Thoughts on Silent Prayer

A synagogue hires a new cantor. He has a gorgeous voice, but he’s… dramatic. Operatic. Every note is a production. The congregation starts to complain.

So the president of the shul meets with him and says, “Cantor, the people love you, but they say your best piece — your absolute finest moment was last Shabbat.

”The cantor beams. “Really? Which piece?” And the president answers: “The Silent Amidah.”

It’s an old joke, but for some people it is really the truth. It is during those few minutes of silence that they feel closest to God. That’s when they feel they can truly pour out their hearts before the Almighty. As beautiful as the cantorial pieces may be, sometimes the notes get in the way of our connection, they interfere with our concentration. Music can provide a feeling of uplift and inspiration, but there is much to be said for silent prayer.

The Psalmist says, “L’cha dumiyah tehilah.” Unto You silence is praise. Our Bible is filled with words, often they are identified as the “word of God.” Over and over through the Torah we hear the verse, “Vay’daber Adonay el Moshe leimor.” The Lord spoke to Moses the following. Prophets arise in later books and often they begin their discourse “Ko amar Adonay,” thus has God said. So much of Scripture is taken up with these words, the words of God, the words of men and women, sharing their revelations, offering their words of praise, arguing their points of view. We don‘t always recognize the importance of silence. But one can point to importantn moments of silence among all the words. Not long ago, in the book of Leviticus, we read of the tragic deaths of Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, who offered what is call “eish zara” strange fire before the Lord. Fire comes forth and consumes the two young priests. Moses attempts to offer words of consolation to his grieving brother and we read “vayidom Aharon” Aaron was silent. In the face of tragedy there are no words. What can one say at a time like that? We see it again in the book of Job, when all of the calamities befall him. He loses his wealth, the herds of cattle and flocks of sheep. His house collapses on top of his ten children killing them all. His body is afflicted as well. His response is silence. His friends come from afar to offer comfort and they sit with him for seven days, they sit shiva. The silence of those seven days outweighs for many of us the many chapters of theological argument that follow in that book.

According to the Midrash, Pharaoh had three advisors when he devised his plan for dealing with the growing Israelite population: Balaam, Jethro, and Job. It was Balaam who proposed the drowning of the Israelite boys in the Nile. When Jethro heard the plan, he wanted nothing to do with it and he fled to Midian. As for Job, he was silent. He did not speak out. He did not protest. For the rabbis that explains why the terrible punishments came upon him and why he again had to sit in silence.

We think of our prophets as men (and a few women) of words, some very beautiful and poetic expressions of divine inspiration. Yet, not every moment were they visited by God and given words to proclaim. Often there was nothing but silence; time to reflect perhaps, but often rather frustrating.

After the dramatic showdown on Mount Carmel between Elijah and the prophets of Baal, Elijah having kindled the wrath of Queen Jezebel, has to flee for his life. He arrives at Mount Sinai, in the desert, seeking God. When God asks him why he had come, he pours out his heart, his frustration, “I am moved by zeal for the Lord…the Israelites have forsaken Your covenant…put the prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they are out to take my life.” God calls him out of the cave where he has sought shelter and the prophet experiences a great wind breaking up rocks, followed by an earthquake shaking the ground, and then a terrible fire breaks out. God is not in any of those phenomena we’re told. It was then that Elijah hears “kol d’mama dakah” variously translated as a murmuring sound or a still, small voice, or simply the sound of silence.

We’re told that there was a lengthy period of years during the wanderings of the Israelites in the desert when Moses heard nothing from God. In the book of Ezekiel, the prophet himself is silenced “I will make your tongue cleave to your palate and you shall be dumb and you shall not be a reprover to them.” Then God tells him, “when I speak with you, I shall open your mouth and you shall say to them, ‘thus says the Lord God!’ He who listens will listen, and he who does not will not.”

Early in our Shabbat and festival services, in the P’sukei d’zimrah, we read the 19^th Psalm. “The heavens declare the glory of God, the sky proclaims His handiwork. Day to day makes utterance, night to night speaks out. There is no utterance, there are no words.” Creation speaks for itself. No words are necessary. No words are adequate. We stand in awe of God’s creation and we are struck dumb. We have no words.

Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel in his book on Prayer, Man’s Quest for God, writes, “The highest form of worship is that of silence and hope. The language of the heart is the main thing; the spoken word serves merely as an interpreter between the heart and the listener.”

Heschel refers us to Second Kings in the story of Elisha and the Shunamite woman. The prophet frequently would stop at the home of this woman and her husband for a meal when he visited that portion of the country. At one point, she tells her husband, “I perceive that this is a holy man of God. Let us make a special chamber for him.” The Talmud asks, “How did she recognize that he was a holy man?” They say that she noticed a sign of sanctity. The Hasidic rabbi, Nachman of Kobryn was not satisfied with this answer. Why was there need of a sign? Is it so difficult to recognize a holy man?

He explained what she saw by reference to the verses in the Shochen Ad prayer in the morning service. B’fi yesharim tithalal. By the mouth of the upright You are praised. B’divrei tzaddikim titbarakh. By the words of the righteous You are blessed. Uvilshon chasidim titromam. By the tongue of the faithful You are extolled. Uv’kerev k’doshim titkadash, and within the holy You are sanctified.

Those who reach the lowest stage of piety are called the upright; their worship is expressed through the mouth. Higher than these are the righteous; their worship is not expressed by the mouth but in the mere movement of the lips. Higher than these are the faithful; their worship is on the tongue; it does not even pass the lips. But how does one recognize a holy one; their worship is hidden and concealed within them and is apparent only to God. According the rebbe, that is how she recognized that Elisha was a holy man. He prayed in silence.

As part of each service, after reciting many words, some of which we may know and understand and others which we recite without knowing. The Amidah is recited silently, though the sages say we should whisper it so that only our own ears may hear.

According to Heschel, “our liturgy is a higher form of silence. It is pervaded by an awed sense of the grandeur of God which resists description and surpassed all expression. The individual is silent. He does not bring forth his own words. His saying the consecrated words is in essence an act of listening to what they convey. The spirit of Israel speaks, the self is silent.” Heschel recognizes that silence can be greater than words. However, the cantor can take heart perhaps, for Professor Heschel concludes that beyond words and silence is a third level and that is song.