Don't Try, Praise!
By Itamar Dotan Katz
Dear friends,
In order to praise our existence with a full throat one has to be a prophet, a poet or suffer from some other form of insanity. Today, with the sophisticated ways of modernity, the ancient way of a complete succumbing to wonder, is too often replaced with a complex type of praise. “Try to praise the mutilated world,” wrote the Lviv born poet Adam Zagajewski. Not only does the poet relieve us of the need to see the perfection of the world by calling it mutilated, he also instructs to “try to praise,” rather than to praise. This seems somehow more doable than “Let every breath of life praise Yah – Hallelujah!”
19th century German Rabbi, Samson Refael Hirsch explains this line from Psalm 150 as follows:
“Let every breath hear, recognize, sense and perceive God in all things that life may bring, in the serious introspection of solemn moments as well as in pensive meditation; in the widespread rejoicing of public jubilation as well as in the quiet serenity of inner happiness; in the unexpectedness of great surprise as well as in the stirring force of profound emotions: Kol Haneshamah tehalel Yah, Hallelujah!”
This is a mammoth task. Unattainable really. A prayer or intention rather than a conquerable assignment. How in the world might we reach such a state of profound acceptance of the often-invisible justice of the universe?
Let’s try another modern poet/lunatic, one Mr. Cohen. He suggests the following approach:
I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
Now there’s a perfection we can recognize, because it’s the story of the failure of all of our lives. Still, despite our own failures and despite the continued failure of God - or perhaps thanks to it - we praise. Well, there’s some praise we can get behind!
No. We can do better. It’s in our DNA. Praise to Jews is like snow to Eskimos. We have an endless spring of words for it. Surely one of them can suit us.
Hirsch explains שבח, perhaps the first word that comes to mind as Hebrew for “praise:”
“שבח is to acknowledge the value, which the acts of another have with regard to ourselves.” When the Psalmist wrote שבחי ירושלים את יהוה, Jerusalem – praise YHVH! He meant that the residents of Jerusalem should acknowledge the acts that God has done for them. Each of us does achieve moments in which we can truly acknowledge what God, or the universe, or the totality of our lives have led to: and know it is good. We manage here and there to un-qualify our positive statements and simply know – our lives are beautiful. Almost every single Bar, Bat or B Mitzvah I’ve led has produced that very tangible feeling that you can witness in both the person at question and their parents.
Another Hebrew word in the realm of praise is Baruch, blessed. Baruch atah Adonai, we say, Blessed are You, Adonai, and we mean something that transcends complexity and upholds unquestionable goodness. There is a rabbinic method of midrash, in which the vowels of a word are changed around, while the letters remain the same, and that allows us to uncover a different meaning buried within the same word. Don’t read Baruch, we might say, but Be-roch. Blessed is suddenly transformed into “with gentleness.” With gentleness You are, Adonai our God. Everything You do is gentle, loving, sweet. Some might say this is more of a desire than a reality. Or we could, for a brief moment, know it to be a truth. Despite the rough, violent appearance, the reality of God is gentle.
There is, however a deeper concept of praise that is expressed by the Hebrew word “Hallel,” the type of praise that we conjure when we use the word “hallelujah.” Hirsch explains:
“Hallel denotes a proclamation of the greatness of another’s acts quite independently of the value that such acts might have for us.”
When we praise in the form of Hallel we divorce ourselves from any benefit we might have received from these acts, and simply offer praise because the actions are praiseworthy. The “I” that utters the praise dissolves into a selfless ability to witness beauty and goodness.
Thomas Merton hits this note in a poem he called O Sweet Irrational Worship:
By ceasing to question the sun
I have become light,
Bird and wind.
Every Rosh Chodesh, the first day of the Hebrew month, we connect to this type of praise through what is called the Hallel service. At our Shabbat service this evening we will welcome the new moon of the Hebrew month of Nisan with a search for this ancient, full throated, selfless praise for the world we live in.
I hope to see you this evening at 6:30 at the 14th Street Y, or on Zoom.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Misha