"Blessed art thou, Lord our God and God of our fathers, God of Abraham, God of Isaac and God of Jacob; great, mighty and revere God, sublime God, who bestowest lovingkindness, and art Master of all things; who rememberest the good deeds of our fathers, and who wilt graciously bring..."
So begins the "Prayer for Dew" — didn't know Jews had a prayer for dew, didja? That's okay, neither did I. But scanning my bookshelves, looking for nothing in particular, I noticed a blue book on its side, and pulled out Daily Prayer Book, translated and annotated by Philip Birnbaum (Hebrew Publishing Co., 1949). No idea how it got there; my guess is that it belonged to my late father-in-law and I saved it from the general disposal of their household effects.
Scanning the table of contents, most chapters were unsurprising: "Morning Service" and "Reading the Torah," "Memorial Services" and "Guests in the Sukkah" — the booth used in the harvest festival; I was at one just a few days ago, guest of my brother- and sister-in-law, enjoying beef ribs that were smoked for nine hours.
Praying for dew is something I hadn't heard before, and I had to read the rather lengthy supplication. Though it makes sense, as something people in the desert would pray for. To be honest, the initial blast of praise did not move me so much as remind me of a line of Benedict Spinoza: "Nothing has remained of the religion that used to be, beyond its external ceremony, by which the people seem more to flatter God than to worship him, no wonder that faith is nothing now but credulity and prejudices."
Strong stuff. And if you think that we live in a blasphemous age now, remember Spinoza wrote that in 1670.
The dew prayer has some lovely parts — "Dew refreshes the earth and its verdure/Joyous to be under thy protection/May dew — symbol of youth — shield our young."
Kids are going to need something a bit sturdier than dew to get through the world we're leaving them. I never thought of dew as a symbol of youth, much, though it makes sense. "Dewy youth," and all. Honestly, I never thought much of dew at all. The closest I've come is reflecting on dew's chilly cousin, frost.
The prayer goes on quite a while; I won't burden you with it all. "Earth's depths are eager for the drops of dew; All the green meadows long and pine for dew ... Grant dew to favor thy land... Let dew fall on the blessed land."
And — not to get political — if you're wondering what land the prayer refers to, a note reads, "The poems are the creations of Rabbi Elazar ha-Kallir, who probably lived in Palestine during the eight century" and who left behind hundreds of liturgical poems, 'many of which cannot be understood without a commentary."
Coincidentally — or portentously, if you believe that sort of thing — just that morning, following Kitty along on our 6 a.m. walk, we cut across our yard, so heavily dewed that my boat shoes were soaked. A minor annoyance, at the time. But the prayer for the dew it foreshadowed instructs us that it's all a matter of perspective, of context. "Make us like a watered garden;/Bless our sustenance with dew;/Let no ill befall our flocks;/Bestow thy favor on the people/Whom thou didst lead like a flock."
Holding the dew prayer and the Dutch thinker together, it strikes me that, sometimes, the gap between the pious, such as Rabbi Elazar ha-Kallir, and blasphemous philosophers such as Spinoza seems very far apart. But other times, they're very close. While the former sees the hand of God in morning moisture, and the latter sees God in, well, the entire universe, they're both still seeing God.
Strong stuff. And if you think that we live in a blasphemous age now, remember Spinoza wrote that in 1670.
The dew prayer has some lovely parts — "Dew refreshes the earth and its verdure/Joyous to be under thy protection/May dew — symbol of youth — shield our young."
Kids are going to need something a bit sturdier than dew to get through the world we're leaving them. I never thought of dew as a symbol of youth, much, though it makes sense. "Dewy youth," and all. Honestly, I never thought much of dew at all. The closest I've come is reflecting on dew's chilly cousin, frost.
The prayer goes on quite a while; I won't burden you with it all. "Earth's depths are eager for the drops of dew; All the green meadows long and pine for dew ... Grant dew to favor thy land... Let dew fall on the blessed land."
And — not to get political — if you're wondering what land the prayer refers to, a note reads, "The poems are the creations of Rabbi Elazar ha-Kallir, who probably lived in Palestine during the eight century" and who left behind hundreds of liturgical poems, 'many of which cannot be understood without a commentary."
Coincidentally — or portentously, if you believe that sort of thing — just that morning, following Kitty along on our 6 a.m. walk, we cut across our yard, so heavily dewed that my boat shoes were soaked. A minor annoyance, at the time. But the prayer for the dew it foreshadowed instructs us that it's all a matter of perspective, of context. "Make us like a watered garden;/Bless our sustenance with dew;/Let no ill befall our flocks;/Bestow thy favor on the people/Whom thou didst lead like a flock."
Holding the dew prayer and the Dutch thinker together, it strikes me that, sometimes, the gap between the pious, such as Rabbi Elazar ha-Kallir, and blasphemous philosophers such as Spinoza seems very far apart. But other times, they're very close. While the former sees the hand of God in morning moisture, and the latter sees God in, well, the entire universe, they're both still seeing God.
Or as Spinoza wrote:
"The universal laws of nature, according to which all things happen and are determined, are nothing but the eternal decrees of God, which always involved eternal truth and necessity. Therefore, whether we say that they are ordered according to the decree and guidance of God, we say the same thing. ... because the power of all natural things is nothing but the power of God."
"All natural things..." like dew? They're really saying the same thing, in different ways, looking around and detecting the presence of the divine. It's enough to give an agnostic pause.
"The universal laws of nature, according to which all things happen and are determined, are nothing but the eternal decrees of God, which always involved eternal truth and necessity. Therefore, whether we say that they are ordered according to the decree and guidance of God, we say the same thing. ... because the power of all natural things is nothing but the power of God."
"All natural things..." like dew? They're really saying the same thing, in different ways, looking around and detecting the presence of the divine. It's enough to give an agnostic pause.
What a lovely synogogue. What architecture! Interesting about "prayer for dew." Always something to learn here.
ReplyDeleteAs soon as I saw the mention of the "Prayer for Dew" — I knew it could only be in one place...and there was the same blue book on my shelf of Judaica. Pulled out my trusty Daily Prayer Book, by Philip Birnbaum (Hebrew Publishing Co., 1949).
DeleteGot the book as a gift in 1960, from an old guy with long curls..a clerk in Rosenbloom's Hebrew Book Store on Lawrence Ave. in Albany Park. He was an Orthodox scholar and he also doubled as a tutor of rebellious boychiks who had dropped out of Hebrew school, but whose parents insisted on a Bar Mitzvah anyway.
In six months of weekly sessions, Mr. Gross got me back up to speed, enough to be able to recite the necessary Hebrew in the temple on a bright fall Saturday morning. Then the book sat on my parents' bookshelf for the next forty years, until they gave it back to me about 25 years ago.
The table of contents contains X marks, in pencil, at certain page numbers. Did I do that at 13? Or was it at 53? Don't even remember doing it at all.
The Prayer for Dew is marked, at page 634. As is the one for rain, on page 698. And the Hanukkah blessings, the Night Prayer, the New Moon Blessing, the Blessing of the New Month, and the Hymns for Saturday Night. And the honest truth is, I don't recall ever saying any of them. At least, I never said them out loud, anyway. Probably just read them.
Curiously, there are X marks at the Memorial Service, the Prayer Before a Journey, the Prayer for the Sick, and the Burial Service. Go figure. Not that I was ever going to conduct a funeral. But I must have had death on my mind. Lost a couple of elderly relatives in my early teens. And when I was 53, my father was slowly losing his battle with cancer.
And there's also an X at page 380...the Prayer for the Government. It's really meant for "the President and the Vice-President and all the officers of this country"...
"May the King of Kings sustain them and deliver them from all misfortune..and inspire them to deal kindly with us and with all Israel."
And that "Israel shall dwell in security, and a redeemer shall come to Zion."
Yeah, right. Good luck with that one.
I far more with Spinoza than anyone else.
ReplyDeleteAfter all, every major Jewish holiday occurs either at planting time of harvest time.
So what they actually are are enforced vacation days from the efforts of planting or harvesting the crops.
So instead of taking them at face value, the ultra religious have fetishized them into days to waste your time in a stuffy, boring shul & listen to someone drone on & on about some garbage from thousands of years ago that has zero bearing on your life or the lives of anyone else alive!
"to waste your time in a stuffy, boring shul and listen to...some garbage from thousands of years ago that has zero bearing on your life..."
DeleteJeeze, dude...that last part makes you sound just like a pouting kid.
But it also sounds exactly how a boy of ten or eleven would say it...when he renounces his faith and decides to drop out of Hebrew school and not go to synagogue anymore. Which was where I was at...almost 70 years ago.
I like to think I've matured a bit, and could now express myself in a more adult fashion. " "Boring" and "garbage" would seem too juvenile now.
I went fishing this morning after I read this. We walked through some thick grass on our way to the boat launch. My buddy said, man, this dew is completely soaked through my shoes. I said, ya, I don’t like it and I’m not looking forward to its chilly cousin frost.
ReplyDeleteEnforced vacation? A bit of an oxymoron don't you think.
ReplyDeleteDarn those crazy rabbis.
I think the point of Neils piece is that sometimes ancient thoughts and practices do have a bearing on modern peoples.
Ha-Kallir's dew is a gift, something to be noticed and received as such. His prayer is a petition and about blessing, security. His words assume a Presence that might respond or withhold.
ReplyDeleteFor Spinoza, the dew falls with the same necessity whether anyone sees or appreciates it. He, by the way, had what he referred to as an “intellectual love of God” but found no one on the receiving end of praise.
Seems he and Ha-Kallir share an awe at the same moisture - literally drops of water, the life preserving substance upon which each of us depends.
Does Presence need constant approval? My husband can’t even fathom a “God” like that. As Maimonides is often read, prayer changes the one who prays - and Marc’s not moved by it. But I can’t tear him away from his beloved nature, which he lovingly tends.
Is water a miracle? No life without it. Can miracles be measured in units of gratitude? If so, some walk into them daily. They see what others miss.
Teacher - well, they called him Rabbi - Jesus was a man who paid attention, and drew attention. According to certain scriptures, at various points in his ministry followers were told that “You are my witnesses.” At the very least, this points to vital relationship akin to prayer:
the one who acts, and those paying attention. Of course, “bearing witness” takes it all up a notch. If things aren’t noted, perhaps acted upon, they tend to slip away into ether.
Philosopher Loren Eiseley was quoted as saying that “so much depends on what we choose to see.” To me, life depends on what I choose to see.
Wisdom abounds. I love agnosticism, it creates the tension good relationships thrive on; and where care and tenderness exists it leads to insight and working partnership. I guess I re-create God each day as I reconsider and recreate myself, now as an old one.
Only some have a clear notion of where to send our thanks.
Even believers have their doubts. (Are you there, God?)
Still - the experience of wonder, that’s something, and the rest is really a discussion about where to send an abundance of appreciation - or our desperate need.
This is a nice piece, NS, and a good place to land on a dewy Sunday morning. Thank you.