From the Rabbi

The morning service is not one long extended event, but rather a series of events, like scenes and acts in a play, or movements in a symphony. For those who understand it, it is filled with sweeping crescendos and moments of high drama.

The basic structure is this: We begin with a short series of prayers, focusing on our personal identity, place, and time. This is called Birkot Hashachar, morning blessings.

This is followed by Pesukei D’zimra, psalms to get us collectively into the mood for prayer. We pray that we can pray (it ain’t easy). We then enter the core of the morning service, Shacharit, which centers on the Sh’ma, the recognition of our relationship with G-d, and the Amidah, the standing prayer that symbolically brings us into the divine palace. This is sometimes followed by the Torah service, where with great ceremony we take the Torah scroll from the ark and relive the moment of revelation at Sinai. And this is followed on Shabbat and holidays by the Musaf service, a special celebration of days when our relationship with G-d takes on a unique character and becomes even closer than normal.

Each section of the service symbolizes a change of mood and a transformation: from introspection to outreach to recognition to relationship to attentiveness to celebration.

The proper attitude when entering a synagogue for services is therefore: prepare to be transformed.

Rabbi Robert Wolkoff

Prayer is the pathway to G-d, the experience of a dimension of our lives which transcends the day-to-day, and reminds us that we have a place in eternity.

Sounds great, but we live at a time when talent for praying is not our strongest suit.

To pray well, we must get in touch with our deepest selves. That is no easy task.

To pray well, we must “know before Whom we stand.” No easy task, either.

To pray well, we must overcome the gap between ourselves, limited human beings with all our failings, and the Divine, Who will hear our prayers if we could only articulate them. Even harder.

And yet, we do pray. And one of the reasons we pray is that prayer is a way to get in touch with our deepest selves, of knowing before Whom we stand, and of overcoming the gap between ourselves and the Divine.

In other words, prayer helps us become capable of…prayer. No wonder the great rabbis of old used to pray for an hour each day that they would be able to pray.

And we don’t just pray as individuals. At best, we pray as a group, as a community, as a minyan. And in minyan, there is mystery.

Something special happens when we come together. By being together, we create something unique. Anchored in the history of our faith, we create something that brings us closer to G-d than any of us, individually, could ever come.

That is why, when davening in a minyan, we can say prayers (like the Kaddish) that we can’t say when we are alone. Coming together in a minyan is a crucial part of our Jewish identity. It is a concrete reminder that a Jew is never really alone. Consequently we urge people to pick a day a week or a day a month to go to minyan; to come for the yahrzeits of people they know, and for the yahrzeits of people they don’t know; to come before a meeting or a class at your shul; to come for a reason, or for no reason at all; to come just because you’re Jewish. Because this is what Jews do.

Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff

The first of the ten commandments begins with the word “Anochi,” meaning “I,” as in “I am the Lord your G-d…”

The mystics point out that the first letter in “Anochi” is an aleph—which paradoxically enough is a silent letter. The idea being that before G-d even speaks a word, the world stands in silent anticipation for whatever concrete statement is about to be released from the infinite.

The “silent letter’ before a parent speaks is the word “love.” A child needs to know that no matter what “wisdom” comes from their parent’s mouth, it is preceded by, grounded in, guided by…love. They need to know it, but first, you need to do it. No matter what kind of tzuris and mishegas you have to deal with as a parent, if love isn’t in the very first breath before you speak, keep your words to yourself until it can be.

Rabbi Robert L. Wolkoff