Beth Shalom
Oceanside Jewish Center

Rabbis Pray Too!
Erev Rosh Hashanah – 5763
September 6, 2002
By Rabbi Mark B Greenspan

This evening as we begin the High Holy Days I have a confession to make. The last thing I seem to do on these holidays is pray! One of the big problems of being a Rabbi is that while we spend a lot of time in shul, we have very little time for our personal prayer life.

I know that sounds strange, but it's true. Standing here on the Bimah, I find that I spend most of my time on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur announcing pages, explaining the liturgy to people who rarely attend services, and making sure that services 'run smoothly.' Standing here, I wonder, "Is the ark opened? Are people sitting when they should be standing or standing when they should be sitting? There's a constant flow of people in and out of the sanctuary and an undertone of conversation that seems to never end. From where I stand, it's hard to ignore all of this .

I also find myself looking out at a sea of faces, some familiar and others not. Who can concentrate? I see all the expectations, fears, worries and troubles that people bring with them as they search for a little comfort and hope during these precious hours of prayer. I see new faces of people who are a uneasy because they don't know anyone and old faces filled with sorrow because someone with whom they always attended services is no longer sitting next to them. As a result I often feel overwhelmed. I suspect a lot of Rabbis feel the same way I do -- we're standing not only in the presence of God but before our whole community.

The truth is 'leading services' and 'announcing pages' is not what a Rabbi was supposed to do. Traditionally, we were teachers, a councilors, and adjudicators of Jewish law who occasionally addressed our congregations. Rabbis only began to play a more important communal role with the rise of the Hasidic movement. And it was only with the creation of Reform Judaism in the nineteenth century that Rabbis assumed a more 'priestly' role similar to that of the Protestant counterparts.

Not that I'm complaining. I like leading services. That's one of the reasons I became a Rabbi. It's just that sometimes I wish I could recite the Amida or read the Sh'ma without worrying about who's coming up on the Bimah next or what page we're on.

So I'll tell you a secret. Most of my 'davening' is done before the High Holy Days arrive. Beginning about a month before Rosh Hashanah I take my Machzor off the shelf and begin studying the liturgy. I spend a time thinking not only about the sermons I'll deliver, but what these prayers mean to me. This year, I also studied Moses Maimonides' Hilchot Teshuvah, the laws of repentence, found in the Mishnah Torah, before the High Holy Days. This was my davening -- it was my opportunity to spend some time in serious self-reflection and meditation.

I'll tell you another secret. I honestly believe that if I can say one prayer with real Kavanah, with true intention and spirit, I've accomplished a great deal. So that's what I try to do during the High Holy Days. I pick out a prayer, or a psalm, and I make it the focus of my meditations during services. No one can maintain the same level of intensity throughout these long services. But if we can find just one prayer in the Machzor, and recite it like we really mean it, we'll truly enter the spirit of this season.

So what is my prayer for this year? I'd have to say that it's Psalm 27. We begin reciting Psalm 27 in the month of Elul every morning with the sounding of the Shofar at the Shacharit service and every evening following Ma'ariv. While this Psalm makes no mention of the High Holy Days, the sages took the opening words of the psalm, "The Lord is my light," as a reference to Rosh Hashanah, and the following phrase, 'And my salvation' as a reference to Yom Kippur.

But more then that, Psalm 27 speaks to us today. With the talk of war in the air and the threat of terrorism all around us the words of the Psalmist touch close to home: "Though armies be arrayed against me, I will have no fear. Though wars threaten I will remain steadfast in my faith." Psalm 27 speaks of God as a protector who watches over us and to whom we can turn no matter the circumstances of our lives. "Though my father and my mother have forsaken me," the Psalmist says, "the Lord will care for me."

But this is not a psalm about justice or revenge. A psalm of faith and confidence, what we ask of God are two things. First, that God allow us 'to dwell in His house all the days of our lives,' and second that He teach us and guide us 'in the right path.' Its not vengeance of justice for which we ask but an opportunity to live good, decent lives and to feel God's presence each day. If we can do this, says the psalmist we will 'confound our oppressors.'

Last week, at Selichot services, Rabbi David Blumenfeld spoke about his daughter's new book, Revenge: A story of Hope. Laura Blumenfeld wrote a book about her effort to confront the terrorist who shot and nearly killed her father a decade earlier. Through her struggle trying to understand revenge, Laura came to the realization that the best revenge is the type that allows us to transcend our anger and make something good of our lives.

That's exactly what the psalmist is trying to teach us in Psalm 27, and that is what we need today more than anything. In the aftermath of the past year what we need is a sense of healing an peace. 'To dwell in the house of the Lord,' and 'to follow the right path' in life. That's my prayer for the High Holy Days this year. And if I can get one prayer right I hope that will be it! More than that I hope I can turn that prayer into action.

Shanah Tova!