The disaster of 9/11 caused people to pray who previously were not counted among those that pray regularly.

Let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them. (Exodus 25:8)

During the First Temple it is not clear if the Jewish people had synagogues or not, because the whole system was Temple-oriented. What did they do when they did not go to the Temple, which was most of the year? And if they did have synagogues what did they do there? For example, much of the prayer service today is made up of the chapters in Psalms. What did they do before King David?

Nevertheless, most authorities believe that some type of community services did exist.  However, even these opinions agree that at these services likely included little more than the paragraphs of the Shema (the declaration beginning, “Hear O’ Israel…”).

The need for formalized prayer only first arose when the Jews went into exile in Babylon. The missing experience of community that went part and parcel with the three-times-a-year pilgrimage to the Temple (for Passover, Shavuos, and Succos) left a vacuum. Without the Temple, essential nutrients in the peoples’ religious diet were lacking. Therefore, the leaders in Babylon codified a system of prayer that substituted the Temple service. They based this on the prophetic verse, “Our lips will substitute for sacrifices” (Hosea 14:3).

When the Jews returned from Babylon to the Land of Israel and rebuilt the Temple they brought along with them the prayers they had learned in Babylon. The Men of the Great Assembly ordered, edited, and formulated the words of the Amidah, the centerpiece of every service, as well as its surrounding prayers. This arrangement continued through the entire Second Temple era and remains today.

Although the individual synagogue system was inferior, it successfully compensated for the shift in Jewish life away from the centralized Temple system. Now, with the stamp of approval from the Men of the Great Assembly, Jewish prayer became possible in each community, in each individual, no matter how far away he/she was. Instituting prayer this way not only substituted for the Temple service but compensated for the loss of center in Jewish life.

True devotion in prayer, otherwise known as kavanat halev, “devotion of the heart,” is a great challenge to maintain on a regular daily basis. But it is this devotion that allows our hearts to open up to ourselves and to our Creator. It can bring people the true inspiration and serenity of spirit that is essential to living a successful and meaningful life.

One of the obligations of Jewish living is daily prayer. The rabbis described true prayer in terms of kavanat halev, “devotion of the heart.” Such devotion is a great challenge to actually achieve and an even greater challenge to somehow maintain on a regular daily basis. But it is this devotion that allows our hearts to open up to ourselves and to our Creator and can bring people the true inspiration and serenity of spirit that is an essential ingredient and result of true prayer.

Surveys regarding individual prayer in the United States reveal that Jews are the one religious group in the United States that does not pray regularly. Except for the Orthodox section of Jewish society in America, prayer is almost unknown to ninety percent of American Jews.

Even though American Jewry is pretty much organized according to synagogue and temple affiliation, when it comes to prayer, most of the membership of these synagogues and temples are perennial no-shows. And not only are they no-shows as far as public prayer services are concerned, but the concept of private, regular, individual prayer is almost non-existent in this section of Jewish society. The secular Jew, who is non-observant of Jewish traditional practices, and most of all, painfully ignorant of any knowledge of Judaism, its core ideas and value system, its history and struggle for survival, is therefore almost unable to pray. The entire concept of prayer has become irrelevant in modern Jewish secular life. Therefore, even the three-day-a-year synagogue attendee is rapidly disappearing from the American Jewish scene. In spite of all the public claims to the contrary by organization honchos, the synagogues and temples are steadily losing membership and influence in non-Orthodox Jewish life in America. Even bar and bat mitzvahs, celebrated in synagogues and temples, are declining in popularity. This alienation from participation in public and/or private prayer is a very sad situation. It does not bode well for the future strength of the American Jewish community.

The truth is that prayer, for someone who is not accustomed or trained to pray, can be a terrifying and wrenching experience. Enormous pressure caused by changed circumstances in a person’s life, circumstances that may be internal or external, must be exerted on such a non-prayer to bring that person to pray.

The current mood of apprehension and fear that grips much of the Western world — especially since the disaster of 9/11 — has, according to many published surveys, led to an upsurge in the participation of individuals in public and private prayer. Aside from the popular axiom that there are no atheists in the foxhole, the current turn to prayer may have a much deeper meaning. For prayer is not only an appeal to the Divine to deliver us from evil and pain. It is just as importantly an attempt at self-discovery and an opportunity for rethinking previously long held opinions and lifestyles. For prayer allows one to read words that transcend current circumstances and to speak to the eternal nature of human life and its relationship to the Creator.

It is not that God requires our prayers. Rather, prayer strengthens our ability to confront ourselves and achieve an inner serenity and a necessary balance to our lives and emotions. It is never too late to pray and never too early to begin.

Temple Valley Beth Shalom decorated for Shavuot. Photo published under the Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike.

When I was a lawyer in Chicago over thirty-five years ago, I attempted to obtain a new date for a trial. The judge, a scion of a great Eastern European rabbinic family, asked me the reason for my request. I told him that the original trial date was to fall on the holiday of Shavuot, and as such, I would not be able to attend court that day. He sneered at me, “Counselor, there is no such Jewish holiday!”

That is an illustration of the alienation and assimilation of much of Diaspora Jewry. The holiday of Shavuot has been completely forgotten, except by the small sector of observant Jews. Out of all of the Jewish holidays, Shavuot has no distinguishing mitzvot or ritual attached to it. It lacks the ‘glamour” of the Passover seder or the shofar of Rosh Hashanah. Yet, it is the Shavuot holiday that is the backbone of all Jewish life and vitality.

According to Jewish tradition and the Talmud, Shavuot marks the anniversary date of the revelation at Sinai and the granting of the Torah to the people of Israel. The Torah itself phrases it thusly: “Today you have become a nation!” The nationality of the Jews is founded upon its shared experience of receiving the Torah at Sinai 3922 years ago. Shavuot is the uniquely Jewish holiday. It does not represent the universal ideal of freedom as does Passover, nor is it a harbinger of all human happiness, prosperity and bountiful harvest, all of which characterize the Succot holiday. It stands in splendid isolation as a uniquely Jewish event that attests to our role in society and civilization, as the people who accepted the Torah when others refused.

It is therefore difficult to be assimilated and celebrate Shavuot. Shavuot prevents assimilation by reminding us of the event that is baked deep into the DNA of the Jewish people – the revelation at Sinai. Shavuot is therefore not just a commemoration of an historical date, but rather it poses the challenge of defining Jewish nationhood and of its relation to each and every one of us. Because of this challenging aspect of the holiday, it is easy (though painful) to understand why Shavuot just does not exist for so many Jews. It is much easier on one’s mind and conscience to simply ignore and then even deny its existence.

There are certain questions that have remained constant in Jewish life over the millennia. “Who is a Jew?” “Why be Jewish?” “Why marry Jewish?” and “Why all of the fuss, anger, hatred and jealousy in the world over the Jews?” Ignoring Shavuot and what it represents allows for seemingly easy answers, or worse, evasions of these questions. But none of those answers has yet been able to stand the test of time and circumstance.

Forgetting Shavuot has always led to spiritually dire personal and national consequences. The great Rabbi Yosef of the times of the Babylonian Talmud celebrated Shavuot with great enthusiasm, saying, “If it were not for this day of Shavuot, I would not feel chosen and unique, for many Yosefs can be found in the market square.”

This is certainly true of the Jewish people generally. If it were not for Shavuot, we would not be a special people, let alone “a light unto the nations of the world.” Shavuot therefore becomes our reason for existence, the justification of our intense role in the development of a better and more civilized world. Shavuot therefore demands some sort of mental and spiritual preparation to be truly appreciated. Since we still have some time until its arrival, now would be a good time to start thinking about it and its personal relevance to our lives.

The Tombs of Esther and Mordechai in Hamadan, Iran. Photo by Nick Taylor.

The victory for the Jews in Purim comes about through King Ahasuerus marriage to Esther, one of the strangest, most unlikely stories imaginable. Esther, a woman of great modesty and piety, is taken against her will to join a beauty contest to be forced to sleep with the King Ahasuerus.

The Talmud describes that Esther was a completely passive participant in the matter, something which should have diminished her chances of winning over the king. Again, we are talking here about an oriental potentate. Women were not in any great shortage as far as he was concerned. That he should end up marrying poor, gentle Esther is itself one of the great ironies of history.

The Zohar, the great book of Kabbala, states that Esther was miraculously saved from the ministrations of Ahasuerus. Through a disembodied spirit, Ahasuerus “lived with” her, but it was not her actual body. And so, he makes Esther his queen.

The king is a very jealous person. After a while, he realizes that Haman not only means to take over the government, he suspects he wants to steal Esther as well.

What tips Ahasuerus off about Haman’s intentions, at least regarding political power, is his answer to the question, “How should I honor my most loyal servant?” When Haman hears that, he thinks, “Who else is entitled to honor other than me? The king must have me in mind!” That is the arrogance and conceit of power.

Esther, together with Mordechai, is wise enough to exploit it. And the other power brokers in Ahasuerus’ court also take advantage. When someone rises to high power in the court of an oriental potentate, it is certain that there are plenty of lesser officials ready to shoot him down. So while the Jewish people do not have friends, there are people who are willing to take up the cudgel against Haman.

It reminds me of the United Nations vote that proclaimed the state of Israel. The Cold War was on, yet the Soviet Union and the U.S. were on the same side of the issue, each for a different reason. Russia wanted England out of Palestine, and Stalin believed that since Ben Gurion was a socialist, the Jewish state would support Soviet interests. This was a grave misjudgment about Ben Gurion, who, though a socialist, was above all a pragmatist. He aligned himself with the West from the beginning. So everyone was at cross-purposes, but it worked out in the best possible way for the Jews.

Similarly, in the Purim story, all sorts of methods events came together to bring about the desired goal of saving the Jewish people. Ultimately, Purim teaches how indestructible the Jewish people really are.

Photo by Ulterior Epicure

On the surface, the Purim story is pure narrative, a story like any other story. The execution of Vashti and the rise and fall of Haman seem like the typical kinds of political intrigue that went on in the ancient world. Only at the end, when the plot has been spun out completely, do we see understand that it is the story of miraculous deliverance.

I once read an article by a great historian who claimed that the entire story of Purim is a myth. I was young and foolish then, so thinking I could somehow change his mind, I wrote him a letter.

“The Scroll of Esther is a historic book with names, dates, places, and eyewitnesses,” I wrote. “It has been kept alive by a people that is not noted for their naiveté or primitive beliefs, yet you discard it as a historic record. But when someone scribbles something on a cave that you can’t even decipher, that you consider history.”

He wrote me back and answered, “Your bias is showing.”

But really, he was just as biased. Like so many in the Western world, he refused to consider the Bible a legitimate record of man, even though all archaeology in the Middle East is based on the Bible. The archaeologists do their excavations according to the Bible’s instructions, and they find what they’re looking for. Nevertheless, the Bible is dismissed as legitimate history.

To continue the story, King Ahasuerus is beset by many problems in his empire, one being the return of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel. His predecessor had granted permission for the Jews to return, and now Ahasuerus is under pressure from Mordechai to allow the Holy Temple to be rebuilt. Ahasuerus does not want to give into that pressure, but he does not want to stop Mordechai directly either. He doesn’t know what to do, and therefore, he appoints Haman as his advisor and prime minister.

Haman prided himself on being an expert on “the Jewish problem.” Throughout the long history of anti-Semitism, almost without exception, every leader who made a name for himself for his anti-Semitic “accomplishments” was obsessed with the Jews. Jews were everywhere, the root of every problem. That was Haman’s worldview. Not only was he opportunistic, cunning, and cruel, he was possessed by a passion to destroy the Jewish people.

The Talmud teaches that no man dies having half of what he wanted. Our entire economy is built on it. Every new invention or gadget is something I must have. Then, when I have it, I realize that it really doesn’t do much for me.

So Haman is not satisfied that as prime minister, millions of people bow down to him. As long as Mordechai refuses to bow to him, it is more than he can bear. Mordechai, in dismissing his power, puts true values into perspective, and Haman cannot stomach it. Powerful people like having yes-men.

When Haman sees that Mordechai will not bow to him, it drives him into a rage. Imagine. Ten million people bow to him, and one person doesn’t. Instead of being overjoyed, he is fit to kill. All his obsessive anti-Semitism comes to the fore, and he proposes the complete destruction of the Jewish people.

Haman understands Ahasuerus very well. He knows that Ahasuerus will not mind the elimination of the Jewish people, but he will miss all their taxes. Therefore, he bribes him with ten thousand talents of silver, which is a fortune of money. When the king hears there won’t be a shortfall in his budget, he has no problem with it. People are expendable; money is not. In our era of uncontrolled and unbalanced budgets, both personal and national, we can still see that.

But Haman oversteps himself. He doesn’t quite realize the paranoia that lies within Ahasuerus. So he goes blithely along his way and sets a date for the destruction of the Jews. In his own mind, he is the king. But this will be his undoing.

The Ari Synagogue. Photo by Larry Mastria.

Let me say at the outset that I am not a scholar of Kabbala, the mystical tradition of Judaism. I don’t understand it myself, let alone can I explain it to others. But what I can attempt to explain are the historical forces that gave rise to its explosive influence in the 16th century. Without an understanding of this, it is difficult to understand the motives and dynamics of Jewish history in successive centuries, including our own.

I also want to say that in our time, Kabbala has been cheapened. If Madonna is a Kabbalist, then I’m an astronaut. What passes as Kabbala in popular culture has nothing to do with real Kabbala.

As rational and understandable as the tenets of Judaism are, ultimate understanding of it lies beyond the realm of the intellect. Therefore, there was always a strain of mysticism within Judaism, but for centuries, its study went on amongst a few select scholars in an unobtrusive, almost invisible fashion. This anonymity ceased in the 16th century. Then, the ideas of Kabbala became not only well-known, but dominant in Jewish thought, and they continue to be today.

After the calamities of the Middle Ages, particularly the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, Jewish scholars began to re-examine the meaning of exile. The very concept underwent an evolution. Originally, exile was seen purely and starkly as a punishment for sins. The Books of the Prophets explain it that way – it’s like a prison sentence. The guilty person serves his time, and when it’s over, he goes home.

That argument is easy to maintain for a short exile, like the first Babylonian exile, which lasted seventy years. But in the Middle Ages, that explanation was no longer sufficient. What sin of the Jewish people was so great that it required such a long, bloody, and painful exile? The Jews may have sinned, but if we compare the Jews’ behavior to many other nations and religious groups in history, it is difficult to place us at the bottom of the ladder. We are not found to be that wanting morally or spiritually. The punishment seems disproportionate to the sin.

This sums up the core problem of Jewish history. Why are we so persecuted? What spiritual purpose does it serve? If the exile lasts another hundred years, will we become better? Are we a better people now after Hitler? I think all of us in hindsight would say that the world was better off a hundred years ago than it is today. It was closer to redemption then. So what is the purpose of this exile? Who needs it?

Lest I sound too blasphemous, I am merely raising the issue that has gnawed at Jewish thought for the last 500 years. It’s not such a problem to us since we live in relative comfort and serenity, even if it’s false serenity. The experience of the exile, certainly in America, is pleasant. But to Jews who had been driven from their homes in the Spanish Inquisition and Expulsion, to Jews who had experienced the pogroms of the Black Death, it was a real problem.

The popularity of Kabbala lay in the fact that it gave answers to these problems. It attempted to make sense out of a world that is completely illogical. But just as all the terrible questions regarding the Holocaust have no simple answers, the Kabbalistic answers are not simple. Anyone who attempts to give them simple does a great disservice to the Jewish people and to Judaism itself.