One of my most treasured books in my library is my well-worn, frayed, tattered siddur (prayerbook) that I received in first grade, Siddur Shilo. (I also have my late father’s Siddur Shilo he received as a young boy). The cover is coming apart and thread-bare from years of daily use as a young child. The pages inside are taped, brittle, falling out, and carry the unmistakable imprint of long-ago daily morning t’filah (prayer) at Hebrew Day School. Somehow, through moves and milestones, through the many chapters of my life, I held onto it. I kept that falling-apart siddur, along with the two-volume sets embossed with my name in gold that I received for my Bat Mitzvah, (the Union Prayer Book I and II) and for Confirmation (Gates of Prayer).
I have been thinking a great deal about the quiet, steady ways that prayer shapes a life. These prayer books are more than objects. They are touchstones of memory and faith, symbols of a deep connection to God, to our people, to the teachings and values that shaped me. I inherited these values from my parents and grandparents who modeled a living Judaism through their actions, deeds, practices, teachings, and daily example. They showed me what it looks like to walk through the world with integrity, compassion, and faithfulness. Their influence nurtured the path that led me to the rabbinate, to a life of sacred purpose, and communal responsibility.
Our tradition offers a beautiful source for understanding the power of prayer. The Rabbis of old teach: “Prayer is one of the pillars upon which the world stands” (Pirkei Avot 1:2).
A world that stands on prayer is a world grounded in intention, gratitude, humility, and hope. Prayer holds us steady when we feel unanchored. It expands our hearts when the world feels too small. It gives voice to the yearnings we cannot always articulate.
My own prayer practice is woven throughout the quiet moments of my day. Every night before I go to sleep, I recite the Sh’ma and other private prayers that have traveled with me since childhood. Throughout the day, I speak with God as I walk through nature, when I pause to reflect, or when I am wrestling with a question that requires both honesty and courage. It is an ongoing conversation, a gentle dialogue that helps me stay aligned with what matters most.
Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav taught, “Prayer means reaching upward to God, inward to oneself, and outward to others” (Likkutei Moharan I:2). Personal prayer nurtures the inner landscape of the soul. It helps us listen to the quiet places within, to cultivate gratitude, to steady ourselves when uncertainty arises, and to remember who we are striving to be. Yet as Jews, we also understand our spiritual lives within the embrace of community. Together, we celebrate the ebb and flow of the seasons, the joy of Shabbat, and support one another through life’s sorrows and the many vicissitudes that shape our days. Our tradition teaches that certain prayers require a minyan (a quorum of 10 people) not as a technicality, rather as a reminder that holiness is magnified when we stand together. Sometimes we need the strength of others to help us feel the presence of the Divine. When we join together as a community in prayer, our voices rise with shared purpose and hope, and we give life to the ideals, values and teachings that Judaism calls us to embody in the world. Communal prayer links us to the rhythm of Jewish time. Week after week, season after season, it gathers us into the shared heartbeat of our people. It reminds us that holiness is not only found in solitary moments, but also in the chorus of many voices seeking meaning, comfort, and blessing.
Tonight, at our Erev Shabbat service, we will have the joy of bestowing upon our fourth-grade students their very own copy of Mishkan Tefilah, the siddur of our Reform Movement. We will call them to the bima and offer a special blessing as they begin a new chapter in their Jewish lives. Receiving a siddur is more than an academic milestone. It is an invitation to enter a lifelong relationship with prayer, to discover a spiritual language that will accompany them in moments of joy, challenge, gratitude, and wonder.
My hope is that these young students, and all of us, no matter our age or stage of life, will find in prayer a wellspring of strength and connection. May we allow prayer to soften our hearts, steady our steps, deepen our relationships, and draw us closer to God.
Prayer is the breath that steadies the soul,
the whisper that opens the heart,
the song that joins one voice to many.
May every word we speak rise like light,
and may every silence open us to new possibility.
