by Aliza Arzt
I’m not really a davenner. That may sound strange to those who see me at the Havurah every Shabbat and holiday, but it’s true. When you see someone at a service with a neutral or pleasant expression on their face, there’s really no way to know what they’re thinking and feeling inside. Why do I call myself a reluctant davenner? I find that I have a very short attention span for attending to prayer (the Hebrew term for this attention is “kavanah” which means literally “direction” but also “intention”). My father, who was a pulpit Rabbi for 40 years, and who sat up in front of everyone every Shabbat, also told me he had a similarly short attention span for prayer. In addition to the fact that, to put it crassly, he was paid to sit up there each week, I deduce from other things he told me that he did feel comforted and comfortable with the weekly ebb and flow of the service, though I have no idea what he was thinking about during that 3 hour span.
For the past two years, I have been davenning every weekday morning with a synagogue in Pennsylvania through Zoom. My husband had been davenning with them every day since the pandemic lockdown began and would periodically roust me out of bed when they needed a minyan or a leyner. When my father died in 2022, the service was right there in the living room, so how could I not go? At the time of my mother’s death, more than 20 years ago, I had small children at home and it wasn’t feasible to attend a service every day so I settled for attending every Havurah service that would include a kaddish. The 11 months I spent saying Kaddish for my father 7 days a week on Zoom was the first time I had davenned daily since I was in my 20’s.
Although I didn’t begrudge my father a “proper” kaddish at all, I counted down the months: 7 more months to say kaddish, 6 months, 5 months . . . I thought at first that when my kaddish ended I’d revert to the occasional minyan-making role. Then I thought I’d come a few times a week. My kaddish ended 14 months ago and I continue to attend morning minyan every day. Why? In all honesty I can’t say that it’s because I’ve found new meaning and pleasure in davenning. I still have a short attention span and I still spend a certain amount of the time wishing I were somewhere else. Full disclosure: there are several periods of extended silent reading during the service that I spend playing “Words with Friends” on my phone (out of camera range). Here are my reasons for attending (not in order of importance): going to 8:00 am davenning means that I’m dressed and ready for the day by 8:45, whereas otherwise I’d be lounging around in bed until you don’t want to know when. I’m supporting a community of very nice people by making a minyan, allowing others to say kaddish and by leyning for them most of the time. I’m doing something that our tradition encourages, something that takes little effort and must be doing me some good. How can I turn down going to a service that’s right in my living room? I’ve been able to gradually infiltrate the service I attend with some of the liturgical changes that we’ve made at the Havurah.
Surprisingly, I’ve found the most compelling part of the service to be the silent weekday Amidah. The weekday Amidah is called “Shemoneh Esreh”, which means “18” and consists of 19 blessings (we just don’t know when to stop, do we?). What I like about the Amidah is that the blessings are asking for things that are very important to me, and very lacking in today’s world: good health, a safe natural environment, return to an ethical government, an end to evil actions. I’ve found it to be a good antidote to what I read in the newspaper every day. While there are some things I can do in a very limited way to make the world better, I’m somehow comforted and energized by the activity of asking through prayer for the world situation to become more just and equitable, not in some abstract way, but through specific actions: “Continue to grant us through Your lovingkindness, wisdom, knowledge and understanding . . . bring us closer, our Source, to worshiping you. Return us to You with full repentance . . . Heal us, God, and we will be healed … provide complete healing to all our afflictions . . . sound the great Shofar to liberate us . . . return to us our judges of yore and our ancient advisors. Remove from us anguish and despair. Dwell with us, God, alone in lovingkindness and mercy. Make us righteous through just law.”
What I’ve realized is that even if I have a pretty low tolerance for extended focus on prayer, the value of helping a community meet its obligations, and saying words every day that express hope for a better world, far outweighs whatever lack of enthusiasm I may have with the process. There are some obvious lessons one can draw from this in regards to supporting the Havurat Shalom community, that I will leave you to come up with for yourselves.
For the past two years, I have been davenning every weekday morning with a synagogue in Pennsylvania through Zoom. My husband had been davenning with them every day since the pandemic lockdown began and would periodically roust me out of bed when they needed a minyan or a leyner. When my father died in 2022, the service was right there in the living room, so how could I not go? At the time of my mother’s death, more than 20 years ago, I had small children at home and it wasn’t feasible to attend a service every day so I settled for attending every Havurah service that would include a kaddish. The 11 months I spent saying Kaddish for my father 7 days a week on Zoom was the first time I had davenned daily since I was in my 20’s.
Although I didn’t begrudge my father a “proper” kaddish at all, I counted down the months: 7 more months to say kaddish, 6 months, 5 months . . . I thought at first that when my kaddish ended I’d revert to the occasional minyan-making role. Then I thought I’d come a few times a week. My kaddish ended 14 months ago and I continue to attend morning minyan every day. Why? In all honesty I can’t say that it’s because I’ve found new meaning and pleasure in davenning. I still have a short attention span and I still spend a certain amount of the time wishing I were somewhere else. Full disclosure: there are several periods of extended silent reading during the service that I spend playing “Words with Friends” on my phone (out of camera range). Here are my reasons for attending (not in order of importance): going to 8:00 am davenning means that I’m dressed and ready for the day by 8:45, whereas otherwise I’d be lounging around in bed until you don’t want to know when. I’m supporting a community of very nice people by making a minyan, allowing others to say kaddish and by leyning for them most of the time. I’m doing something that our tradition encourages, something that takes little effort and must be doing me some good. How can I turn down going to a service that’s right in my living room? I’ve been able to gradually infiltrate the service I attend with some of the liturgical changes that we’ve made at the Havurah.
Surprisingly, I’ve found the most compelling part of the service to be the silent weekday Amidah. The weekday Amidah is called “Shemoneh Esreh”, which means “18” and consists of 19 blessings (we just don’t know when to stop, do we?). What I like about the Amidah is that the blessings are asking for things that are very important to me, and very lacking in today’s world: good health, a safe natural environment, return to an ethical government, an end to evil actions. I’ve found it to be a good antidote to what I read in the newspaper every day. While there are some things I can do in a very limited way to make the world better, I’m somehow comforted and energized by the activity of asking through prayer for the world situation to become more just and equitable, not in some abstract way, but through specific actions: “Continue to grant us through Your lovingkindness, wisdom, knowledge and understanding . . . bring us closer, our Source, to worshiping you. Return us to You with full repentance . . . Heal us, God, and we will be healed … provide complete healing to all our afflictions . . . sound the great Shofar to liberate us . . . return to us our judges of yore and our ancient advisors. Remove from us anguish and despair. Dwell with us, God, alone in lovingkindness and mercy. Make us righteous through just law.”
What I’ve realized is that even if I have a pretty low tolerance for extended focus on prayer, the value of helping a community meet its obligations, and saying words every day that express hope for a better world, far outweighs whatever lack of enthusiasm I may have with the process. There are some obvious lessons one can draw from this in regards to supporting the Havurat Shalom community, that I will leave you to come up with for yourselves.
Aliza Arzt is a long-time member of Havurat Shalom.
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