Prayer

I love my (Jewish) heritage and its rites and rituals. I try to recite the prescribed liturgy, davening [praying] three times a day. But there is one prayer that contains a verse that confuses me. I don't really understand what it is saying. (There are others of course, but they are not the subjects of today's effort.) I'm fairly sure that I have, in the past, admitted to my difficulties with our prayers, but I want to use this example to illustrate one particular thing that is giving me trouble.

The prayer is called Tachanun, and one version or another is said on most days. The verse in question, originally from Samuel II, has been translated as Let us fall into Hashem's [G-d's] hand for His mercies are abundant, but let me not fall into human hands. The statement is by David, and the translation is by “Rabbi Artscroll,” a term used both approvingly and satirically to characterize the interpretations found in a series of books by Artscroll, the publisher of many books, all adhering to a fairly rigorous rendition of Jewish law. I suspect that there are many explanations of this verse in our literature, but, for me, they are all closed books.

There are many problems that can be related to this apparently simple and straightforward verse, and they are ones that are universal, but I'll focus on an apparent distinction between two types of punishment – one which is merciful and one which, presumably, isn't – and that one of the punishments, though likely to be longer, is more desirable than the other. The verse is followed by another that pleads for mercy, asking Hashem to accept our prayers and grant us compassionate treatment. The implication is that our fates are decided at the last minute and our prayers can cause Hashem to change plans for us.

It's generally accepted that, until the moment of our death, we can repent for sins we committed and we'll be forgiven. And every year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, we seek the same forgiveness, in the hope that our lot in the following year will be better than it might have been. We assume that our destiny is changeable, while we simultaneously believe that G-d knows, and has always known, what is going to happen – that is, our future is determined even before we pray. And that's because He knows what we will do – whether or not we pray for mercy. It's a common construction, but it raises the issues of free will, omniscience, predetermination, Divine control, and others. The idea is comforting, however, and it's easy to ignore those issues.

But back to the focus. And that is the question regarding punishment inflicted by man and that originating from G-d. The words expressing preference from David suggest that Divine punishments are more merciful than those of man. One might wonder if a “natural” death, one often prolonged, is better than a sudden, traumatic one inflicted on us by one of our fellows. The verse, however, could be understood to indicate a belief that the latter implies torture and pain while the former is accompanied by comfort. We'll never really know David's thinking on the subject.

The proposed possibilities, though, miss the point. Our heritage teaches us that G-d controls everything – the events that we consider good and what we deem “bad.” So, if that is the case, both of the punishments about which David ponders are Divine in origin. We have learned that evil people may be made agents of G-d and used to perform evil deeds that promote His “agenda.” They do so of their own “free will” and are punished for their acts, but they are acts which G-d controls. And penalties are warranted both for the one being punished and the one doing the punishing, for he will suffer both for this act and for his other evil behavior.

But if we accept the idea that all punishments in fact reflect G-d's will and are under His control, how do we explain David's statement? Certainly he understood “the system” better than we. He surely would have known that whatever happened to him, whether by “Hashem's hand” or by “human hands” reflected G-d's will, and while he might hope for the former, he couldn't change what was to be. The only reasonable interpretation isn't an interpretation at all, but that it was a literal expression of his prayer, for, as he put it, His mercies are abundant, and David was both expressing his desire for mercy and his faith in Hashem, as he did in Psalm 145 – You open Your hand, and satisfy the desire of every living thing.

It's our hope as well. Most of us aren't masochists, and, while we know that death is inevitable, we don't want to suffer. That's our hope, but G-d has already decided, and all we can do is to act in a way that will justify it having been a favorable decision.





March 10, 2017

Middle Men

And women. Especially in Catholicism. That's a little vague and requires some explanation. However you've probably figured out that the subject for today's disquisition originates in religion.

The primary point of concern relates to those to whom men (and women) refer their prayers. By this we usually have in mind G-d, and the Saints to whom many pray, seeking their help in particular circumstances. And while such appeals are usually addressed to G-d, in this particular instance the petitions are to humans. Admittedly the individuals in question have been carefully vetted for their positions of responsibility, and are believed to have helped others through their demonstrated ability to perform miracles. They have shown that even before they were granted sainthood, an appeal to them was efficacious.

Judaism, however, forbids the short-circuiting of the system. It prohibits substitutes. There are no intermediaries. Prayers are only for G-d, and there are no humans – nor others – to whom we pray. There is one G-d, and no other power exists for the purpose of attaining His mercy. Hence such prayers are prohibited. There are some that have made their way into the Jewish liturgy (eg Machnisei Rachamim in Selichos) but most authorities either explain them away or have substitutions for them, lest people have the impression that there are others besides G-d capable of granting our entreaties.

It's certainly not an ability within the realm of human competence. An appeal to “pray for me” suggests that there are individuals whose influence is great enough that even if they cannot grant our wishes, they are reliable conduits. The same is true in the common expression “from your mouth to G-d's ear.” Its anthropomorphic character is, itself, problematic, but the overall nature of the request suggests a power greater than any human possesses. (Indeed, it is noted that one of the principles of faith, as codified by the Rambam, explicitly opposes the practice. As the Rambam writes: “It is only fitting to pray to God and it is not fitting to pray to any other.” – Rabbi Ari Enkin in Torah Musings [on line].)

The prayers of another, either human or angelic, on your behalf, then, would seem to be not only useless, but heretical. Yet we do it all the time. Reward and punishment would logically be induced by the actions of the individual in question – if not by his results of those actions, at least by the intent. But in Judaism we address to the Machnisei Rachamim (those who deliver the prayers) an appeal to the angels that they assist us by personally presenting our prayers and supplications before G-d – Rabbi Ari Enkin.

We ask them to pray for us – or at least deliver our prayers – as we pray for others. We say prayers for the sick, seeking their recovery from illness; we say prayers on the anniversary of the deaths of dear ones; and we recite similar prayers several times a year at services of remembrance (Yizkor). To a degree we're offering a bribe to G-d, promising a charitable donation along with our appeal. And we ask others, often on line, to join in our entreaty. Those others may not even know the individual for whom they are praying, but we hope that their numbers will add weight to our plea.

I'm sure that such behavior is not limited to Judaism, and that others share the view that the prayers of humans can affect the actions of the Deity. It's something we want to believe, but we have no assurance of its effectiveness. It's more to please ourselves – to affirm that we care about the other party, and we're taking whatever steps we can to improve his lot, whether he is living or dead. If it helps him, great. If not, at least we tried.

And while we maintain that there are no intermediaries in our religion – certainly none like Catholic priests who “channel” forgiveness of sins – a blessing of the congregation by Kohanim is part of many services, and we sought their offering of sacrifices on our behalf in the days of the Temple. But harking back to our early history, Moses shouldn't be overlooked. He was the first to act as a middle man between G-d and the Jewish People, carrying tablets with G-d's words to those people. There was no interpretation – and none necessary – of those words. In addition, over the millennia our sages have “interpreted” G-d's words to us. They have spoken “for” Him, acting as a kind of intermediary from Him to us. 

How do we rationalize these acts? Many don't, and they claim that the inconsistencies of our religion are based on the fact that it was created by humans, and is not transcendent. At the other end of the spectrum are those who maintain that G-d gave some wise men the understanding of His ways, and we are to follow them, irrespective of our own level of knowledge. And there are many views in between.

My approach is that of ignorance; I believe that it is my responsibility to make my appeals directly to G-d (and lacking any other explanation for existence than the non-rational, I believe in some Power beyond human discernment) even though I don't always understand what is required of me. And for that I rely on our traditions. I may be right or I may be wrong, but I believe that no one can act or speak on my behalf and, in the end, I am responsible for my own actions and, for the rewards or punishments which befall me.

But I'm sufficiently inconsistent to continue to offer my own prayers on behalf of those I know who are in need. I'd like to believe they help. I guess that makes me a middle man.

Or maybe a muddled man.

From Your Mouth

You probably know that I've been sick. I don't hide it, and I don't hide from it. What is, is.

One of the results of my malady is a biweekly visit to the clinic for chemotherapy, and I leave with a bottle of poison attached to me by a tube. I carry the bottle around for a couple of days before it is disconnected. The carrying is in a pouch attached to a belt, and I'm nervous that something I do will cause everything to fall apart. It probably won't, but I remain nervous. I usually don't leave the house during the two days I'm receiving the medication, though I must admit the side-effects are milder than I anticipated. (I had some nerve damage from a previous drug, but that's been discontinued, and I'm scheduled to receive treatment for those effects.)

But, in the words of W. C. Fields, “I digress.” What I really want to note is that because of the treatment I won't be saying Kaddish for my mother on her yahrzeit in a few days. That requires a minyan and I'll be staying home. (For those who don't understand, that means I won't be saying the prayer for the dead which is ordinarily recited on the anniversary of someone's passing. For that, according to the laws of Judaism, I need a group of ten men, which would require a trip to synagogue. Since that would take place during the time I stay home, I'll miss it this year.) The purpose of the prayer is to elevate the soul of the deceased, and I regret missing the opportunity to do so.

Yesterday I brought in to synagogue the name of a friend who is ill. I'll recite my own prayers for her health, but a more formal prayer is offered by the synagogue for the recovery of those who are sick, and I wanted her to have this as well. So I submitted her name.

Such sentiments are not restricted to my religion. How often has someone who is going through a difficult situation said “Pray for me?” It doesn't matter what we believe. We seek the support of those we love, and of others too. And we offer it as well. Even to those who are no longer with us. We're told by our sages that our prayers are valuable to those in need, and, by this means, we help those whom we love. Can we do otherwise?

But I wonder about the validity of this teaching. And I wonder whether my prayers have any effect. I'm not questioning my religion itself, or that of others, but I still have questions regarding the usefulness of the practice. It seems to me that ultimate rewards and punishments are based on the actions, good and bad, of the individual involved, not whether others try to use their influence to improve conditions for others, alive or dead. The most evil of people will sometimes influence others to love them, and, by doing so, inspire prayers when they seem to be appropriate.

Have those prayers any effect? (Especially if they don't really reflect the reality of the virtues of the subject?) Can the words of humans change G-d's decisions? Are such decisions reflective of predetermined actions? Do the wishes of the living affect the treatment of the dead?

The question, however, is much bigger. Its repercussions extend far beyond our wishes for those who are suffering, or for those whose suffering is over. The question involves us, and for most of us our own well-being is of greater consequence than that of anyone else. Of course there are exceptions, but the rule remains.

The issue relates to prayer in general. Has it any value? Do human words affect people's standing in the “eyes” of G-d? We believe that G-d knows our thoughts, so our words are not only unnecessary, but poor reflections of our intentions. Indeed, we also believe that G-d knows our intent before we do. Which makes our mouthing (or thinking) of our hopes and wishes, of our intents and desires, our praises and thanks, of little value.

Formal prayer is more for our own psychological benefit than for any improvement in our condition or that of others. And when we pray in the presence of others during a formal service, we display a discipline and a determination to ourselves as well as to others. Perhaps there is free will rather than (in addition to?) predetermination, and perhaps our words and our actions do matter. Perhaps that discipline, and those words and actions, are aimed at helping others. Surely G-d would reward that, even if He knew in advance that it would happen. Perhaps the reward would be our own satisfaction at having done what is right. Perhaps, our prayers for those who are no longer with us actually have a positive effect, as we hope the prayers for us of those who follow will have.

Or perhaps they, and all other prayers, only benefit us. I don't know, but, G-d willing, I'll say Kaddish for my mother next year.

May 2, 2017

What's In A Name?

 

Eyal Gilad Naftali. It's a long monicker for a newborn baby, but that's the name that my daughter and son-in-law, who live in Jerusalem, chose to hang on their youngest son.

It happened just a few days ago at his bris — a ritual circumcision which is the first rite of passage of a Jewish boy. The ceremony, on the eighth day of his life, is one in which he is welcomed into the religion and the time when he is named.

Eyal Gilad Naftali. It's likely that he isn't the only child so designated, for it contains the given names of the three boys murdered a few days earlier by terrorists in Israel. It was the trigger for the fighting that followed, although in reality there had been much provocation earlier with rockets sent from Gaza to kill whatever Israelis they might find. Precise aim was not an issue. It was not a critical capability of the weapons of terror, and it wasn't all that important who got killed. The more important point was that those rockets were intended to attract return fire, fire that would kill and maim those in Gaza — both terrorists and the civilians they used as shields — in order to attract the world's attention. Those killed in Gaza would be "martyrs," and they should be grateful that they were accorded the "honor" of dying in the war against Israel.

All wars have soldiers, and many are volunteers. But there are also a large number who are drafted. The typical draftee is young, in his late teens or early twenties, and male. He is chosen because it is assumed that he will be a fit warrior, and he is trained for this task, as well as armed for it. In this instance there are numerous unnamed draftees, civilians neither trained nor armed for their duties.

And all wars have what is euphemistically called "collateral damage," those inadvertently killed while the battle is raging. Inadvertently. Their deaths may be inevitable but are unintended and undesired. In this war, however, the collateral damage is the goal. The fewer fighters among the terrorists who are killed and the more civilians the better. They, the unwilling draftees, are the martyrs who will show the world the justice of their cause. They may not choose such a role for themselves, but the choice is not theirs. And the presence of any protection, such as shelters, would be counterproductive — so none are available.

Accordingly, three teenaged Israeli boys were abducted and murdered. It was one of many provocations but the one that led to the current hostilities. And it was one that brought all of the citizens of Israel together. It united a country that had many internal disputes. Political disagreements and religious differences in Israel were of no consequence. Everyone prayed for them together when they were reported missing. And everyone mourned them when their fate was known. We do not know the names of their killers because that is irrelevant. We will name no streets or squares after the boys or after the terrorists who killed them. That may be the practice of those who would like to see us destroyed, but it is not our way. We will name babies after our sons, and we will do our best to ensure the safety of our other children. And we will punish those among us who adopt the inhuman practices of our enemies. They are not our heroes. They are our enemies — the adversaries of all we believe.

Eyal Gilad Naftali. My youngest grandson and, I hope, a representative of a future of peace in a region that has always known war. My children and grandchildren live each day in the midst of the war, as do millions of others. And they bear and rear children despite it. It's a fact of life. I only pray that those who place death before life will realize the folly of their acts and renounce them. I'm not hopeful of such an event, but prayer is all I can offer.

Amazing Greece

                                                                                                                      

A few weeks ago, on November 7, 2013, a meeting was held of the Town Board. They have those meetings regularly as the governing body of the town in Greece, New York. I guess it's not unusual that they should do so, and it's not worthy of special notice. On the agenda, however, was a “Moment of Prayer,” which was given by the Reverend Frank Falletta. That's worthy of comment.

According to the First Amendment to our Constitution,

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion …”

and while that might simply seem to apply to the nation's Congress, the Fourteenth Amendment states

“No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States...”

so it's clear that that the prohibition is not one solely applying to the Federal Government.

Does this apply to local governments as well? I don't know. My prejudice would be that even though this is not spelled out explicitly, it does. But that's an issue for wiser minds than mine, and, as I had learned a day earlier, the practice in Greece regarding prayers opening public meetings, was a question that the Supreme Court was considering this term. Many – and not just atheists – consider this to be an intrusion of religion on the citizenry contrary to the Bill of Rights.

Different groups have different objections to the practice which, in this case, involves the presentation of clearly Christian prayers as an intrinsic part of a governmental meeting. It is likely that the original intent of the First Amendment related to the protection of the people from the imposition of a particular doctrine as a state religion – a protection of the population from a specific religionⁱ – but over the years it came to be understood also as a protection of our various religions from state influences. There is no belief system to which they are required to conform.

The current construction, however, is that instead of protecting the population from a specific state religion, the government should have nothing whatever to do with religion or any religious practice. It should “protect” the people from religion.ⁱⁱ Although some exceptions are made – like the military chaplaincy, religious mottoes on our currency and in the Pledge of Allegiance, and tax exemptions for religious institutions – by and large we have banished religion from the “public square.” It's simply not a matter for public discussion. And anyone who considers what someone else views as a religious teaching when evaluating any aspect of our society is engaging in an unconstitutional practice. We see as sacred the “wall of separation between church and state” of which Thomas Jefferson wrote in 1802.^{iii iv} And a colleague of his, George Washington, wrote “We should be very cautious of violating the Rights of Conscience in others,” and “religious controversies are always productive of more acrimony and irreconcilable hatreds than those which spring from any other cause.”

Well, I believe President Washington's latter statement – if it is understood to refer not to the theological differences between members of different sects, but to the vituperative behavior which occurs when a non-believer meets a believer. But I also wonder how his view relates to other “Rights of Conscience,” the controversies, for example, between liberals and conservatives which are “always productive of [extreme] acrimony and irreconcilable hatred,” or those who favor and those who oppose the death penalty.^v

One of the main issues in any such discussion is a definition of “religion.” It's not possible to be sure what the Founding Fathers meant by the term, but in all likelihood they were referring to “organized” religion, a system of beliefs centered on a deity. By and large, most people at that time didn't question the existence of G-d, although they may have disagreed on His^vi nature and the ways to serve Him.

The first definition in the Random House Dictionary, however, refers to the term's spiritual and divine natures without mentioning G-d.^vii I'm more interested in the second, though, which characterizes religion as “a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects.” As such, the definition includes atheists as well as church members. Most of them do not argue about the issue of beliefs,^viii even if they deny the existence of any deity or of existence after death.

And that appears to be the current issue: is there or isn't there a G-d? Opinions based on the concept that there is no deity are legitimate, but a corollary is that no spiritual feelings can be discussed or used as the basis of constitutional arguments. So, according to that perspective, if you accept the constitutional view probably held by those who wrote the Constitution, you had better be careful what you say. There are many who would bar you from using such ideas as a basis for political or legal positions, or for the public practice of your religion. Certainly the display of religious symbols on public property is considered a blasphemy on the secular religion we practice. The individual who argues a point that may be supported by religious teaching – even if his motives have nothing to do with any religious view – is viewed as a fanatic, and there are many who argue that he is not entitled to use his First Amendment rights irrespective both of his intent and that of our founding document's authors. They wrote “Congress shall make no law ... abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press ...” That, however, appears to relate only to the use of speech educated by the secular religion we observe, not by any other faith.

The reality is that America is a Christian nation. I'm not a Christian and there are times when I'm offended by its flaunting and its display. But as long as it is not imposed on me and I am free to practice my own religion in the way I consider appropriate, I can live with reality. I can ignore public prayers like those in Greece or even argue for equal time for members of other religions. Perhaps town meetings, like school classrooms, should be deemed off-limits for prayers, because there are captive audiences present, but it seems to me that the suppression of other opinions simply because they reflect, or are coincidentally consistent with, religious doctrines, contravenes the First Amendment rather than promotes it.

So the Justices will evaluate the arguments and rule on the glory that is Greece. Was Reverend Falletta violating the Constitution?

To be continued.^ix

Next episode: “Time And Again” – Slow down. You go too fast.

i       Indeed, those who reject any divinity believe that the population should be shielded from any manifestation of religion. They do not accept the idea that there can be “non-denominational” prayers, though this would be a satisfactory solution for many of those who oppose the “establishment of [a state] religion” by the government.

ii      Free choice is accepted. Indeed, “choice” is the watchword of our times. We worship it. A democratic society like ours is a staunch believer in such a position. In certain areas it is the law of the land – like abortion and the exercise of majority rule. But it is lionized, primarily when it concerns sexual mores, and the expression of favorable opinions regarding any practice that is considered unacceptable in the Bible – whether it is abortion, suicide, homosexuality, ritual slaughter, or other similar matters. Those ideas are praiseworthy, but views supporting religious practices are not tolerated well. (It is hard not to wonder how a secular government that enforces its views on the religious differs from a religious government that enforces its beliefs on the secular.)
iii     It was in a letter to the Danbury Baptist Association and ended, “I reciprocate your kind prayers for the protection and blessing of the common Father and creator of man ...” He was not opposed to private expressions of belief.

iv     Also of interest is President Jefferson's reluctance to declare a Thanksgiving. While as Governor of Virginia he promoted a day of Thanksgiving and Prayer, yet as President, in a letter to Reverend Samuel Miller on January 23, 1808 he wrote, “I consider the government of the United States as interdicted by the Constitution from intermeddling with religious institutions, their doctrines, discipline, or exercises...” Most Americans now would see Thanksgiving as a secular holiday, but that was not his view.

v       Or circumcision.

vi     Its(?) Assigning a sex (gender?) to G-d is obviously inappropriate, even though it makes the discussion easier.

vii    The Random House Dictionary of the English Language (The Unabridged Edition), 1967, New York. Page 1212.

viii   Actually, they usually proclaim their beliefs loudly and proudly. They consider it as a lack of belief, but in reality it is only a lack of belief in a deity. They firmly believe in His absence. And they have a strong belief in “good,” which they claim characterizes all their positions, and is achieveable by human means alone.

ix      Or concluded. Depending on what the losing side chooses to do, and what variations on the case they can bring before the Court.

The Power Of Prayer

                                                                                    

I recently read my son's blog for September 18, 2013, “I wish I was Donne,” and was moved by his words. I am reprinting it below, and I hope you will read it. [By the way, the blog's URL is http://rosends.blogspot.com/]  Please note that his hyperlinks won't work, but that doesn't take away from the power of his message.  Just cut and paste the URL for more of his thoughts.

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Wednesday, September 18, 2013

I wish I was Donne

I heard recently about a tragedy last week. A young girl and her mother were hit by a car. The mom died. The girl was in surgery -- we hope she will pull through but she still lost her mother. As a community, various schools, synagogues and communal organizations banded together to raise money and pray for her.

Prayer. That's an important part of our response. We have faith. Sure it makes no sense to outsiders (how can prayer change a future if God has already ordained it? how can words have any effect on the divine? why would MY prayers have anything to do with this girl?) but praying on behalf of named parties is a consistent part of our practice. I also heard that a former teacher of mine was diagnosed with leukemia. Her name, along with the name of her mother [needed as part of the formula for invoking God's mercy and healing] was sent out and people were asked to recite psalms and pray for her recovery. Prayer.

So in synagogue, the next day, everyone quieted down and we recited a psalm (130 or 121, I forget which) and the person in charge said a special request for God's help in healing the girl. She was mentioned by name. We gave charity. We spoke in hushed tones. Then we moved on.

The next day, we said nothing.

That bothered me. The girl is still in the hospital. She has not miraculously and completely healed. My teacher is still sick. Why do we feel less today than we did yesterday? Why STOP praying? In fact, I know that when names are passed around to be added to lists recited during prayers, names often stay on for days and weeks and people either take them off after a given amount of time (say, a month) if no one asks to keep them on, or they stay on until someone is notified that the person has healed or died.

But we stopped.

I asked a local Rabbi about it. A smart man, one who leads his own congregation. He was skeptical about the practice on the whole, what with names passed across the internet and this notion that a group's prayer in one state for a stranger elsewhere has any efficacy at all in God's eyes. When I asked about why, if we thought it had value, we would stop, he spoke about how people become inured to it and that cheapens the prayers. We should save them for when we have the passion to infuse in the wishes a true and connected sincerity. In his community, a girl has cancer and they say prayers daily, because she is of the community and there is a constant connection. But here? In New Jersey? For a girl in Florida? People don't have a reason to feel like it matters so the prayers are useless.

I thought about this. It seemed more a concession to a large and communal failure than a reasonable reaction liturgically to the facts of life. Why don't we care? He said "People are sick everyday. Are we supposed to pray for everyone all the time?" I thought (very loudly, verging on speech), "YES!" We are supposed to care so deeply and intensely that we can't do anything BUT pray for others. We should have to be torn away from prayer if we truly think that prayer is effective at petitioning the Almighty and we really believe that we are all responsible for each other as brother in the house of Israel. He said "People can't do that."

So I asked about John Donne. He wasn't so familiar. I have a passing knowledge of a few of Donne's works so I quoted Meditation 17, the famous one.

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me..."

Donne's point is that we have to feel that everyone in our extended cultural or religious family is an integral part and the loss of any individual MUST sadden us in a profound way, as much as if a friend or relative suffered. We have to feel the sickness and death all the time. Depressing, but necessary. In the same way that we celebrate communally, we must have concern communally. We cannot simply say that so-and-so wasn't close enough to care about. We throw our hands up and then wash them (no doubt, then, dripping self-pity on our heads) of any moral emotional investment. But Donne says that any man's death diminishes him. He feels the pain all the time. It is part of his being alive and a member of the group called humanity.

The rabbi paused, and finally said "That Donne is a tzaddik (pious sage)."

I don't know if anyone has ever called Donne a tzaddik before but his attitude, to me bears consideration. I'm not saying he was completely right. In fact, to my mind, he ruins the moment in the next line. He says that that bell which tolls (yes, it comes from this. Hemingway didn't invent it) to tell of a tragedy and a death doesn't toll for the victim, but for the hearer. He says that it reminds us of our own mortality and our own sense of loss. It tolls as if we were dying so that we are stirred to sadness. I think that it tolls to stir us to remember our responsibility towards each other. It tolls to remind us that all is not always wonderful. It is the constant stepping on the glass from a Jewish wedding. When we think it tolls for another town, another community or another synagogue's members then we stop caring and that's the danger.

I know that in Judaism, the naming of an individual is important. Trust me, I know. I know that the talmud says that one who quotes something in the name of its source brings salvation to the world. And we learn that praying on behalf of someone else, a specific person, is powerful and merits the requests of the individual praying be answered first (read this for more, or pretty much, the same). But if we wait until we know the name, if we wait until we can make that connection, we have waited too long.

In college, I had a friend who would go to services during finals. It mattered then that he gave charity and prayed. I have met others who say certain prayers with more fervor when they finally make sense. "I have a test today, so the prayer for intelligence and wisdom is relevant, so I will focus on it this morning." That's a fine start but what about on another day. Is that prayer suddenly less important? Shouldn't we recognize that others still need that prayer said (our prayers are in the plural. We as for all, not just for ourselves), and that we have it as a request even if we don't overtly know it?

I believe not that we just, as a matter of religious compulsion, or even compunction, add in the saying of psalms on behalf of everyone, at every prayer. I believe that we should refine ourselves until we realize that we WANT to add in the prayers because we feel it is the most important thing we can do. Our religious fervor has its height when it inspires us to feel driven to do certain things without being commanded to, simply because they make the most sense to us (even, yes, in an illogical, faith based system).

I remember being taught some of the intricacies of the afterlife when I was a younger man. The question was asked, "Rebbi, will there be basketball in heaven?" I didn't ask it. I hate basketball. The Rebbi's answer was "Sure...but no one will want to play it. Given a choice of how to spend your time, you will want to learn in the presence of God."

Maybe our resolution for this year should be to try and bring some heaven to our earth and recognize that some things are worth doing, without being reminded by the bell that they are suddenly necessary. Maybe we should stop passing around names to say while we pray -- maybe their inclusion signals the exclusion of all the unnamed parties. Maybe we should start praying for everyone all the time, but not as a matter of rote or because it is part of the liturgy, but because, the same way we feel that we can make the difference in the life of one girl in Florida, we can make a difference in the lives of all the people, known and not known, who are suffering through their own tragedies daily.