Ivdu et HaShem b'simchah, bo-u l'fanav birnanah--Dancing in HaShem’s light

(Warning: Extremely long post, complete with hyperlink-clicking and some waiting for downloads. Read it when you have some spare time.)

Boy, was I surprised!

For many years, I’d seen men pull their tallitot (prayer shawls) over their heads and cover their eyes with their tallitot for a moment after reciting the blessing thereon. It had never occurred to me that they were actually (supposed to be) saying something while they were under there, until Psycho Toddler (http://psychotoddler.blogspot.com/) pointed out that he’d written a song to the words of that prayer, “Ma Yakar”—it’s on his “Rock of Sages” CD (http://www.mosheskier.com/index.htm) .

So I figured I’d give this prayer a try. And right away, I got into trouble. I may be something resembling a Conservative Jew in terms of ritual, most comfortable using a Conservative or Orthodox siddur (prayer book) and adding the Mothers where only the Fathers are mentioned (and daughters, where only sons are mentioned), but, in terms of theology, I’m still closer to Reconstructionist. I’m not sure just how literally I believe in a supernatural G-d. So what am I supposed to think of this prayer? Here’s the ArtScroll siddur’s (prayer book's) translation: How precious is Your kindness, G-d! The [er] sons of man [literally, sons, or children, of Adam, which can be translated “the human”—would you settle for “human beings” as a non-sexist translation?] take refuge in the shadow of your wings. May they be sated from the abundance of Your house; and may You give them to drink from the stream of your delights. For with You is the source of life—by Your light we shall see light. Extend Your kindness to those who know You, and Your charity to the upright of heart.”

It’s beautiful poetry, but could I live with it? Okay, so maybe I would learn just the first line.

Well, I tried, with my tallit pulled just over my head but not down over my eyes—it’s hard to read that way—but I couldn’t do it. I just kept hearing the rest of the music: “Ki imcha m’kor chayim, b’orcha nir’eh or.” I’d never make it as a Vulcan. Logic, schmogic—for me, music trumps theology almost every time. Shut up, Spock. :)

So I prayed the whole thing. And found myself in an odd position. How could I feel bathed in the light of a G-d in whom I’m not sure I believe?

But that feeling was there, nevertheless. I continued davvening (praying) with that feeling until I found myself almost at the end of Mizmor Shir Chanukat HaBayit L’David (Psalm 30), when, suddenly, the words just jumped off the page and into my head . . .

. . . in three-part harmony.

This is what I heard. As my son would say, “Wait for it.” Hafachta (Shur)




“Hafachta misp’di l’machol li—you have changed my lament into dancing . . .”

So that’s why I recognize that line!

(Now if someone would please tell me where the second line comes from . . .)

I spent the rest of the service shuckling (swaying in prayer) like mad. That’s about as close as one can get to dancing while davvening.


Lines of poetry kept jumping off the page.

This one seems almost to have been written for Israeli folkdancers and choreographers, Jewish singers, songwriters, and musicians: Y’halelu sh’mo b’machol, b’tof v’chinor y’zamru lo—Let them praise His Name with dancing, with drums and harp let them make music to Him.” (Psalm 149)

And here’s one that’s always been a favorite when I’m in a poetic mood. It’s a Shabbat-v’Shalosh R’galim/Sabbath-and-Festival special, so old, according to the ArtScroll siddur, that it’s mentioned in the Talmud (Pesachim 118a): “Ilu finu malei shirah kayam…Were our mouths as full of song as the sea, and our tongues as full of joyous song as its multitude of waves, and our lips as full of praise as the breadth of the heavens, and our eyes as brilliant as the sun and the moon, and our hands as outspread as eagles of the sky, and our feet as swift as hinds, we still could not thank You sufficiently, HaShem our G-d and G-d of our ancestors, for even one of the thousands . . . and myriads of favors that You performed for us. You redeemed us from Egypt, HaShem our G-d, and liberated us from the house of bondage.” Dayenu (enough)—for me, being a free person is enough of a reason to be grateful.

And further on, in the same prayer, the writer quotes Psalm 35:10, which seems almost to have been written for dancers, instrumentalists, and those who use their hands (and those who interpret for them) to praise G-d in any of the world’s many sign languages of the Deaf: “Kadavar shekatuv, ‘Kol atzmotai tomarnah, HaShem mi chamocha’—“As it is written, ‘All my bones will say, HaShem, who is like You . . .’”


I tried this a couple of weeks ago and it didn’t work. Somehow, the bouncy music clashed with what seemed to me to be the solemnity of the words that came after it.

But this week, I was ready for it. I’d taken to heart these words from Psalm 100, which we recite during the weekday P’sukei D’Zimrah (Verses of Song) in Shacharit (Morning Service): “Ivdu et HaShem b’simchah, bo-u l’fanav birnanah—Serve HaShem with gladness, come before Him with joyous song.” And I was ready to celebrate. To celebrate all the words of this Shabbat-v’Shalosh-R’galim addition to this prayer.

http://www.mosheskier.com/index.htm Keep scrolling through the “radio blog” until you get to “Hakol Yoducha.”

“Hakol yoducha, v’hakol y’shabchucha, hakol yomru ein kadosh kaShem. Hakol y’rom’mucha sela, yotzer hakol. All will thank You and all will praise You, and all will declare, 'Nothing is as holy as HaShem!' All will exalt You, Selah, You Whom forms everything.

The G-d who opens daily the doors of the gateways of the East, and splits the windows of the firmament, Who removes the sun from its place and the moon from the site of its dwelling, and Who illuminates all the world and its inhabitants, which He created with the attribute of mercy.”


I can’t remember the last time I davvened with such joy.

I davvened that way through the end of the Amidah shel Shacharit (the “Standing” Prayer of the Morning Service).

This was the last thing I heard in my head before leaving the apartment. In my head, I added a vocal harmony that doesn't actually exist on the recording--it took me at least a week of singing that harmony part to realize that I was making it up, based on an instrumental harmony in the background.

http://www.mosheskier.com/index.htm Keep scrolling through the “radio blog” until you get to “Elokai Netzor.”



I’ve continued to maintain my recently-developed personal minhag (custom) of praying the entire Shacharit service at home on Shabbat (Sabbath) and Shalosh R’galim (Pilgrimage Festivals) in order to give myself enough time to recite many more prayers, and to try to recite them with more kavannah (intent, focus), than I could while attempting to keep up with our rabbi (P’sukei d’Zimrah) or cantor (everything else). This time, my timing was perfect for the day of a Bar Mitzvah celebration—I walked into the shul (synagogue) at the very beginning of the Torah service (Seder Hotza-at HaTorah). Never before have I sung the words “Baruch shenatan Torah l’amo Yisrael bi-k’dushato--Praised is the One who gave the Torah to His People Israel” with such a full heart. And, noch besser (even better), the Bar Mitzvah boy did a wonderful job of chanting the haftarah (a reading from books of the Bible later than the Torah/Five Books of Moses). The service ended with his older sister leading all the cousins in Ein Kelokeinu, Alenu, and Adon Olam.



I was “high” all morning. No booze. No drugs. Just high.

I rarely get so emotional in my davvening. This is probably not the case for all Reconstructionists, but I, personally, find that this sort of “high” requires me to almost-literally—or even (gulp) literally—suspend disbelief. So it doesn’t happen very often. And when it does, I enjoy it for as long as it lasts.

I spent the entire morning on a high.

And ended on a high, too.

Or perhaps I should say a high note.

This one.

Adon Olam (Skier)