There is No Prayer Like Desire
Essam Marouf, A Way to Blue
This was my conception of prayer as a child - god is a He and HE loves you, the prayers in the siddur are sacred and correct, the rabbi knows best, and no, you cannot enter the men’s section anymore. You are 5, women and girls sit in the back.
As I grew older and further from the bima, my heart began to long for the magic of ceremony, prayer and song that played out beyond the divider. They bowed, they wailed, they lifted their arms in grace and spoke directly to God. Aneynu, Aneynu. Answer us, Answer us, on this day that we call out. The women’s side was rowdy, full of kids, gossip and the sisterhood setting up for Kiddush. Aneynu, I whispered along. Please hear me in this chaos, please turn toward my desire.
Throughout my life, I’ve felt that God was near. When I spiraled as a teenager, at my father’s death bed, the night I was attacked on a dimly lit street in Jerusalem. During my daughters’ births. At each crossroad I’ve felt the hand of grace reach from beyond, I’ve got you. God has been with me through break ups, deaths and births, through a very dark night that lasted the better half of two years. God could have stayed at shul when I wandered away from Orthodoxy, but He held my hand and followed me through the forest. God is my eternal companion and prayer is our love language.
Many moons have passed since my days as a Chabad kid in the Midwest and while the sacred song and postures continue to influence and express through my mothering, our moon circles, and the ways in which I guide individuals in session, I no longer see prayer (or God) as precious, for the privileged few who recite Hebrew, Arabic, Pali, adorn themselves in costume and agree to a set of rules. Prayer is for all of us and on any occasion. I no longer pray exclusively to a He, sometimes She is the Great Mother or Beloved or Hey, You. Whatever is needed in the moment. Whatever supports me in best connecting with this love, my inner divinity.
Please guide me. Please show me what is in the best interest of all. Direct me toward the truth that will set this situation free. Help me to see this with loving eyes. Protect my children, our community, this Earth. Bring ease to this friend and her situation. Help me to forgive...
I pray in the bathtub, on walks through the park, when I’m in the car alone. I prayer under the covers as I go to sleep, when I am doing the dishes. I used to think God only heard me in certain places or if I recited specific phrases, I know this to no longer be true.
There is a myth in patriarchal culture that we need an intermediary to participate in art, in healing, in prayer. We are not to be trusted as keepers of innate wisdom or sacred expression. This is so untrue. There are no magical gates or shul dividers, there is no one who can tell you what is and isn’t your art, how you should best care for yourself, or what words or feelings are correct for prayer. There is simply you and your heart’s desire.
The practice of prayer can feel funny at first. So be kind toward yourself, maybe start in private. Speak to God as your lover, your friend. Know that They are listening. Offer concern for a friend, a child, our community. Say thank you for this opening and for your longing.
I imagine us as a symphony of desire on the High Holy Days, offering our greatest longings while immersed in the sounds of each others’ prayers. A love that is bold, free of shame, a love that transcends story and body and returns us to You.
Zivar Amrami