On Melodies in Prayer (Column 540)
A few days ago I saw a column in which Rabbi Shlomo Aviner addresses playing music as part of prayer (Hallel, Kabbalat Shabbat before the onset of Shabbat, and Havdalah with instruments). Although the topic doesn’t strike me as especially important—and perhaps precisely because Rabbi Aviner’s starting point is entirely similar to mine—I thought it appropriate to offer a detailed critique of his remarks. They contain bias and not a few fallacies, and sadly they are typical of the national-Haredi approach to such issues. It puzzles me that an intelligent person like Rabbi Aviner could even dream up such a poor response, but precisely for that reason I think it’s important not to ignore it.
The rabbi’s words
The question he answers is this:
Question: There’s a new trend to perform a musical Hallel with instruments. Likewise, Kabbalat Shabbat before Shabbat. Likewise, Havdalah. Is this permissible/appropriate?
It isn’t clear what “permissible/appropriate” means. Is it halakhically allowed? Is it proper? In what sense? I assume the questioner had some intuition that this is a problematic phenomenon and wanted to check that, but he doesn’t spell it out.
In his answer, Rabbi Aviner brings 13 arguments against it (“very serious problems”), no less:
| Answer: First of all, it isn’t entirely new. There was something similar when the Reform introduced the organ into their synagogues in order to imitate Christians, and the Ḥatam Sofer fought this with all his might (Hashmatot to Ḥoshen Mishpat §162; there VI, p.), as did Shu"t Melamed Leho’il (§16), Mishpetei Uziel (VIII, 18), and Maran Rav Kook (Shu"t Orach Mishpat 36–37; and see the book Piskei Maran, §70).
Granted, in our day this is not the agenda, but it’s clear that the fashion of attaching a musical or other “experience” to prayer is of Christian origin. As for the matter itself, there are several very serious problems. 1. One must not change the order of the service of God. We do not know all the revealed and hidden reasons. 2. Throughout the generations, the great sages of Israel did not institute this, even though of course they too had instruments; we are neither wiser nor more righteous than they. 3. Moreover, the greats knew that in the Temple they did play music, and nonetheless they did not learn from that. Evidently they knew that in this matter the synagogue differs from the Temple. 4. Prayer is not a concert. One should pray with awe of holiness, not out of musical enjoyment—certainly not for the sake of musical enjoyment. 5. Some claim that youth do not “connect” to prayer and are bored to death; through attractions and thrills they will connect. That is a logical fallacy. They declare they want to connect them to prayer, but in fact they connect them to attractions and thrills. On the contrary, this distracts them from concentrating on the prayer itself. 6. Others argue: “It is a time to act for the Lord—they have voided Your Torah.” To this we must reply two things: (a) There is here no acting for the Lord. (b) This authority is given to the great sages of the generations, not to every individual. 7. In the end, heads of mechinot testify that this is the only remedy they found to get students to come to prayer at all. Perhaps; but one must know that the remedy has severe side effects; therefore it is permitted only for the “ill.” 8. As for the proof that under the chuppah people sing and play “If I forget you”—that too is a new invention with no source, and it isn’t clear who invented it. Breaking the glass has an ancient source, but not the music. This too stems from thirst for “experience.” Recently there’s another invention—to sing the piyyut “Titen Acharit Le’Amekha.” 9. The Mishnah Berurah mentions that on Shabbat people were accustomed to melodies—i.e., prayer with tunes (O.C. 281:5). But even in this one must not exaggerate. There was a case of a shaliaḥ tzibbur who embellished too much, to the joy of the public; our teacher Rav Tzvi Yehuda gently told him that one must not “chazzan” too much. There was a case with my humble self: after the prayer the shaliaḥ tzibbur came to wish me “Shabbat Shalom”; I told him, “Sir, you are not a cantor but a prayer leader.” He responded with a tear of emotion at the supreme compliment. 10. A great Torah scholar noted that before Hallel we bless “to read the Hallel,” not “to sing the Hallel.” 11. In one synagogue they were singing the Psalms of Kabbalat Shabbat. A child asked people, one after another, what is the meaning of “Forty years I was provoked with a generation and said: They are a people of erring heart… I swore in My wrath that they shall not enter into My rest.” These are, ostensibly, very difficult verses—how can one sing them? No one knew how to answer him; they told him they hadn’t thought about it. The child concluded that they had never once prayed those verses with intent and were occupied only with singing. 12. There are many synagogues where people pray with great concentration and where they hardly sing. 13. The Gemara states “to hearken to song and to prayer—where there is song, there shall be prayer” (Berakhot 6a), and Rashi explains: “the synagogue where the public recite hymns and praises with a pleasing voice.” But a pleasing voice is not exactly singing, and certainly not instruments. 14. In sum, music does not increase kavanah (intent); it distracts from it. To conclude, from the words of R. J.B. Soloveitchik in a talk on Parashat Korach: “The religious experience is not the main thing; it is secondary. One must never take as the starting point the inner, subjective experience—no matter how redemptive it may be, how colorful, how healing, how powerful an impression it makes on a person’s hardened personality.” “Religious feeling is interchangeable, fickle and fleeting… If the religious act had to adapt itself to a person’s inner moods, we would need to invent a ritual that constantly changes; what is an apt expression today will by tomorrow have become obsolete.” “We are never able to determine what is a religious experience as opposed to a secular, lustful experience. We know many non-religious, hedonistic feelings that are very powerful. They are hypnotic, and at first glance they seem ‘redemptive.’ A person can easily confuse a religious impulse with a drive of love. Replacing religious feelings with secular feelings is again a pagan method. Idolaters in the ancient world would immerse themselves in hypnotic, orgiastic rites and mistakenly identify in them a religious experience. The Torah forbade importing pagan practices into the service of God: ‘How did these nations serve their gods? I shall do likewise’—‘You shall not do so to the Lord your God.’” “The notion that one can arouse religious consciousness by confronting it with the powerful hypnosis of the aesthetic experience—such as music, the plastic arts, architecture—is foreign to halakhic Judaism. For example: take the organ. What is the organ’s role? To set a mood. The organ does not set a religious mood, for it is not an instrument of religious experience but of aesthetic experience. People use the aesthetic experience to pave, as it were, the way to a religious mood. The religious mood will never come, because the path is paved with an aesthetic experience. The same if one dances—the dance may arouse you personally; of course it stimulates, the rhythm itself intoxicates—but all the rhythm in dance is a secular experience. It is not a religious experience; it is an aesthetic experience. Do you expect the aesthetic experience to prepare the way for a religious experience that will follow? That will never happen! This is, in essence, paganism.” “In my view, this is the real reason the organ was not introduced into prayer. Judaism wanted the religious experience to be born in its own world, not stimulated or aroused by a routine, secular, hedonistic experience. All the more so—if we use the experience of love as a stimulant—within Judaism this becomes an abomination; it is paganism par excellence. The religious experience is born within religious cognition, not under the pressure of physiological, sensual drives.” “We have never tried to do this; the Catholics have. The whole ‘mass’—the music, the architecture—everything is tailored to that aim: to arouse in a person an ecstatic experience that, once opened by this stimulus, will carry the worshipper to a religious experience—and that is a complete mistake! The religious experience is autonomous, free and original; it moves to its own rhythm and along its own special path.” |
A clear and utterly unequivocal stance—not only against using instruments, but to some extent even against singing and melodies in prayer. Whose heart would not tremble at the sight of these “very serious problems”?!
And the student’s words: What is prayer?
I’ll begin by stating that I agree with his starting point. In my view, emotion and “experience” are not important in prayer—or generally. The primary intent in prayer is the intent to fulfill one’s obligation, not all that is loaded onto it. I have already cited in this context Maimonides, Laws of Idolatry 3:6, who wrote:
One who serves a star or constellation out of love—for example, he is enamored of this form because its workmanship was exceedingly beautiful—or he serves it out of fear, lest it harm him, as its worshippers imagine that it does good or ill: if he accepted it upon himself as a god, he is liable to stoning; but if he served it in its manner or with one of the four services, out of love or fear, he is exempt. One who hugs an idol and kisses it, sweeps and sprinkles before it, washes it, anoints it, dresses it and shoes it, and all similar acts of honor—transgresses a negative commandment, as it is said, “You shall not serve them”; these are included in the category of service, yet he does not incur lashes for any of them because they are not stated explicitly. But if such an act is its mode of worship and one performed it to serve it, he is liable.
Maimonides rules like Rava that idolatry performed out of love or fear is not “idolatry in its optimal form.” Full and complete idolatry is that which is performed through “accepting it as a god.”
At first blush this is puzzling, for love and fear are considered the deepest religious motivations; if one directs them toward an idol, that should be the most idolatrous idolatry. Indeed, the Ra’avad in his glosses here and other medieval authorities interpret the Talmud differently:
/Ra’avad’s gloss:/ “If he served it in its manner or with one of the four services out of love… he is exempt.” We explain: out of love of a person or fear of a person, not out of love or fear of the idol itself.
The Ra’avad, like most of the early authorities, understood Rava’s exemption to concern someone who serves an idol out of love or fear of a human being (to please another person). But serving out of love or fear of the idol itself is optimal idolatry. That is not the straightforward reading of the Talmud, of course, but the difficulty that led them there is clear.
But Maimonides did not understand it that way. He apparently holds that “acceptance as a god” is the antithesis of service out of love and fear. Religious service motivated by love or fear of the god is in fact service motivated by something—by my own inner agenda. I wish to satisfy some feeling within me, and therefore I serve it. Religious service is service performed out of acceptance of the yoke and obligation, not for any other external purpose—certainly not a purpose rooted in the self. There is, to be sure, a kind of love that is “doing the truth because it is true” (see the beginning of Laws of Repentance ch. 10); that is likely not an emotional love but an intellectual one (what is sometimes called “intellectual love of God”). But that is not the subject here.
We thus learn that the foundation of the service of God—and of religious service generally—is unconditional commitment that does not depend on anything and is not aimed at gaining anything, certainly not an experiential or emotional payoff. What, then, of “the service of the heart—that is prayer”? The same applies there. It is widely assumed, especially among our Hasidic cousins, that the point of prayer is the experience of devekut (cleaving) and closeness to God. But R. Ḥayyim of Volozhin already struck at the core of that notion and explained, in his Nefesh Ha-Ḥayyim, that “experience” is neither the aim of prayer nor of study. Prayer and study are themselves a state of devekut. One who studies Torah or prays cleaves to God regardless of what he feels in that moment. Prayer and study are not means to achieve experiential devekut; they are themselves devekut—a metaphysical, not an emotional, cleaving.
From here we also understand that kavanah (intent) in prayer is not about “experience” or emotion but about the directedness of intellect and will. First and foremost it is the intent to fulfill one’s obligation, as with every commandment. Beyond that there is the intent to the words (as in all speech-commandments), and some added the intent of “standing before God” (R. Ḥayyim on Maimonides’ laws of prayer). At root, prayer, like every commandment, should be done out of commitment and the intent to discharge one’s duty. Prayer is a commandment incumbent upon us like any other, and that should be our basic motivation when we come to pray.
Leibowitz, of course, championed such an approach, though as usual he took it a step too far. He argued that in principle one could just as well recite the phone book; clearly the content of the prayer has no significance. He repeatedly states: one who wants sustenance should go to work (tested and proven), and one who wants healing should go to a doctor (also). But the picture I’ve described does not imply that there is no significance to experience and emotion, nor that the words are meaningless. In my opinion, emotion and experience indeed have no intrinsic value—but that conclusion does not follow from the picture I’ve drawn. Furthermore, it is implausible to me that all the words of the prayer were composed arbitrarily in place of the phone book. One can disagree with the Sages, but one cannot attribute such a view to them.
For my part, I truly see no value in emotion and experience. I also do not believe in ongoing divine intervention; therefore, in my view, medicine and livelihood generally do not come from Him but from the doctor and the employer. But that is my view; it does not flow from what I described about prayer. In principle, a person may claim there is value in experience and emotion, or in the intentions of the Arizal, and he may also request needs from God, and thank and praise Him—but all of these are additional “stories” built atop the foundational story of intending to fulfill one’s obligation (and the words), not in its stead. One who treats a “Lithuanian,” emotionless prayer—one that does not aim to create experiences or to secure livelihood and health—as “a command learned by rote” is making a grave mistake. That is the finest prayer. That should be the basic motivation, even if additional levels can be built upon it.
The chase after “experiences” and thrills
I’ve shared here before a joke I heard attributed to Dov Sadan. He said the next person to make a revolution in the world will likely be a Jewish orthopedist. Why Jewish? Because all the revolutionaries are Jews. But why an orthopedist? Because the first Jew who made a revolution—Abraham our forefather (or Moses our teacher)—taught us “Lift up your eyes on high and see Who created these,” i.e., to use the head. The second (that man) demanded that we give the heart. The third (Marx) taught that everything is in the belly (needs and interests). The fourth (Freud) explained that everything is below the belt. So the fifth will likely be an orthopedist—or perhaps a podiatrist—who will show that all is in the legs or the soles of the feet.
What stands behind this joke is the quest for “experience” and excitement that so characterizes our generation. This is the product of profound despair about the intellect (including, of course, postmodernism) and the search for cheaper, more satisfying substitutes. But this hankering is problematic for two reasons: (a) emotion and experience have no value in and of themselves; (b) when they are used as a substitute for intellect, one gets nonsense. The flinging of slogans about things “beyond reason” and other such visions are the root of the folly and nonsense of our New-Age generation.
Emotion and experience cannot truly replace intellect. Making decisions with emotion and experience is about like thinking with one’s feet or ears. Even if you’ve entirely despaired of reason, at most you should become a skeptic—but you have no option to replace it with other organs or mental faculties, however frustrated you may be at the inability to reach conclusions and form positions. Hence, among other things, comes the frustrating state in which there is an absolute inability to conduct substantive discussion. When people “think from the gut” and offer no arguments, we get positionality ruling over all, and we lose the ability to discuss and debate. So-and-so “feels” this way and someone else that way—that’s it. In the absence of trust in reason and thought, experiences, excitement, or frustration become the supreme measures of the truth or falsehood of ideas and claims.
The starting point
If so, you can understand that my starting point is quite similar to Rabbi Aviner’s. I, too, am not enamored of the chase after experiences, and despite the desolation I feel in prayer I do not think the excitements, experiences, and concerts offered there are an adequate substitute or solution to the problem (if anything, better to read good books; it won’t save the prayer, but at least that has some added value).
And yet—even after saying all this, I do not understand how one can disqualify playing instruments in prayer. Why not disqualify singing in prayer, which is accepted everywhere? What is the principled difference between singing and instruments? He himself notes that the Levites played in the Temple, so it can hardly be “bad.” Naturally, I will not cite here all the sayings about the holy spirit and the indwelling of the Shekhinah that supposedly come from music.
In general, I am prepared to accept Rabbi Aviner’s claim that there isn’t great value in all this, though in my view one can see instrumental value in religious feelings and experiences; they help people adhere to the service of God and to prayer (despite the desolation). A concert is a reasonable substitute for reading books. I greatly enjoy seeing singing in churches in films and always think it’s a thousand times better than the desolation common among us, and it expresses a kind of fear of Heaven that is very impressive and authentic. In any case, I cannot accept Rabbi Aviner’s absolute negation of these dimensions. Such a conclusion does not flow from what I described.
Before entering Rabbi Aviner’s specific arguments, I will preface three general remarks about the framework of the discussion.
Three general remarks
- The title of his column (which, as we know, is not always given by the author) already says that we’re dealing with a phenomenon of Christian origin. This is also the main thrust of his introduction. He agrees that there is no agenda of imitating Christians, but the source is Christian. Seemingly, he implies that this alone suffices to disqualify it, even though he then adds “on-the-merits” problems.
So I’ll start with a question: Why, exactly? There are quite a few Christian phenomena that have spread in the world and also among us, and that does not in itself disqualify them. If there is no halakhic prohibition of ḥukot ha-goy here—which even Rabbi Aviner does not claim—then one should examine such a phenomenon on its merits: is it positive or negative, irrespective of its source. All the precedents he cites dealt with an intent to imitate the gentiles, and he himself says that is not the case here. So what is the problem with a Christian origin? Did not his teacher, Rav Kook, teach again and again that in every phenomenon under the sun there are positive points worth adopting? Upon further reflection, does this not itself indicate that the origin is not a relevant consideration?
For example, in my view Hasidism has very strong Christian sources (both in its theology and in its practice). Does this disqualify it? Not necessarily. I do regard Hasidism as negative in several respects, and still I do not see in it a prohibition nor a desire to imitate Christians; therefore its Christian sources are not an argument to disqualify it. True, when I point to features in Hasidism that are problematic in themselves, there is some value in noting their Christian sources to sharpen the claim that they have no place in a Jewish world—but that alone does not invalidate them or Hasidism as a whole.
Thus, an organ in a synagogue—a sensitive point—has never seemed to me problematic despite its Christian source. Using it on Shabbat is of course another matter, but for some reason there is an automatic sensitivity against using an organ in a synagogue regardless of Shabbat. Perhaps here there is a desire to imitate Christians, and perhaps even room to discuss an actual halakhic prohibition of ḥukot ha-goy; I won’t enter into that here.
- There is a great deal of repetition in his words. On examination you’ll see that the reasons he brings are very few; somehow Rabbi Aviner turns them into thirteen separate items. But there are not thirteen reasons—far fewer.
- Beyond that, all the considerations he brings point in the same direction. There is no discussion of any argument in favor of music in synagogue; it certainly doesn’t get a dedicated item. A picture made of many items, all pointing in one direction, is suspect to me as biased. It’s hard to assume that in such a topic one cannot find any bright spot in the opposing view, especially when it’s clear that many good and great people do see significance—or at least permission—here. I already cited R. Medan’s quip that he knows twenty-two “excuses” for reading Ruth on Shavuot but just one explanation for reading Esther on Purim.
It would be proper to raise the positive sides, omit the repetitions, present each reason separately, and then weigh them against the negative sides, and only then present a bottom line. When this isn’t done, the whole picture looks suspect. By the way, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this from him. I recall his discussion on conditional marriage, where again he presented a list of reasons to disqualify the phenomenon without a serious discussion of the other side.
But all this only gives reason to treat the framework of the discussion as a priori suspect and problematic. These are not arguments sufficient to dismiss Rabbi Aviner’s position. To crystallize and present a clear position, we must enter the arguments themselves. I beg your pardon for the pedantry, as this column really isn’t worth even one sentence. I address each item only to demonstrate how far conservative bias (and bias in general) can go and what it can do to intelligent people. You can now see the bundle of nonsense laid out above.
Critique of the arguments
- We must not change the order of serving God because of hidden reasons. The Vilna Gaon’s famous statement about decrees and enactments holds that even if their reason lapses we must not change them, for perhaps there are hidden reasons unknown to us. I’ve critiqued this more than once: perhaps there are no hidden reasons (and that is even more plausible; one who claims hidden reasons bears the burden of proof). I’ve also noted that conservatism has a price; it isn’t a risk-free path. Sometimes its costs are higher than the costs of the policy it seeks to block. First, because conservatism deviates from truth; therefore, in principle the burden of proof is on it. True, if the reason lapses an enactment does not automatically lapse; that’s based on the need to stabilize the halakhic system—no need to resort to strange mystical conjectures to explain it.
But in our case we’re not even dealing with an enactment or decree, but with a custom that is not halakhic at all. Moreover, there is here not even a custom but an absence: the fact that we haven’t “customarily flown” during prayer is not a custom; there’s simply no custom to fly. Instituting a new practice is not the same as changing an existing custom. The Gaon’s statement about decrees and enactments seems to me absurd on its face (the enthusiasm for it stems, I think, from its usefulness in fending off proposals for change); but to say that everything people did—or didn’t do—until now, in halakhah or outside it, must not be changed because perhaps there are lofty, hidden reasons at its root—that isn’t even a bad joke. I’m sure even the Gaon never dreamed of such an extension.
- Throughout the generations sages did not institute this, and we are not wiser or more righteous than they. Does this not overlap the previous item? At least partially. And besides—so what? They also prayed with a different nusach, both in content and in melodies; shall we prohibit changing that, too? They also dressed differently. Does Rabbi Aviner propose we continue dressing in Hasidic or Haredi fashion because “that’s what everyone wore once”? Should we stop with crocheted kippot and restore the gartel and kaftan? And those who instituted those garments—how did they change? Were they wiser and more righteous than their fathers/teachers?
- If they didn’t learn from the Temple, that’s conclusive proof that the synagogue differs from it. A bizarre argument. Does everything not taken from the Temple prove difference? Perhaps there was simply no need then. After all, addressing a need is a legitimate consideration even if the practice has no inherent value. Moreover, many things were innovated in synagogues with or without connection to the Temple. What does that prove? And perhaps now we’ll change, and then future generations will see that one can learn from the Temple.
- Prayer isn’t a concert; one should pray with awe of holiness, not for musical enjoyment. He assumes that, according to the innovators, enjoyment is the aim of prayer. But why not see it as a mere aid to the worshipper? Indeed, it isn’t a concert—but the music may still help. Recall that the Rema exempted us from intent in the first blessing of the Amidah, in sharp contrast to the Talmudic law, because he knew that even if we repeated the blessing we would still not have the proper intent—no one truly does. I don’t know what kind of environment Rabbi Aviner lives in, but certainly not mine. Even if I feel similar things about these excitements, many claim that the excitement is their awe of holiness, as in “rejoice with trembling.” Is that not a legitimate claim?
- They argue that “the youth” don’t connect to prayer, but the tunes will connect them to something that isn’t prayer—just experience. Beyond the shining optimism (as if the problem lies only with youth), perhaps there’s something to it—but why not want them to have at least a “floor B” if they lack “floor A”? This argument is, at most, a claim of superfluity—not that it is negative or forbidden. In any case, the “youth” (as we know, up to age 120 it’s youth) are not connected to prayer.
- “A time to act for the Lord.” Fine—this is entrusted only to the great sages of the generation; besides, this is not “for the Lord” but for experience. This argument (beyond the question of authority) is entirely equivalent to its predecessors. And as for authority—are we dealing here with a halakhic change requiring “the greats of the generation”? Don’t many customs begin from the bottom up? Were kiddush with herring and kugel after services instituted by Moses our teacher?
- Heads of mechinot testify this is a remedy for getting students to come to services. Rabbi Aviner replies that the remedy has serious side effects (without detailing them), thus permitted only for the “ill.” Of course this fully overlaps previous items. But here we’ve advanced: if there are indeed “ill,” he agrees they may be treated thus. This pearl is tucked deep between the lines.
- There’s a proof from music under the chuppah. Well, that too is a new invention; one cannot learn from it. It’s a wonder he doesn’t call to abolish music under the chuppah as well. But I don’t understand—why do we need proofs at all (is there some problem demanding proofs)? And even if so, why would a wedding be a proof of anything? By this logic, we should also abolish wedding menus and the plants in halls—they didn’t have those in the days of our forefathers, the mighty of the world. And certainly one cannot learn from wedding halls to synagogues to place plants and decorations there—Heaven forfend.
- A ma’aseh rav from R. Tzvi Yehuda and from Rabbi Aviner himself preferring to shorten the melodies on Shabbat. A very novel reason indeed, in addition to all the above. The respondent brings a ma’aseh rav from himself. Whoever isn’t persuaded—stand up.
- Another “insight” from a great scholar: we bless “to read the Hallel,” not “to sing the Hallel.” A remarkably sharp observation worthy of a great scholar like that anonymous figure (good he didn’t name him to avoid lashon hara). Do we bless “to stand the Hallel” or “to read the Hallel”? Hence, it is improper to stand during Hallel. In fact, Hallel itself is termed “song” in the Sages (and, by their reading, in Scripture). It seems that great scholar still has something to learn.
- A child asked worshippers in his synagogue—where they were accustomed to sing—about the meaning of verses in Kabbalat Shabbat, and they didn’t know. Conclusion: they were busy singing and didn’t understand the verses. An amazing, crushing proof. I suppose if he had asked in another synagogue everyone would know. And even in that synagogue, if they stopped singing, at once everyone would know the meaning of every word of the prayers. And even if they wanted to learn the meanings, the singing would keep them from hearing the lesson. It seems this proof, too, is from some enormous scholar (except in logic).
- There are many synagogues where people pray with great intent and hardly sing. Another amazing proof. How many such synagogues are there? He saved us that. Are there synagogues that sing and intend? That don’t sing and don’t intend? What percentage is each type? What would happen to a synagogue that stopped singing—would intention rise? As is well known, it’s highly inadvisable to diet, because everyone who diets is fat.
- It is written “to hearken to song and to prayer—where there is song, there shall be prayer,” but there it means only a pleasant voice, not singing and certainly not instruments. I’m surprised he didn’t explain that “song” there means Torah study, as is often explained (see here for critiques and explanations). A very strange argument. First, how does he know it refers only to a pleasant voice, not singing or even instruments? At most one can say there is no proof for instruments from there—but how can one exclude them from there? Isn’t it more reasonable to say that people pray in a pleasant voice with singing and instruments? That is certainly no less plausible.
Conclusion
Again, apologies for the utterly unnecessary detail. I’m sure most of you chuckled in embarrassment and did not understand why this column was needed. I wanted you to sense the whole picture, in all its parts, because this is a typical “Torah” treatment. You could see how a Torah scholar—an educated, intelligent person by all accounts, asked by a broad public for halakhic and hashkafic guidance—can write drivel I wouldn’t accept from a three-year-old. All this just to present a skewed, tendentious picture of a completely banal and innocent issue, whose principal flaw is that it’s relatively new; and, as we know, “what’s new is forbidden by the Torah.”
So what did we have here? Where are the “very serious problems” we were promised? We saw repetition of reasons across different items, as if there were many arguments and not simply the same thing in different words—essentially a complete vacuum. We also saw a blatant absence of any discussion of the positive sides of this phenomenon. Add to that some “grandma stories,” odd and fabricated statistics about synagogues which—even if they had some basis in reality—bear no real relation to the discussion, plus a pinch of ma’aseh rav from the respondent himself to support… his own position. Ah yes, and a few more arguments that are embarrassing from a logical standpoint—all of them saying the same thing. From this embarrassing mélange we received a decisive negative answer about something that is undoubtedly legitimate and perhaps even somewhat beneficial. Here you have a fine example of how to manufacture baseless “tradition,” “hashkafah,” and “Da’at Torah” out of nothing—based on absolute vacuum. Who can see fourteen well-constructed items issuing from the mouth of a High Priest and not be convinced?!
If they had asked me, I would have answered straightforwardly that I don’t see great value in it and it isn’t the essence of prayer, and that it is proper to focus mainly on intention in the prayer itself. But if people want to sing and play—let them enjoy—and perhaps there is some benefit there as well. It would be proper to elaborate a bit on the value of experiences, perhaps to distinguish between different kinds of experience (musical experience and religious experience), and to examine the relation between them.
In my assessment, Rabbi Aviner did not intend something very different in his response (I think the quotes from R. Soloveitchik at the end essentially say that). But he wished to present things in a sharp, persuasive way as if based on tradition and profound hashkafic considerations (“a few very serious problems,” remember?)—and thus this calf emerged (albeit a calf set against dancing). This seems to be a paradigm for how “hashkafic” (and sometimes even halakhic) responses to such topics are crafted.
With respect to Rabbi Aviner, he “earned” this mockery fair and square.
Discussion
Excellent column, thank you very much.
The discussion itself is not important, but the way you present it, the way you build your refutations, the way you teach us the proper mode of thinking, really helps in every field and in all our studies.
If we negate experience, is there not a danger that we will reach a situation of having no need for God? After all, reason can explain everything? Scientific development keeps attacking the question of need mercilessly. And perhaps only experience can provide the answer to the question of need. There is no doubt that experience
needs reason, but to leave reason alone facing the distress of need is like playing basketball with your hands tied. Perhaps the solution is the balance between reason and experience. A person walks along a path, and reason directs him to go on the right path and overcome all the obstacles, and what remains for experience is to enjoy the encounter with the path and with God.
Not an admiring student of Manitou; he appreciates him, yes.
It should also be noted that even according to students of the Rashash (the second level, in the language of Hakham Avraham), the meaning of this level is not a request for divine involvement in our earthly world here (in that respect, Leibowitz was close to them), and certainly there is no search for inner experiences; they come only incidentally, and one must beware of them. The second, second level is only for the sake of the higher worlds. Of course, whoever chooses will choose, and from the Rashash's style it seems that he preferred that not everyone choose.
Besides, it really isn't so terrible that people sing in prayer, just annoying. Especially if there is no option for a matter-of-fact minyan.
Didn't the Levites sing in the Temple? Were they Christians?
With God's help, 10 Shevat 5783
And of Joseph he said—
We find things that were praiseworthy and were forbidden because they acquired an idolatrous connotation, such as the pillar, which was beloved in Jacob's days and was forbidden by the Torah. Likewise, the recitation of the Ten Commandments in the Shema was abolished because of 'the resentment of the heretics.' So there is room to distinguish between music in the Temple and music in a synagogue, from which Israel refrained throughout the generations. Perhaps because of revulsion toward the ways of the church and the Reform 'temple.' Perhaps because of concern for Sabbath desecration, and perhaps out of concern for frivolity and the demeaning of prayer, and perhaps because of a combination of all the above concerns.
In practice, in our land, where 'heretics are not common,' and almost none of our young people has ever seen a church or a 'temple' in his life, the sensitivity to this connotation is reduced, and therefore many conservative rabbis also support the 'musical minyanim' on new moons and intermediate weekdays of festivals, since the music in reciting Hallel revives and enlivens the prayer and draws young people closer to the synagogue.
With blessings, Yanai Elimelech Zwieblinger-Dishonsky
A comprehensive survey of the halakhic discussion—in Rabbi Shmuel Ariel's responsum, 'Melody with Musical Instruments in Prayer and Hallel,' on the Yeshiva website
With blessings, Ditza
As a rule, I reject the value of experience, and you are speaking about it on the instrumental plane (as a tool, a means to something else). That is a different discussion, and I hinted at it too (when I said that perhaps there is some benefit in it).
But I really did not understand what you are saying. What does “need for God” mean? Do I worship Him because I need Him? I worship Him because I am obligated and because that is the truth. What does this have to do with reason being able to explain everything? (Especially since of course it cannot.)
In short, this message is written in Chinese as far as I am concerned.
I did not say that kabbalists speak about experience. I pointed to several other kinds of levels: an experiential level, a kabbalistic level (the intentions of the Ari), etc.
To Yossi, Rabbi Aviner addressed that explicitly (the Levites), and so did I.
I really did not understand, in Rabbi Aviner's words, what the connection is between Hallel, Kabbalat Shabbat, and Havdalah and prayer (which is supposed to be in holy awe or whatever it is). Maybe we should also say that it is forbidden to sing in the shower because prayer is supposed to be in holy awe? Prayer is the eighteen blessings said quietly. The Shema is the acceptance of the yoke of the kingdom of heaven and presumably also needs to be said with profound seriousness. How does that affect how one is supposed to recite what we call “psalms”? Unless Rabbi Aviner explains that it comes from the root zemer2 meaning strength, and “who is mighty? He who conquers his inclination.”
With God's help, 10 Shevat 5783
To Shlomi—greetings,
That is precisely the point. A broad-minded person like Rabbi Tau and Rabbi Aviner, who knows the currents and shades of Western culture and modernity inside and out, may develop a heightened awareness and sensitivity to problematic influences hidden in seemingly innocent 'trends.'
With blessings, Yifa'or
However, it can be said on the other hand that one who is not aware of the negative roots of a phenomenon is also less likely to be adversely influenced by those hidden flaws.
To Hananel—
King David already taught us: 'Serve the Lord with joy, and rejoice with trembling,' and the Sages expounded: 'In a place of rejoicing—there should be trembling.' Even in a time of joy, there must be awe to provide balance.
With blessings, Ditza
There is an idea that there should be aesthetics in prayer, as the Gemara says in Berakhot (6a):
It was taught: Abba Benjamin says, a person's prayer is heard only in the synagogue, as it is said (I Kings 8:28), 'to hear the song and the prayer'—in a place of song, there should be prayer.
And Rashi there explains:
In a place of song—in the synagogue, where the congregation says songs and praises in a pleasant melody.
Friends, it is worth reading before responding.
Ever since I learned this Gemara, I stopped being particular about cantors and congregations that sing parts of the prayer.
God is purely a need.
And when there is anxiety, then divinity is the strongest need that exists. At least for many of us.
That absolutely does not make divinity something that exists or that obligates anything!
On the contrary. People exploit this need to stroke their own ego through the miserable and the weak.
I don't have time to get into the endless loop of the argument about the value of experiences and feelings. (Hint: I do not agree with a single word of your position on the subject, and that should suffice; much more could be said.) What I want is to understand what you mean by the claim that the sole value of prayer is intending to fulfill one's obligation. The obligation of what?
Let me sharpen the point: the dispute among the Rishonim is well known as to whether there is a Torah commandment to pray. According to Rambam, yes; according to Ramban, it is entirely rabbinic (perhaps except in times of distress). Just imagine: in the period before the Men of the Great Assembly (that is, before the wording of prayer and the wording of the phone book were instituted…), according to Rambam (and Ramban in time of distress), could a person fulfill his Torah obligation of prayer by reciting some arbitrary text whatsoever, “provided that he intends to fulfill his obligation”? Obligation of what? In the period before the prayer texts, did the Merciful One not require the heart? I am astonished.
Atheism is also a position. A very foolish one, but a position. But in order to say that you are an atheist, there is no need at all to engage in psychological diagnoses of others. Just as I will spare you the psychological diagnosis of my reasons for the atheist's position.
Mordechai, it seems that once again you did not read the column to which you are responding. I must say this is rather a bad habit.
An equally bad habit is to evade questions so clumsily, especially since this time I was not trying to jab at you and my question was entirely sincere. You do not owe me anything, but why lower the level of the discourse like this?
I did not jab at you. I rebuked you. That is something entirely different. When there are questions, I do not evade them. In your words there were no questions. You simply put in my mouth things that I explicitly wrote against in the column, and then raised difficulties about them. That is why I wrote to you that apparently you did not read what I wrote. And since this is not the first time, I added the remark about the bad habit.
If you ask a question, I promise you I will not evade it. But read what I wrote before you ask. I assume that if you read it you will no longer ask, but you are of course welcome to.
You may assume that I did not read, or that I read and did not understand (far more likely, because I really am not very smart, and nevertheless want to understand).
You wrote: “The main intention in prayer is the intention to fulfill one's obligation, and not everything that people load onto it.” A few paragraphs later you added, “Intention in prayer is not connected to experience or emotion, but to the directedness of the intellect and the will. First and foremost, it is the intention to fulfill one's obligation, as with all commandments. After that there is also the intention of the words (as with all verbal commandments), etc.” Then you quoted Leibowitz of blessed and holy memory (who, from my direct impression of him, I think often said things merely to fulfill his obligation of provocation, but that is for another time), and noted that you do not agree that the words are unimportant (for if so, why did the Sages bother to formulate them). And finally you concluded: “…but all these are additional layers on top of the basic layer of intending to fulfill one's obligation (and the words), and do not come in its place,” etc.
I took the trouble to quote your holy words only to prove that my eyes did pass over the text (and I tremble to write “I read”…). And still my question remains in place—fulfill the obligation of what? What is the commandment of prayer if not “the Merciful One desires the heart”? That is, to stand in awe, fear, love, and reverence before the Master of the Universe (“emotional religious experience,” in the foreign tongue)? What was a Jew supposed to do in order to “fulfill his obligation” of the commandment of prayer (according to the view that it is a Torah commandment) before the text was instituted by the Men of the Great Assembly?
And from a third side he is also a reader and supporter of (some of) the columns here on this holy site.
But from what little I know of Rabbi Aviner,
Rabbi Michi did not lose a client; on the contrary.
Yehoshua Benjo is right and knows what he is talking about.
He knows his father-in-law inside and out.
Fortunate is the generation in which Rabbi Aviner and his son-in-law are humble and accept rebuke.
I really did not understand what the problem is with singing in chapters of Psalms and some song (Lecha Dodi) that in recent years some people say before the Ma'ariv prayer and the acceptance of the yoke of the kingdom of heaven on Friday night?
Some person, or a few somebodies, only a few generations ago, had the practice—he and his students—to say a few chapters of Psalms before Shabbat in the field.
At some point it spread; at some point it was decided that instead of doing it in the field (cold, heat, darkness, carrying issues), to bring it into the synagogue. In some places afterward the rabbi also gives a sermon/lesson on the weekly portion, halakha, or just political opinions (usually pro-Bibi and other such lowliness) under the guise of Torah words.
Is the rabbi allowed to sing his “sermon”?
He is allowed to say it, allowed to sing it, allowed to dance, and allowed to forgo the whole sermon altogether.
It is also “allowed” to come to the synagogue for the Friday night Ma'ariv prayers and acceptance of the yoke of the kingdom of heaven without saying the Psalms that some people say and without singing them, and it is also allowed to say them and sing them.
It is also allowed to read all of Proverbs in the Yemenite pronunciation after the evening prayer, and I assume it is also allowed to sing it, and it is also allowed to go home at the end of Ma'ariv and not say, God forbid, all of Proverbs in Yemenite.
In short, this whole invention of “Kabbalat Shabbat” is neither permitted nor forbidden; whoever wants says it, whoever wants sings, whoever wants dances, whoever wants reads pamphlets, whoever wants comes straight only for Ma'ariv, and it is not clear why this is even a topic for discussion.
In your opinion, is there value to prayer—that is, thanksgiving and supplication—done מתוך a feeling and deep understanding that one thanks the Holy One, blessed be He, for His kindnesses, and entreaty and request that He continue to help; in other words, prayer from the bottom of one's heart, or do you see no value even in these feelings?
I wrote that beyond the intention to fulfill one's obligation there is the intention of the words and standing before God, and if you wish you can put in there also the Ari's intentions, experiences, and emotional arousal. Good health to you. All these, even if they have value, are additional layers on top of the basic layer.
Prayer is like any other commandment, and therefore requires the intention to fulfill one's obligation. That does not mean it has no independent purpose. Even taking the lulav has some sort of purpose, but first and foremost it has to be done in order to fulfill one's obligation. What connection is there between the two? Does the view that commandments require intention necessarily imply that commandments have no purposes and goals of their own?
The same applies to prayer. The purpose of prayer from the standpoint of its instituters or of the Holy One, blessed be He (if it is from the Torah), is not necessarily connected to the question of what the doer's intention must be. At most one may think about those purposes on level two and above.
And now to your questions:
There must be intention to fulfill the obligation of the commandment, just as with every other commandment.
The assumption that this is an emotional religious experience is not necessary, and in my opinion not correct either. But even if it is correct, it is irrelevant to the discussion. So you undergo a wonderful emotional experience, and you do so in order to fulfill your obligation. How is that related?
Before the Men of the Great Assembly fixed the wording, one had to pray in free wording, and still with the intention to fulfill one's obligation.
Before the giving of the Torah there was no obligation and no command, and therefore there was clearly no need there for the intention to fulfill one's obligation. What is the question at all? Before the giving of the Torah there was no betrothal, only marriage. Does that mean betrothal was not added afterward? Before the giving of the Torah Jacob set aside a tithe (let us say). What did he intend according to the view that commandments require intention? Nothing, of course. There was then no obligation, so clearly there was no need for an intention to fulfill one's obligation.
I see no value in feelings at all, in any context. At most there is value in what the feelings express. Suppose some person has no feelings at all (something in his brain is wired differently). Is he a less religious person? Are his commandments worth less? Feelings are at most an expression of a conception, and the value lies not in the feeling but in the conception. I have written about this more than once here on the site, and you can search and find it.
I see no value in feelings at all, in any context. At most there is value in what the feelings express. Suppose some person has no feelings at all (something in his brain is wired differently). Is he a less religious person? Are his commandments worth less? Feelings are at most an expression of a conception, and the value lies not in the feeling but in the conception. I have written about this more than once here on the site, and you can find it.
Thank you, and still I am not sure I understood what you mean.
(By the way, I intentionally asked only about the period before the wording of prayer was fixed, and not about before the giving of the Torah; that is a separate topic.)
Someone who eats matzah must intend it for the commandment of matzah and not to satisfy his hunger (and of course he fulfills it if he happened to be hungry and the matzah satisfied him). Someone who blows the shofar must intend it for the commandment of shofar-blowing and not to make music (and of course he fulfills his obligation if, along the way, he happened to enjoy the music of the blasts). But what is a person to intend when he prays, especially when the wording has not yet been fixed? “I am hereby mumbling some free-form text for the sake of the commandment of prayer”? As opposed to what?
And perhaps the commandment of prayer, according to the view that it is from the Torah, is essentially the verbal expression of accepting the yoke of the kingdom of heaven, reverence, and love of God? If so, some arbitrary text would not help here. And for the verbal expression of all this not to be a mockery and a farce, the person indeed needs actually to experience those feelings, does he not? (And perhaps this is what the Sages mean by “with all your heart—with both your inclinations,” etc., and much more could be said.) Perhaps the Sages took the trouble to institute a text after they realized that not every person knows how to express those feelings properly before God. But of course they could not institute a “feeling.” The commandment of “and you shall love the Lord” you have to fulfill with your own inner powers. The Sages can only help you express that love in fitting words before the King, etc., etc.
Sorry for the pedantry, but at least to me your position (and Leibowitz's position) seems very puzzling.
According to your premise, any commandment for which there is no way to interpret it as being done other than for the sake of the commandment would not require intention, because in that case the intention does not come to exclude anything. There are indeed conceptions like that, akin to “an unspecified act is presumed for its own sake” at the start of Zevahim, but even according to them, the reason one need not intend is only because we assume from the outset that this is his intention. So in any case one needs the intention to fulfill one's obligation even in such cases, explicitly or implicitly. The need to intend is not contingent on there being some alternative interpretation of the commandment's performance.
In shofar-blowing, the intention to fulfill one's obligation does not come only to exclude someone blowing in order to make music, but also someone blowing not because of the commandment but for some other purpose (such as to awaken himself to repentance, as Rambam hinted). I claim that if a person blows in order to awaken himself to repentance, he has not fulfilled his obligation (according to the view that commandments require intention).
Therefore, someone who prays, whether before the wording was fixed or afterward, needs to intend to fulfill his obligation. This is meant to exclude, for example, prayer for the sake of experience or obtaining livelihood. One who prays in order to gain a livelihood has not fulfilled his obligation, and he is like one who blows for music or for repentance. And of course, even if you ultimately say that he does not need actual explicit intention, that changes nothing, as above: because we assume implicitly that that is his intention. And still, intention to fulfill one's obligation is required. [By the way, I do not see what difference the fixing of the wording makes to this discussion.]
Incidentally, regarding the question of what was renewed at the giving of the Torah concerning the service of God (prayer and sacrifices), you can see my article on the rule “Scripture repeated it to make it indispensable.”
And one more remark. I explained in previous comments that even if the purpose of prayer is the verbal expression of something, this does not contradict the instruction to do it with the intention to fulfill one's obligation, like any commandment that has some purpose.
(Sorry that I am asking the same question again, just from a different angle, only to make sure I understood.)
Even a person with feelings of compassion, love, generosity, humility, etc.—in short, a good personality—you do not see value in that?
Correction: with feeling
The rabbi exaggerates in his response.
Rabbi Aviner did not mean to forbid this halakhically but “in terms of worldview,” meaning that this is something it is not right to do even though from a halakhic standpoint it is permitted (and even though in his opinion it has bad implications). Even in optional matters, the will of God is relevant; it is just that in permitted matters it changes from place to place, time to time, and person to person. The entire concept of pious conduct belongs to this. Does the will of God not apply in an optional war? Yet even about that they would consult the Urim and Tummim and the Sanhedrin.
He did not mean to list 13 different reasons but 13 points that can speak to the same reason, only illuminating it from different angles. This is his writing style in general.
Regarding the Christian source, he certainly meant something that is bad in this specific matter in itself and that stems from something in the Christian conception that was the source of this custom. I am speaking, of course, about the conception that actions do not matter, only hearts, and that all the commandments are nullified and there is only love. This is a conception that encourages an aesthetic experience (in Rav Soloveitchik's terminology) at the expense of the worship of God.
On the issue of custom, he meant that in his view there was a crossroads, at least from the days of the Reformers (or from the days of the musical churches in the Middle Ages), when presumably perhaps even non-Reform Jews wanted to introduce an organ into the synagogue, and the rabbis decided not to, and מאז that became the custom in Orthodox communities. Perhaps he thinks this is a halakhic custom, like other customs in prayer (such as saying Pesukei De-Zimra). There are also differences in custom in the form of Sephardic and Ashkenazic synagogues (the placement of the lectern, etc.), and perhaps they too are binding or at least in the category of a mitzvah.
As for our righteous and wise forefathers, etc., he meant regarding the order of the service of God, meaning prayer. Clothing fashions are not relevant to prayer unless there were customs concerning dress in prayer—and indeed the cantor still wraps himself in a tallit and not in a modern suit. (The tallit [the scarf/cloak] was the suit—and hat—of ancient times, and therefore only it was obligated in tzitzit and a thread of tekhelet, so that we should not forget God because of the haughtiness of the suit-wearer, who is presumably an “important person” [at least in his own eyes]. And indeed only married men [and Torah scholars?] in the Talmudic period would wrap themselves in a cloak.) Regarding the kippah, perhaps one really could argue accordingly (it is not clear whether it belongs to matters of prayer or not, or to pious conduct or not, etc.), except that there really was no importance specifically to a kippah but to some kind of head covering (yeshiva students also used to go with a beret). But musical instruments in a synagogue are something a bit more than fashion, and it is no wonder they opposed them because of Rav Soloveitchik's reason, just as they opposed various other Reform innovations of this sort (I assume they would not have objected if the Reformers had decided to put a Star of David on the bimah)—that is, things connected to the aesthetic experience. As a matter of ideological prohibition (the will of God in optional matters—“the teaching of the pious”), this is a very strong reason.
As for what he wrote about youth, he did not mean to forbid on the basis of that argument, but to argue that it is unnecessary and will not solve the problem (it is a counterclaim against those who would argue that this solves problems and therefore has value.
The argument about the wedding canopy is actually relevant. Whether a halakhic prohibition or not, a wedding canopy is a “religious ceremony” (good thing I did not say ritual religioso…) like prayer or Havdalah and Kiddush. That is, there are blessings there, etc. Therefore it is relevant that there be halakhic customs there that are at least in the category of a mitzvah. There are no customs regarding festive meals as far as I know (and even then they would not be binding, because that is a mitzvah and not an obligation, but still an “ideological” prohibition could apply there). Just as there is a custom that women do not drink from Havdalah wine or do not do work while the Hanukkah candle is burning (some women).
The story about reading and not singing Hallel was not brought as proof but as a sharpening, in his usual style, and likewise the various stories of rabbis. By the way, the difference between a prayer leader and a cantor is well known (as is the implicit criticism of cantorial performance… for as we agreed, prayer is not a concert). Years ago I was asked to lead the High Holiday prayers in my synagogue, and it was really hard for me to find on the internet someone I could learn the melodies from properly (today, thank God, there already is), because all I found were pompous cantorial pieces full of self-importance….
The point about the many synagogues in which people pray with intention and do not sing was also misunderstood. Again, he meant to address the counterclaim that singing etc. are necessary or more helpful for intention, and against that he argued that this is not true because there are many synagogues (even one would have been enough for the logic…) etc.
The same applies to the source “to hear the song, etc.” Here it is not clear, but perhaps he also meant to argue against a counterclaim that would bring him this source as proof that one must play music in prayer, namely that this is not necessary because a pleasant voice is not necessarily singing at all (I do not know what it is then. Maybe like the cantor's chant in the repetition of the Amidah and at the ends of various sections. It is prayer in melody…. Like speaking to you pleasantly in order to ask you for something. And that also applies to songs and praises. 'For though he speaks graciously, do not believe him, for there are seven abominations in his heart,' etc.)
Our rabbi,
It seems to me that you missed Rav Chaim's point, and it seems that this is what Mordechai is trying to get at.
The commandment of taking the lulav requires taking a lulav for the sake of the commandment.
The commandment of blowing the shofar requires blowing the shofar for the sake of the commandment.
The commandment of prayer requires praying for the sake of the commandment.
But shofar and lulav are objects visible to the eye. You can hold them and hear them.
But what is prayer? There is no object called “prayer.” So what is “to pray”? In order to say that one has to do the action, one has to define it.
Rav Chaim defined prayer as “the intention of standing before God and speaking with Him.” One who mumbles the words without intending to stand before God—the problem is not that he lacked intention; the problem is that he did not do anything at all. Prayer without the thought of standing before God is mumbling words, and therefore Rav Chaim says one cannot fulfill the obligation of prayer with it. It is like my intending the commandment of shofar while not having the object called a “shofar.”
In your words it is implied that you see Rav Chaim as an additional layer, not the foundation. And about this Mordechai asks: please define what “to pray” is. To this you answer: intention to fulfill the obligation of prayer. To that he comes back and asks: if a person intends to fulfill the obligation of lulav, but you still have not told me what a lulav is, can he fulfill the obligation? You come back and say: what did you not understand? I said one has to intend to fulfill the obligation. But you still have not defined what “prayer” is.
I assume Mordechai's next step is to say that if prayer is the intention of standing before God and speaking with Him, from here one can begin discussing whether there is value in the speech being done in one way or another. That can be debated. But he cannot get there because you are not answering the question.
Thank you very much. I saw Michi's answer yesterday at a late hour, and I was too tired and unfocused to answer as I should have. But the work of the righteous (not that I'm any kind of righteous man…) is done by others… Indeed, you captured my intention.
I will only add, beyond Rav Chaim's words—that prayer is the verbal expression of love of God, awe of Him, and acceptance of His kingship. (One expression of this is asking for one's needs, for a person asks only from one who has the ability in his hand, and in asking from the Holy One, blessed be He, the faith is thus implicitly expressed that we believe there is none besides Him, etc.)
Therefore, when a person prays, he is supposed to feel those emotions that he expresses in words. One who expresses fear but is not afraid, who expresses love but does not love, and so on—not only does he fail to fulfill his obligation (because he “did not hold the lulav in his hand”), but he stands in the category of one who speaks falsehood before God. It seems to me that only regarding prayer was it said that “prayer without intention is like a body without a soul,” because the dead are worse than plain inanimate matter—they are the father of fathers of impurity.
It follows from this that I completely disagree with Michi's position that emotion has no value. On the contrary, emotion is part of the service of God. A person is commanded to love the Holy One, blessed be He, and according to Rambam also to express that love in words (“prayer”).
What led Michi into error (in my humble opinion) is the confusion between cause and effect. Indeed, one who uses prayer (or any other commandment) to reach thrills and a “religious experience” is worshipping himself, and that is idolatry.
But prayer is directed in the opposite direction: to take the emotions (which a person is obligated to bring himself to) and express them in words.
Indeed, a person must bring himself to love and awe, and Rambam even takes pains in a number of places to explain how: by contemplating nature, nuts and roasted grain for children, colorful garments for women, and meat and wine for men on a festival (in order to attain festival joy), and so on. Not the religious act in order to arouse feelings, but arousing feelings in order to arrive at love of God, in the sense of “Now bring me a musician,” etc.
Obviously, someone who is emotionally disabled is exempt, for the Merciful One exempts one who is coerced.
I will comment on the relevant points.
I did not write that he prohibited it halakhically. See the subheading of the column.
The repetitiveness is foolish and adds nothing. Numbering the סעיפים suggests that there are different arguments here, and there are not.
There are differences in prayer dress customs too, like a hat. Besides, why is prayer exceptional? Our forefathers and rabbis were wiser in everything.
In honor of the rabbi, may he live long,
It seems to me that the rabbi still believes in prophecy…
There are endless sources in Tanakh itself and in Rambam that prophecy comes through song and music: “and it came to pass, when the musician played…”
It seems to me that this is enough for us to understand the importance of emotion in dry prayer… apparently there is some connection between emotion and spiritual divine revelation..
Thank you
That is not emotion. It is joy. Real joy. People do not distinguish between emotions and experiences (which are like seeing—sensations, states of awareness. Experiences are like visions from the spiritual world).
Just as people do not distinguish between romantic love, which is an emotion, and true love, which is a kind of experience (in the sense of sensing). In emotion (if a person acts on it), the person is acted upon—a leaf carried by the wind, passive. Emotions are like sea waves. But experiences like awe (not fear), love (not romantic), joy, etc., are experiences that are like seeing (state-actions), which stem from an active act of contemplation whose result is the experience (the seeing). Indeed, all the commandments of “and you shall love,” “and you shall rejoice,” etc., are commandments about actions that bring about the experience (which is not a mood but a kind of seeing of spiritual reality; it is a state of consciousness), just as a commandment of seeing is really a commandment of looking and contemplating (to direct one's gaze and concentrate and pay attention). Prophecy has the prerequisite of joy, and music would bring one to joy. There is no emotion here at all.
I was referring to customs of dress in prayer, and I did not understand what the rabbi wanted with that.
I do not know why prayer is exceptional, but there is some logic in it. It has quite a high status in the world of commandments relative to other commandments. Regarding the introduction of musical instruments, this is something the ancients had the ability to do and for some reason did not. The question is why. And if this was indeed intentional, then until we understand the reason for it, perhaps it really is not right to do it. I actually believe one can understand why; one just needs to study, search, and inquire. Personally, I am not so quick to say that reality has changed. I more believe that in spiritual matters reality changes like a tree—that is, it develops, not merely changes. Therefore I still would not “permit” women to be called to the Torah in a men's minyan (because of the honor of the congregation), and certainly not to abolish partitions in the synagogue. In holy places the rules are different. There is a hierarchy in the worlds of holiness. And again, this is without connection to halakhic prohibition and permission (which requires deeper thought); it is not like questions such as what counts today as the enclosure of a bathroom in the time of the Sages, or whether a shaving machine is like scissors in the manner of a razor, etc. In any case, in spiritual matters like prayer, the fact that the Sages had the holy spirit (not prophecy; it is mentioned in several places in the Gemara that they could revive the dead and miracles occurred for them) is in fact relevant to what pertains specifically to matters of prayer. Just as Rabbi Melamed ruled that selihot should be said specifically after midnight according to the kabbalists, because one should not fall on one's face before midnight since the strict judgments still prevail. And Rabbi Feinstein ruled that one may do so after the first watch of the night, before midnight. And it is obvious that in these matters, which are connected to asking forgiveness and prayer, the kabbalists are more relevant than he is. This is not the laws of lulav.
Changes in customs in prayer were a matter of development—sections were added. The pronunciation changed because people were exiled to different places with different languages and pronunciations, and the original pronunciation was forgotten. There is also positive development, for example in the musical motifs of the cantillation marks, which today in all communities are incomparably more musically developed than the cantillation motifs in the period of the Sages and of Moses our teacher, but they contain them within themselves (just as a mature tree “contains” the young tree within it).
Rabbi Aviner is not a genius. He is a learned Torah scholar with broad horizons (relatively speaking), but genius is something else. Rabbi Michi is not a genius either. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik was a genius. Save the titles for those to whom they fit.
Mordechai's and Betzalel's criticism seems to me entirely justified, but there is room to expand the philosophical side of it. Michi's focus on religious obligation and its relation to religious feeling misses the main point—the religious truth and the main cognitive channel for reaching it, namely the intuitive capacity.
Michi does acknowledge, in principle, the centrality of truth and intuition, but in my opinion fails at the stage of application. The essence of the intuitive capacity is expressed in the responsiveness (receptivity, passivity) that appears in a person in the face of spiritual expressions with God at their center. Religious obligation, insofar as it relies on intellect and will, cannot provide us with that responsiveness and cannot even “reconstruct” it adequately. Therefore an additional human faculty is needed, religious feeling, to do the work. Admittedly, this faculty appears as a result and not as a cause (Mordechai already pointed this out), but it is still a necessary foundation.
From this perspective, the truth is almost completely the reverse of what Michi says: not only is religious feeling not a threat (though in Michi's opinion a threat that does not always materialize), but it is a necessary condition for the authenticity of the proper and fitting religious relation. Insofar as religious feeling is one of spiritual-religious elevation, it is essentially a reconstruction on an additional and complementary plane of the structure and function of intuition. It is a kind of echo of the intuitive faculty, but also a kind of certification mark for the person, since precisely the “chaotic” quality of feeling represents that transcendent element that intellect and will (the instruments that enable religious obligation) are unable to make present for us.
There is much more to say also about the question of meaning and perhaps also truth, but this is already too long…
Interesting
Mordechai and Betzalel, hello. Doron, within my remarks there is also a response to your comment.
Oren has now somewhat fixed the width of the comments (it had been one-letter wide and I couldn't answer), and the discussion can continue.
I see no difference at all between a commandment involving an object and commandments of action. According to your view, does intention to fulfill one's obligation apply to the first type of commandment but not to the second? Why not? So on that, I think there is no dispute. Intention to fulfill one's obligation is required in both types of commandment, contrary to what Mordechai wrote above.
Now you are trying to sharpen a different point: beyond the intention to fulfill one's obligation there is the intention of the words, which turns the act into prayer (and not merely lip movement). But I fully agree with that. Where did I write otherwise? Prayer without the intention of the words is just lip movement, but still the basic halakhic layer is intention to fulfill one's obligation. It does not really matter which of the two is primary; that is a question that is not fully well-defined. The more precise formulation is that what defines this as the act of prayer is the intention of the words, and what turns it into a commandment (the commandment of prayer) is the intention to fulfill one's obligation.
It is important to understand that in any case this is not a distinction between action-commandments and commandments involving an object. Even in commandments involving an object, the same distinction applies. For example, a booth for the festival made on the Festival of Booths under improper conditions is invalid because it was not made for the sake of shade. The “for its own sake” of the sukkah (for the sake of shade) is what makes it a sukkah of the commandment. The intention to fulfill one's obligation turns the act of sitting in it into a commandment. So this is not a difference between commandments involving an object and action-commandments. These are simply two layers of relation to the commandment: the act itself and its being a commandment. The act has some purpose and value that defines it, but what turns it into a commandment is the intention to fulfill one's obligation. So too in prayer. The movement of the lips becomes prayer through the intention of the words, but only the intention to fulfill one's obligation turns it into a commandment.
That is what I wrote in my previous replies to Mordechai, and I do not see what I missed, what is new here beyond what he asked, and what was not answered in my previous replies.
All this is regarding the intention of the words. Our discussion was not about that but about feeling and experience. About that I wrote that with respect to the Ari's intentions, experiences, and emotions, unlike the intention of the words, in my view all these really are a higher level, perhaps possessing value (less than instrumental) and not necessary. I understand that Mordechai disagrees with this, but I have not seen a concrete argument against my position.
Beyond that, I have explained more than once on the site, and also above here, that when emotion expresses a state or a conception it may have value. But the value is not that of the emotion but of what it expresses. One needs to arrive at a connection with the Holy One, blessed be He, and a feeling of love expresses the existence of that connection. The feeling and experience themselves are matters devoid of value in themselves. The value lies in the connection. Therefore, if there is a person who lacks this emotional dimension, he is not coerced, as Mordechai has now written. He fulfilled the commandment in full, except that in his case it has no emotional expression. This is not an exemption due to coercion but a full fulfillment of the commandment by a person who is built differently. That is all. And in this there is also an answer to Doron's remark.
And indeed, if prayer is a means to thrills and experiences, like a concert, that is problematic—but that was not our dispute. Our dispute is whether the emotion produced in prayer has value or not. Whether when I arrive at a connection with the Holy One, blessed be He, without feeling emotions and experiences, that is defective or lesser. In my view, absolutely not. I do not see how one can argue about that, since the difference between one and the other is only a different personality structure. It is highly implausible that a personality structure has value in itself.
In sum, it seems to me that even before, I fully understood the question and answered it completely. And of course I still do not understand what the fixing of the wording has to do with this.
Rabbi Michi, I do not understand the proof from Rambam that love and awe are not part of the service of God.
1. Surely everyone would agree that generic love and awe without commitment and/or acceptance of the yoke of the kingdom of heaven/faith in the Creator of the world is not a commandment, in parallel to idolatry—just as one may perform a commandment without faith, etc.
2. The Hazon Ish in the laws of idolatry (cited in Pithei Rosh Hashanah and elsewhere) brings that in idolatry there is a special law that in order to transgress there must be an act of enthronement, so that even one who says “You are my god” by way of acknowledging an existing fact and not by way of enthronement is not liable.
3. How can one at all deny concepts of love and awe as part of the service of God when there are many verses and even explicit commandments on the subject?
I am sorry. I still did not understand.
I fully agree that there is no fundamental difference between a commandment involving an object and a commandment without an object. You focused on a marginal aspect of my comment.
Let us set aside the intention to fulfill one's obligation. Let us ignore that for the moment. Let us agree that in every commandment, as such, it is right to intend to fulfill the commandment.
The question is different: what is the commandment? You simply have not really defined what it is. Do you hold that the commandment is “to say words of prayer”? What are “words of prayer”? About this Mordechai asked: if the commandment is “to say words of prayer,” how did they fulfill the commandment before the wording was fixed? This is not a principled question, but a way of pointing out that the definition we currently understand from you is problematic.
This is the failure that you attribute to Leibowitz. He says we could have read a phone book, but the Sages did us a kindness and gave us a somewhat more interesting text. And we, criminals that we are, repay evil for good and try to find meaning and emotion in the text. Gevalt.
The point is that if the whole definition is “to say words of prayer,” Leibowitz is right. The Holy One, blessed be He, gave the Sages the authority to choose what counts as “words of prayer.”
Rav Chaim gave a better answer. He said that the commandment is to be in the awareness of standing before the King and speaking with Him. This is not an additional layer, in his view, but the definition of the commandment itself. Now one can argue about what the proper way to stand before Him is. But at least he gave an intelligible definition of the commandment.
If I did not understand your words correctly, I would be very grateful if you could state in one sentence what the definition of the commandment is, in your view. The length only confuses and gives the impression that you do not have a sharp definition of the commandment.
Michi, broadly speaking I think the concept of religion you present—or perhaps better, the concept of religiosity—is not that of religion but rather a caricature of religion:
1. There is no religion without taking account of man's welfare and good. Especially for one who believes in a personal, revealing God who is interested in the world and in man. It is simply not reasonable to assume that God created the world and religion and wanted man to worship Him without positing the existence of at least a minimal system of reward, one expressed in a sense of religious exaltation (but not only that).
2. The meaning of the previous point is that among human beings there is no ethics, not even religious ethics, without aesthetics and psychology. There is no such thing as a religious person who has no religious feeling, however faint and fragmentary. This is not only an empirical factual claim but also a principled evaluative one. Insofar as we are dealing with the human being, these are a priori conditions of his existence.
3. There may even be an additional problem in trying to deny the necessity of religious feeling. I mean the cognitive problem. As I wrote in the previous comment, it is likely that religious feeling is awakened in the face of certain cognitions. Therefore it seems to me that one who does not see such feeling as necessary will find it difficult to defend the assumption (as you try to do) that we possess an intuitive faculty.
In order to ordain a genius—one must, after all, be a genius.
And in order to determine who has broad horizons—one must have broad horizons.
Happy are you that you have merited this.
When you grease the wheels of the wagon—you can travel. Thus our forefathers taught us.
And the meaning is: when you grease—when you give a bribe—you can advance matters.
And behold, our Sages revealed to us that without a bribe to Samael—they could not even obtain a day-old egg.
And this is what is written: 'with all your heart'—with both your inclinations.
Therefore: Sing to Him, make music to Him, serve the Lord with joy.
Our teacher Rabbi Shlomo Aviner really is a riddle.
On the one hand, a genius with broad horizons across many fields, and on the other hand narrow-mindedness like here and elsewhere. On the one hand, an admiring student of the bold Manitou, and on the other hand subordinate to Rabbi Tau. A riddle..