<small>Revised and adapted. </small><big> Preface</big>
From the Arba'ah Turim אַרְבַּעָה טוּרִים— “... far better a few words with kavannah, with commitment, than many words without.”
“Do not think that the words of the prayer as you say them go up to God. It is not words that ascend but what they convey: the fervent outpouring of the heart, rising as breath rises, as ru’ach, as n’shama, upward. If your prayer consists only of words empty of meaningful intention, what is there to rise up?”[1]
It is said of the congregation of the Ba'al Shem Tov —the BeShT — that one year during Ne'ila —the final of the Yom Kippur prayers, the closing of the fast, of the holiest day of the days of awe— this occurred, when a young shepherd entered the synagogue, drawn by the beauty and passion of the service echoing up into the hills.
From just inside the shul doors, the shepherd saw prayer books in work-worn hands, and heard words flow in hoarse, sonorous grace throughout the sanctuary, a shared supplication wondrous to one never taught to chant or read, never given a teacher from whom to learn.
Suddenly desperate to the heart, the shepherd cast about for an eloquence offerable in partnership with these solemn harmonies to the Most High...
No one noticed the stranger in their midst, their intensity of word and melody having grown troubled with their gaze upon the Besht. For he seemed in struggle upon some other dimension, his posture trembling, his hands clenched white, his head bent low. From eyes tight shut, a droplet tracked down to be lost in his beard.
Less heard than felt was a motionless motion, as of a lock resisting key, a pulse arrested, a flame winking out.
The congregation faltered…
Then a whistling arose, profane in this place on this sacred day, yet sweet and true, and pure of tone, from years guiding flocks through the mountains by day, and calling them close for protection by night, to keep watch over rest, to keep them safe.
The shocked congregation discovered their guest.
Their fear for the Besht, and for the moment, transmuted into outrage—
But “Wait!” cried the Besht, with sudden joy alit. The congregants turned, astonished, to heed him.
“The gates of prayer were frozen to us, all entreaties unascending,” he said, “as if we had failed in dedication, in intent. But then came this child of the wild place— “
...of the hills, whence cometh our help…
The congregation sighed slowly, a single joined breath of comprehension: the gates had opened, and they were heard. All their entreaties uplifted. Together.
All through the heart-felt joining of one added song, another kavannah more.
Together, ascendant, through the gates of prayer.
Sheh’yimlu m’she’ehlot libenu l’tova.
May the questing of our hearts be answered for the good.
Gmar khatima tova - 5785
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Shabbat shalom
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