Do you Really Believe That?
We are now in the midst of piloting the prototype of the new Reform prayer book. By using it on a weekly basis for two months, clergy and congregation have a chance to see how it "feels" - for a prayer book must not only be read but experienced. Each has a different rhythm, a different flow, a different tone and a different theology. Just holding a book in your hands and turning its pages is an activity that requires repetition before the physical act gives way to prayerfulness.

I enjoy using different prayer books because they inevitably challenge my assumptions, provide new insights, and breathe new life into my prayer experience. But I find that a fundamental challenge arises from the text of any new prayer book: it forces me to read and contemplate the words anew. And in doing so, I stop and ask myself: do I really believe that?

Judaism is a liturgical tradition; in other words, the rubrics of prayer and the texts they contain are largely fixed. In a traditional service, rote repetition of the prayers day after day and week after week frees the worshipper to allow his or her thoughts to transcend the words on the page, all the while being reminded of those important spiritual concepts fundamental to Judaism. The Reform movement offers alternative prayers, inspired by the traditional text but focusing the congregation as a whole on a particular aspect of the theology. This is why there are ten Friday night services in Gates of Prayer.

In Mishkan T'fillah - Sanctuary of Prayer - the new Reform siddur, most of the Hebrew texts have been preserved. But some have been altered, often reverting back to the traditional text. The most striking example of this is in the G'vurot which speaks of God's acts in this world. The traditional text praises God "who gives life to the dead" (m'chayei ha-meitim) while the Reform version has read "who gives life to all" (m'chayei ha-kol) for more than a century. Although bodily resurrection is, indeed, a Jewish concept, the Reform interpretation goes beyond that, acknowledging a Creator God who is the Source of all life.

The new siddur utilizes the traditional text. So the first question I must ask myself is: do I really believe that God will breathe life into those who are already dead? That concept does not resonate with me in the same way that the idea of the immortality of the soul does. So now I must ask myself: can I really bless God "who gives life to the dead"?

In reality, there are a number of prayers that I don't actually believe in the literal sense. In the V'ahavta, we are instructed to have physical reminders of the mitzvot so that we will remember to do all of God's commandments. Rather than obligating me to all 613 commandments, the Reform principle of "informed choice" challenges me to integrate those mitzvot that give my life holiness. And the physical reminders of which the V'ahavta speaks? Traditional Jews wear t'fillin (to follow the instruction to "bind them as a sign upon your hand; let them be for frontlets before your eyes"), which is certainly not part of my own worship practice.

Does that mean I should stop saying the V'ahavta? I don't think so. Reciting this text connects me with a tradition that transcends differences in individual practice and links me with the generations of my family. And whether I intend to do all of the mitzvot or only those that I have consciously considered, I'm glad to be reminded of the value of my faith as I go about my daily life.

So it is with other prayers and practices. I can look to God to help me renew those things in my life that have withered as a result of a less-than-useful preoccupation with a hectic, daily routine. When I pray "m'chayei ha-meitim," I hold on to the hope that, with the help of God's restorative powers, I can make changes that bring renewed sanctity to my life. When I stand and face the back of the sanctuary at the end of L'cha Dodi, I'm not actually expecting to see a Sabbath bride walk down the aisle. But it enhances my personal experience of breathing in the peace of Shabbat by allowing me not only to offer words expressed with "all my heart and all my soul" but with a physical action that utilizes "all my being."

Each of us resonates with prayer in our own unique way. I hope that the act of experiencing the innovations of the new prayer book reawakens the challenge of prayer for all of us.

B’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor