, or to celebrate Sukkot in Jerusalem. I went on the trip, but made my own “compromise.” I brought grape juice and cups and little cakes so that I could make kiddush (on the bus) in honor of the holiday. I also brought a prayerbook and made certain to recite at least one service each day.

I cannot deny that the tour of Egypt was  both fun and fascinating. Throughout the entire trip, however, I had this small, nagging feeling of discomfort even as I tried to be aware of whatever I could do to adhere to Jewish law.

Upon our return, as the bus began its ascent to Jerusalem, I felt an entirely new sense of anticipation. It was Friday afternoon, Chol Hamoed Sukkot. I had called ahead and knew that my friends had already arranged Shabbat meals for me. I kept glancing at my watch, worried that we might not make it to the city before sundown. Finally, we were there. Standing on the streets of Jerusalem, I experienced another inspirational moment as the first light rain of the season began. It was all-the-more amazing because Sukkot is the holiday during which we pray for rain in the Land of Israel. My friends and I grabbed a taxi, and I was back at the Mount Scopus campus with just enough time for me to drop off my stuff and change into Shabbat clothing. The rain stopped in time for everyone to enjoy the Friday night meal in their sukkot.

Twenty years later I can still remember the feelings I had disembarking from that bus in Jerusalem, the experience of that first rain, and, perhaps most significantly, the conscious choice to fully observe that Shabbat. In our daily prayers and during our holidays (especially Passover), the Jewish people spend a great deal of time remembering and being grateful for God taking us out of Egypt (yetziat Mitzrayim). In my mind, the return trip from Egypt was my own personal yetziat Mitzrayim.

When God took the Israelites out of Egypt, it was the beginning of their journey to the Promised Land. In fact, it was the beginning of a history of journeys. That first Shabbat in Jerusalem was the beginning of my own personal journey that has taken me to many places, both emotionally and physically, and has now led me to Montreal.

This Sukkot, I will sit in our beautiful, unique sukkah with my handy husband (who will probably have helped build one or two other sukkot in the neighborhood) and our incredible children and thank God for the wonderful blessings He has rained down upon me. On Shabbat Chol Hamoed (provided there is no snow), I will retell this story to my family while we huddle together under the heat lamp that my husband so thoughtfully installs for me each year.