A prayer in vain - Parashat Toledot 5785

This is not a sermon related to the Parasha, but I’ll try to find how to connect it with it.

Sometimes, we pray deeply from our hearts, and sometimes, we pray out of routine. There are situations that lead us to pray with a lot of Kavanah, with a sincere intention, and at other times, we pray because we are used to doing it. This week, I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I said what in Jewish tradition is called T’fillat Shav—literally a vain prayer.

The Mishnah brings this concept of a vain prayer, one that shouldn’t be said, and these are the examples:

“The mishna states: And one who cries out over the past in an attempt to change that which has already occurred, it is a vain prayer. For example, one whose wife was pregnant and he says: May it be God’s will that my wife will give birth to a male child, it is a vain prayer. Or one who was walking on the path home and he heard the sound of a scream in the city, and he says: May it be God’s will that this scream will not be from my house, it is a vain prayer.”

(Berachot 9:3)

It is clear from the Mishna that certain prayers could be in vain because they relate to an event we cannot change. If it has already happened, it’s done; we can do nothing. We might pray for a better understanding, for the strength we need to deal with reality, or even to ask for a miracle. That’s why the Mishna introduces this concept, saying, one who cries over the past. The meaning here is not about someone who is stuck in the past, but he is whining regarding an action that already took place. In the first example, when the wife gets pregnant, even if the husband prays really hard, it won’t change the baby from girl to boy. (And of course, I’m not talking about gender issues.)

In the second case, the Mishna assumes that someone already died because of the fire, and there is nothing we can do. The T’ḥiyat Hametim we pray for in the Amidah is for the world to come, not for this world.

This is an interesting rational approach to prayer.

What happened to me happened last Sunday at the Interfaith Thanksgiving service at Temple Beth El. (Now, I don’t think that because I visited a reform synagogue and said a vain prayer, it is not that.) At the beginning of the ceremony, we read part of a Presidential Thanksgiving Proclamation written by Theodor Roosevelt in 1903:

“Once again, the season of the year has come when, in accordance with the custom of our ancestors for generations past, we are called upon to give praise and thanksgiving to God.”

Until here, everything is fine, no problem at all… and then, this came:

“During the past year we have been free from famine, from pestilence… from war.  We desire to live in peace with the rest of humanity.”

As soon as I read the word war, I froze. I know the same can be said regarding the famine and pestilence. But the war was too much for me. When I saw that word coming, I felt time stopped, and I had a brief discussion with myself. “Should I say this?” “Isn’t going to be a T’fillat Shav, a vain prayer?” “Can I lie in public, to God, to me, and to the congregants?”

I decided to remain silent for the second the congregation pronounced the word "war.” I confess I usually don’t have these struggles with prayer because I understand it is metaphoric rather than literal, but this case was different.

One of the modern commentaries to the Mishna, called ‘Mishnat Eretz Yisrael,’ explains the essence of prayer as was understood in the cases stated before:

“In the Mishna is expressed the central essence of prayer. A prayer is not for a miracle but for a normal and possible process, and one should not pray for something unusual and unnatural. The Mishna acknowledges the existence of miracles, but that’s not the goal of prayer.”

This concept is so powerful that many Rabbis stress the idea that when someone is dying, and death is imminent and inevitable, one should stop praying for Refuah, so we allow the angel of death, the Malach Hamavet, to do his job.

Yitzḥak, in this Parashah, did pray, as we read at the beginning of the Parashah:

“Isaac pleaded with Adonai on behalf of his wife because she was barren, and Adonai responded to his plea, and his wife Rebekah conceived.”

(Bereshit / Genesis 25:21)

We could consider that as a prayer. Yitḥak is not asking for something unusual; he is just not sure if his wife, Rivkah, can or cannot give birth to a child. He is not asking for something unreal or supernatural. (Do you see? I found a connection with this Torah portion.) And yet, Rivkah gets pregnant immediately after this prayer and inquires God about the nature of this weird situation. Yitḥak prayed, but Rivkah had to deal with the consequences of that prayer, meaning, be careful what you ask for because it might become true.

Even in Ḥanukkah, when we pray for the miracles that took place many years ago, we don’t ask God to make another miracle today. We thank you for the miracle we had. During Ḥanukkah, Purim and Yom Ha’atzmaut include in the Amidah the “Al hanisim” prayer, saying, “For the miracles, for the deliverance, for the victories, for the triumphs, and for the battles You fought for our ancestors I those days and at this time.” If you want to hear more about miracles and Ḥanukkah, I’ll discuss this during the Havdalah at our house later; you are invited to join.

Thanksgiving & Parashat Toledot give us some fresh perspective on how we pray and what we say in our personal T’fillot. As per the war, I can’t say that I’ve been free from our this past year. That would be a T’filat Shav; it is already done. Instead, I prefer to pray what we say every Ma’ariv service every evening prayer:

והסר מעלינו, אויב, דבר וחרב, ורעב ויגון, והסר שטן מלפנינו.

Remove from us enemies, pestilence, sword, starvation, and sorrow; remove the evil forces that surround us.

Shabbat Shalom.