It’s Rosh Hashanah, and we have a lot to daven for this year. Me, I’m davening for more kavana. It seems like a worthwhile investment.
Yes, we’ve all heard shiurim about kavana, given by chashuve rabbanim who obviously have no problem with kavana. But what about the rest of us, who stopped paying attention somewhere in middle of that shiur and then picked up again when everyone laughed at something the rabbi said?
“What did he say?”
“Sh.”
One big issue that people have is that their davening has become routine. It’s like driving home from work—they can do it without thinking. So, if one day they know they need to stop and pick something up on the way home, they’ll often find themselves backing into their driveway and going, “Wait. I was supposed to stop somewhere. Did I? I’m gonna check the trunk.”
I bet you’re the same way. Do you ever say a part of davening out loud and then realize that everyone is saying something else? Do you say Slach Lanu on Shabbat and then pretend you were scratching your chest? Have you ever put on Shabbat shoes on Yom Kippur morning? It’s good that we’ve programmed ourselves to do certain things without thinking, but it can also get in our way of our kavana.
I’ll admit—my davening has been a routine. I know this because on Rosh Chodesh I take off my tefillin, and then I take off my tallit and put it away before I notice that it’s gotten awfully quiet, and I look around and realize that everyone’s davening Musaf. And this is after I davened Shemoneh Esrei eight times because I kept forgetting Yaaleh V’yavo. So then I have to inconspicuously put my tallit back on or run to the bathroom and pretend I meant to do that—put my tallit all the way away just to step out for a minute. Or I can get out my Shabbat tallit and put that on for Musaf and pretend that’s what I do. Even though, if everyone’s having kavana, no one even notices that I took off my tallit. But this is why I like davening in the back.
So, every year on Rosh Hashanah, I decide I’m going to daven better that year. Do I follow through? Sometimes. We’re kind of busy during the year. To be honest, it’s a lot easier to daven better during the Yomim Noraim, when you don’t have much else planned. “Can we hurry up already? I have to go home and not nap and pour honey on everything!”
But my biggest problem is that even having kavana sometimes gets me to not have kavana. I think about what I’m saying, and then I keep thinking about it while I’m saying other things. I start Ata Chonen, and I think, “Hashem, please give me seichel for important decisions and for witty comebacks, like in that argument I had yesterday, where I totally should have said—Hey, who just hit my chest?”
Here’s an idea: These days, it’s pretty easy to get pills for ADD. Just sit down with a psychologist and ask him, “What?” every 10 seconds. Then you take three pills a day—one before each tefillah—and before you know it, you’ll be able to count how many nekudot there are in Shemoneh Esrei.
But medication’s not for everyone. We have to daven, and it’s the same davening every day. And when it’s not, like on Yom Kippur, we complain that it’s too many words we’re not familiar with. But it’s not really our place to complain about that, is it? We’re asking Hashem for favors. Your kids don’t get tired of asking you for the same thing every day. But at some point, we start doing things with our davening that little kids don’t do. For example, we quickly mumble through our davening: “Minnehminnehminnehminnehminnehminnehminneh…” but we never see kindergarteners doing that. They never say, “Weopenoneeyeweopentwominnehminnehminneh…” HashemishereHashemisthereupupdowndownminnehminnehminneh…” TorahTorahTorahTorahTorahTorahTorahtzivalanuMoshe…”
Of course, it could be that the reason kids are enthusiastic is that they sing everything. Maybe we should just sing all of davening. That explains Rosh Hashanah.
The funny thing is that when we’re making up our own tefillot when we’re not in shul—when we’re davening for, say, a good parking spot—we never space out in middle and think about random things. We never say, “Hashem, if you let me get to work on time today, I’m going to—Look! Horsies!”
By Mordechai Schmutter
Mordechai Schmutter is a freelance writer and a humor columnist for Hamodia, The Jewish Press and Aish.com, among others. He also has five books out and does stand-up comedy. You can contact him at [email protected].
