Is "storming the heavens" a Jewish approach to prayer?

Requests to pray for sick friends and relatives – and even for people who I’m pretty sure I’ve never met – have become a regular feature of my social media in recent years. This phenomenon can certainly be said to have advantages: increasing the pool of people praying while enhancing our feeling of care and concern for our unfortunate brethren.

One phrase which has started to feature with increasing regularity, however, has been causing me considerable discomfort. “Let’s storm the Heavens with our prayers!”. This battle-cry did not seem wholly consistent with what I understand to be a Jewish approach to prayer. While it is true that certain prophets, such as Avraham, have been known to question God’s actions, this came from a place of humility rather entitled demanding. Yesterday’s parashah saw Aharon seemingly praised for humbly accepted his fate rather than petitioning God. In the Talmud meanwhile, Choni Hame’agel is heavily criticised for his strongly worded and irreverent insistence that God must provide rain for the Jewish people.

More broadly, Judaism Reclaimed examines the approaches to prayer of Rambam and Rabbi S. R. Hirsch who understand its function as being primarily to forge and maintain a relationship with God and improve our understanding of him rather than to try and force Him to comply with our demands.

I set out therefore to investigate the origin of this troubling phrase. Imagine my surprise when I discovered not only that it has firmly Christian roots, but that it has also been the subject of inter-denominational debate among Christians. The following was written by a Catholic Friar:

“…we see Protestant spiritual terminology adopted by Catholics, such as “storming heaven with prayers.” What this means is that when you pray, you have to do so in a bold and confident manner and seeing our urgency, God will not turn down our request. In modern lingo, some might say, “Pray big or go home.” Storming a castle in the Middle Ages meant that a king was defeated and forced to submit to the will of his conquerors. So, in like manner, “storming heaven with prayers” suggests that we can force the hand of God and demand that His divine will conform to my will. This is not the nature of Catholic prayer.

When we pray as Catholics, we remember the proper order: God is our Father, we are His children. This means that we believe He knows what is best for us and our salvation and we accept this with humility and faith. We always pray with divine providence in mind, repeating over and over again the words of the Our Father: “Thy will be done.” When we pray, we believe that we are merely asking for blessings that God has waiting for us for all eternity. We can’t change the divine will by “storming heaven with prayers…”

My feeling is that Judaism would broadly concur with this critique of the “Storming the Heavens” model of prayer, and gravitate instead towards “hatzne’a lechet im Hashem” (walking modestly with God) suggested by the prophet Micha. In the concluding words of the Avinu Malkeinu prayer:

“Our Father, Our King, be gracious with us and answer us though we have no worthy deeds; treat us with charity and kindness and save us.”

First posted on Facebook 16 April 2023, here.

When is it prohibited to recite Tehillim?

What is the least known and most counter-intuitive prohibition in Torah law? I’m pretty sure that one we read yesterday would come near the top of most people’s list – if, indeed, they were aware of it!

Among the list of Canaanite practices that the Israelites are warned to avoid upon entering the Land, we read of “chover chaver” – widely interpreted as uttering spells in order to charm animals and achieve other such manipulations of nature. All this sounds pretty innocuous, but Rambam and the Chinuch identify a Talmudic source (Shavuot 15b) which extends the prohibition to reciting Tehillim in order to attempt to heal a sick person!

The strongest expression of this law can be found in Rambam’s Hilchot Avoda Zara (11:12):

A person who whispers an incantation over a wound and recites a verse from the Torah, who recites a verse over a child so that he will not become scared, or who places a Torah scroll or tefillin over a baby so that it will sleep, is not merely considered to be [prohibited as] a soothsayer or one who cast spells. Such people are included among those who deny the Torah, because they relate to the words of Torah as if they are cures for the body, when, in fact, they are cures for the soul…

It is, however, permitted for a healthy person to read verses or chapters from Tehillim so that the merit of reading them will protect him and save him from difficulties and injury.

So in certain circumstances, reciting verses from Tehillim is utterly forbidden and equated with magical spells and charms while at other times it is a permitted form of protection. What exactly is the difference between these two categories?

The Sefer HaChinuch (#512) provides a further explanation. Referring to the permitted recitation of Tehillim performed by Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi in the Gemara he writes that:

“The matter is not, God forbid, akin to chover chaver – though the sages have already said it is forbidden to heal oneself with words of Torah. Rather these chapters of Tehillim are recited because they contain words which can awaken the soul of one who comprehends them to place all his trust in God…meaning that the Torah did not prohibit a person from saying words of Torah which will inspire his soul to do good – so that this merit will protect him.”

There seems to have been an explosion of Tehillim recitation in recent times. Email circulars seeking participants to help complete the book of Tehillim in order to heal a sick person, large groups of people who attempt to complete the entire book themselves over the course of a month, week or even a day. Specific chapters which are highlighted as segulot to achieve various goals from livelihood to finding a spouse. Even writing centuries ago, the Ramchal complained of how popular perceptions of piety typically revolved around fasting and reciting numerous Psalms rather than intense character training and determining correct behaviour.

So how are we to approach Tehillim recitation in today’s Psalm-intensive era?

One form of advice is offered by the Meiri, who explains that the recitation of a verse is permitted when it is being used as a vehicle for one who cannot find the correct words through which to express their own personal prayers.

Fundamentally however, the mechanical recitation of verses in order to heal or achieve other personal goals reduces Tehillim to a spell-book through which one hopes to manipulate the physical world. In the view of the Gemara this does little more than replace idolatrous Canaanite charms with the book of Psalms. Despite prevailing perceptions of piety, such practices would appear to remain strictly forbidden under Torah law.

Importantly though, one who concentrates on the meaning of the words can be inspired by them to form a more profound and deeper relationship with God. This strengthened relationship can strengthen the providential protection that one can legitimately anticipate receiving and is not only permitted – it is a highly praiseworthy practice.

First posted to Facebook 20 August 2023, here.

Angelic intermediaries and appropriate anthropomorthism

The period leading up to and including Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is one during which observant Jews traditionally scrutinise and attempt to improve in all areas of their religious conduct. It is common to find minutiae of laws and stringencies which are disregarded for most of the year suddenly becoming the focus of attention as people make special efforts in order to secure a favourable judgment.

Set against this backdrop, I have long been surprised by the widespread willingness of worshippers to recite prayers in the Selichot which many of our leading rabbinic authorities have declared to be deeply problematic. One who petitions an angel in prayer appears to be in breach of Rambam’s fifth Principle of Faith which demands that one who prays direct all his thoughts to God, and not to angels – even to act as intercessors. Nor can this be regarded as a Maimonidean peculiarity based on any alleged rationalist or philosophical agenda. One of Rambam’s most fierce critics, Ramban, writes similarly that “The third form of idolatry is considering angels capable of serving as intermediaries between God and His worshippers. Realise that even to pray to them for this purpose is forbidden to us.”. Other significant figures who have expressed opposition to these prayers include Maharal (who amended the wording) and Chatam Sofer who did not recite them.

While it is possible to draw support for this practice from various aggadic sources (a methodology which itself can be strongly questioned) my difficulty remains. At a time of year when we are adopting stringencies and striving for perfection – why do so few people appear to be concerned with prayers which many of our most revered sages categorise as idolatrous?

When it comes to the Machnisei Rachamim passage, I can understand the position of those who consider that this falls outside the parameters of prayer to an intermediary. The prayer opens by requesting that those who bring prayers of mercy before God should “usher in our [plea for] mercy before the Master of mercy”. This can be understood to embody a rhetorical flourish to the effect that the process already in place for prayers to reach God should function in the correct way. For the avoidance of any doubt, the passage concludes with a direct request to God “Speedily answer us, O God…”. More troubling, however, is the ”Malachei Rachamim” piyyut, which openly implores angels to entreat God on our behalf and contains no direct prayer to Him.

The broader feeling among those who support the saying of these prayers is partly motivated by an unwillingness to tamper with and remove parts of a liturgy which have been popularly recited for many centuries and which are an established part of the service. In addition, they add that these passages are a small part of a greater service which is clearly addressed to God; they serve to stir the heart and emotions and sometimes have moving melodies attached to them. Should such popular expressions of religious fervour therefore be sacrificed merely to appease those who indulge in an over-zealous philosophical witch-hunt?

This debate echoes another fundamental discussion over the role and proper place of anthropomorphism within Judaism. In Judaism Reclaimed I contrast the approaches of Rambam and Rabbi S. R. Hirsch to this matter. Rambam dedicates most of the first section of his Moreh Nevuchim to a sustained attempt to decode and minimise scriptural references to God engaging in physical activities such as moving and seeing. While such descriptive terms where necessary in order to convey the Torah’s message in a way in which people could understand, Rambam places them in the category of “necessary evil” and requires those who are capable of more profound understanding to distance themselves from rendering them literally. Crucially, this is not an area for compromise or concession: since our connection to God is dependent on our conception of Him, any false notion of a quasi-physical deity could be deeply damaging.

Responding to this immense Maimonidean project, Rav Hirsch writes:

“Scholars have philosophised about these expressions [anthropomorphism], in order to keep us far from ascribing to God material features. This gives rise, however, to the danger that the Personality of God will become increasingly blurred and indistinct to our perception. Had that been the Torah’s intention it could easily have avoided such expressions … Belief in the Personality of God is more important than the speculations of those who reject the attribution of material features to God.”

In a similar vein, Rav Hirsch was firmly in favour of the recitation of these Selichot passages – even attacking those who criticised a “widespread theme of piyyutim” on the basis of mistaken theological concerns.

On a personal level, I think that those searching for seasonal stringencies could do far worse than strengthening the boundaries which separate Judaism from idolatry. Justifications and reasonable sources may be found to excuse those who recite these prayers. But, in an age in which pilgrimages to graves and establishment of shrines are becoming increasingly popular among those seeking spiritual experiences, and with the distinctions between proper and improper prayer often blurred, my personal stringency for this year will be an attempt to state and emphasise publicly the words of Ramban that “The third form of idolatry is considering angels capable of serving as intermediaries between God and His worshippers. Realise that even to pray to them for this purpose is forbidden to us”.

First posted on Facebook 18 September 2022, here.

Prayer in war and peace

Prayer in Judaism, while representing a core and fundamental religious act, takes on a surprisingly wide range of forms and guises. On Shabbat-Simchat Torah morning, my early morning outdoor service in central Jerusalem began with serene meditative prayer at sunrise – unaware of the horror unfolding less than 100km to the South. A mid-Haftarah rocket siren quickly snapped us out of our peaceful contemplation. As news of the “situation in the South” gradually filtered through, our prayers became more pointed and desperate – until I felt too sick and distracted to continue and went home to join and try to reassure our younger kids in the building’s shelter.

It occurred to me in the days that followed that Jewish law contains two completely distinct modes of prayer which fulfil entirely different functions. Writing in Hilchot Tefillah, Rambam describes a very idealistic mode of prayer. Basing himself on an accumulation of various Talmudic teachings, he provides precise details of the various forms of preparation that one should go through in order to free one’s mind of worldly concerns and mentally attach oneself to the divine realm. Expanding upon this in the Moreh, Rambam understands that prayer in its essence is a contemplative intellectual exercise which offers crucial assistance to a person trying to enhance their providential relationship with God.

This sort of meditative prayer is not always recommended. In fact, writes Rambam, it is not permitted to embark upon such prayer at a time when one is troubled or weighed down by worldly challenges.

All of this describes the mode of prayer which I was attempting to pursue in the first half of the Shabbat morning service.

But there is also a very different model of prayer which Rambam introduces us to at the start of Hilchot Ta’anit:

“It is a positive Torah commandment to cry out and to sound trumpets in the eent of any difficulty that arises which affects the community, as the Torah states: "[When you go out to war... against] an enemy who attacks you and you sound the trumpets....", meaning to say: Whenever you are distressed by difficulties - e.g., famine, plague, locusts, or the like - cry out [to God] because of them and sound the trumpets.”

This second category of prayer is specifically designed to guide communal and national reaction to times of great distress and tragedy. Rather than a serene theological ascent to commune with the divine realm, it seeks to ensure that our primal crying out in fear and sorrow is directed to God – to know that it is our national covenant with Him which continues to determine our collective fate.

As Rambam proceeds to explain, this form of desperate communal crying out to God is intended, among other things, to direct our attention inwards and help us identify our own spiritual, moral and religious flaws which might have contributed to the crisis in hand.

In our particular situation, there is no great investigation which needs to be undertaken. The serious divisions and infighting which has rocked the country over the last year may well have damaged the army’s readiness, and reportedly was also a major source of encouragement for our enemies. From a spiritual dimension our tradition contrasts King David’s generation, in which many fell in battle since there was quarrelling and in-fighting with the more sinful generation of Ahab which was granted divine military assistance because of their great unity and commendable behaviour to one another.

Poignantly, this very lesson may be encapsulated in the fascinating halachic background to Tefillat Geshem – the prayer for rain which concluded the unusual service this Shabbat morning. Surveying the halachic literature on the subject, it seems uncontroversial that Jews in different countries and climates around the world should pray for rain according to the agricultural requirements of their particular locale. Yet the overwhelmingly prevalent practice over the last thousand years has been for Jews to follow the Talmudic prototype which contains minor variations for Jews in Israel and Bavel.

The Rosh, a leading halachic authority of the medieval period, describes in a responsa (10:4) how he initially pursued a strong campaign to correct this custom. Citing Rambam’s criticism of those who “pray with falsehood” for weather conditions that would actually harm rather than benefit their crops, Rosh consulted with Rabbinic leaders across Ashkenaz who all supported his view.

Nevertheless, the Rosh describes how his efforts to implement these changes provoked serious divisions and in-fighting within the community of Ashkenaz, with significant groups powerfully resisting his attempts to change what they saw as their ancestral custom. Setting aside both his pride and his strong personal feelings for what he believed to be correct practice, the Rosh publicly retracted his position in order to keep the peace and maintain communal unity. His private protest in the form of this responsa was restricted to a close circle of students which included his son.

How exactly this lesson can be integrated into 21stcentury Israel’s political and religious tensions is of course a complex and delicate matter. All sides could benefit however from internalising the spirit of the Rosh’s Tefillat HaGeshem compromise, sacrificing a cause so close to his heart on the altar of communal unity.

May God grant us all strength to cope with the horrendous and savage attack which has been inflicted upon our people and bring us absolute and total victory over our brutal enemy. May He watch over our soldiers going in to battle and bring back all of the hostages safely and speedily. And when this nightmare is over, may we be inspired to realise that we are one united people – notwithstanding our significant disagreements – and arise from this tragedy to rebuild Israel as a stronger and more cohesive society with all the blessings that this will achieve.

First posted on Facebook 10 October 2023, here.