A long time ago, in a city far, far away, lived two Rabbis, Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva. Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva, who helped lead the town, were worried because it had not rained in a very long time. The fields were drying up and the crops were dying; the city water supply was low; and the marketplace was beginning to show signs of trouble. And, rightly so, their community was beginning to panic. In droves, they came to Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva, begging them pray for rain, to help their city.

Worried and fearful for their community, they stood before the Ark in the synagogue and prayed fervently for rain to help save their town. For hours they stood, beseeching God. Finally, as darkness fell, in desperation, Rabbi Akiva prayed: Avinu Malkeinu, Our Father Our King, we have no Sovereign but You; our Father, our King, have mercy upon us, for we have little merit.” His head, bowed in prayer for the entire day, moved slightly as his tears and the rain fell.

So goes the story-albeit embellished-of how Akiva's heartfelt words compelled God to fulfill his request and how our favorite High Holy Day prayer came into being. The longer version of Avinu Malkeinu that we know was fashioned over time, built on Rabbi Akiva's foundation. Leaders added lines over centuries: pleas for help during times of suffering, or verses of joy in times of gratitude. The words added were specific for their community, at that time. It is not surprising, then, that this created many different versions. For example, in Poland, a version with 44 different verses was uncovered, while in Salonika, Greece, an edition with 53 different lines was found. The Tur Orah Hayim, a medieval work, mentions a version of the Avinu Malkeinu prayer with a verse for each letter of the alphabet, known as an acrostic prayer. And, you may have noticed that our own High Holy Day prayer book has different renderings throughout the volume, recalling and honoring some of the many forms of the prayer.

Just like the numerous version that span continents and countries, Avinu Malkeinu is unique to us, individually, yet holds a connection for us all. In my own experience, what strikes me about the Avinu Malkeinu is its dynamism: it continues to be vibrant and meaningful. For me, the Avinu Malkeinu is a powerful, spiritual highlight of the High Holy Day services. When we stand for the prayer, I have felt Rabbi Akiva's presence with me. As I recite the words, I have felt generations of leaders surrounding me. I feel the presence of God in the room, as I listen to the melody. I know I am not alone in my love for this prayer. When it is over, and I turn from the Ark, and see your eyes closed as you absorb the words and the music, I know that you, too have been touched. Simply put, there is something about the Avinu Malkeinu. It compels us to hear it, to listen to it. It is timeless and meaningful. I have found, however, that this experience of the Avinu Malkeinu is unusual. More often than not, meaningful prayer is elusive to many, and simply not interesting to others.

Talking to God is the simplest definition of prayer: how many of us have God for help at one time or another? The rabbis, in their quest to talk to God, developed two main types of prayer: fixed, or Keva, and spontaneous, or Kavana. Keva, or fixed prayer, is represented today by our prayerbook, while kavana, or spontaneous prayer, are the words that pour from our hearts. To understand the importance of these forms of prayer, let's take a closer look at both.

In the early days of Judaism, there was much debate about the structure of worship, and eventually, after many years, a fixed liturgy was developed. Eventually, this ritualization gave birth to prayerbooks. Fixed liturgy, or keva, helped the rabbis to create a more regular worship experience, in which actions and words could be anticipated and expected. The fixed liturgy offers us a structure to communicate with God, as well as giving us a way to connect our community to our tradition. For example, we know that we will rise for the Bar'chu at the beginning of our service. We know, as well, that the Aleinu will not occur before the Sh'ma. Fixed liturgy is comforting; we connect with our favorite song, or appreciate a prayer that is so familiar we do not even have to look at the page. The familiarity brings us connection, makes us know that we belong. The importance of our fixed liturgy cannot be underestimated. Larry Hoffman teaches: “The words of worship are artistic constructs. . . .they describe the heroes or martyrs whose memory we hold dear as if they are our own extended family; they remind us of our story. . . without which we would not be here praying as we do.”

We may appreciate the history and poetry that is found in our prayerbooks, but, for many, the prayerbook presents an enormous problem: the words on the page are meaningless. Perhaps we are like Rabbi Elazar, who, during the debate about fixed prayer, was opposed to anything fixed at all. He believed that as time went on the prayers that were said again and again were likely to become rote, and therefore, worthless and meaningless. I believe that some of Rabbi Elazar's fears have come true, and that, for many of us, the words of our prayerbook no longer speak to us; they have ceased to help us to direct our hearts and souls to God.

Rabbi Larry Hoffman agrees. After all, words on a page don't actually SAY anything on their own-they only speak to us when we interpret them. So, perhaps we are demanding too much from the written prayer text, and not enough of ourselves? The passages that we have are filled with, as Rabbi Zalman Schachter- Shalomi, teaches “. . .conversations from personal prayers of the heart, to public prayers on behalf of the entire people . . “ The entire text is a compilation of heartfelt poetry, from rabbis, scholars, students and parents. . . who, like Rabbi Akiva, felt the need to connect with God. The words that we find on the page can only be brought to life if we choose to invest ourselves in them, and give them meaning. Perhaps, then, praying our fixed liturgy is a bit like a relationship with a friend or a spouse: we won't get anything out of it unless we put something into it. Expecting it to jump off the page, filled with wisdom and spirit, is, unfortunately, not going to happen. As we receive more from our loved ones when we give more, so too can we find the same with the prayers found in our books-when we invest in them, we will find that they have more to offer. Ultimately, I believe that this is why the Avinu Malkeinu is such a powerful prayer: because we open ourselves to the beauty and challenge of the prayer, continually making it fresh and personal.

As important as it is to devote ourselves to finding meaning in the words of the prayerbook, we must also look to spontaneous prayer, or kavana. Like Rabbi Akiva, who poured out his heart to God on behalf of his community, major life events often move us to offer spontaneous or intentional prayer. For example, at times of joy, like at the time of a wedding or a birth, we are moved to offer prayers of thanks and happiness. During the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, many of us were moved to offer prayers to God, to help us deal with the devastation.

Here's a story that explains kavana beautifully: Long ago, there a there was a young boy who loved to play the flute. He played it every day. When it came time that year for High Holy Day Services, the boy's father brought him to the synagogue for the first time.

The boy was very excited: he put on his best outfit, stuffed his beloved flute into his pocket, and left for services with his father. But, at services, the boy felt lost. He could barely understand a word. He didn't know how to participate. Then, he remembered the flute, stuffed into his pocket. Slowly, he slid it out of his pocket and began playing. A sweet trilling melody filled the sanctuary, smoothly blending with the chanting of the prayers. One by one, the men stopped praying, each listening to the song of the flute, until only the boy's flute could be heard. His father turned red from embarrassment, took away the flute and sent him to wait outside.

Following the service, the boy's father went up to the rabbi to apologize for his son. The rabbi replied that there was no need for apology. We each talk to God in our own way, the rabbi taught-what's important is that he was moved to do so.

Kavana comes from the Hebrew word that means “to aim”. As heartfelt, intentional prayer, we find the words, the music, that flows from our hearts and aim it toward God. It is a pure prayer, flowing from the soul. Like the boy with the flute, as long as it comes from the heart, it can never be wrong.

In an interesting conundrum, we may find the text limiting, yet we also find, that we've become so dependent on the prayerbook, we no longer understand kavanah, or spontaneous prayer. We may feel that we do not have permission to leave the ancient formulas and structures of the prayerbook. I have had lengthy conversations with congregants who believed that their personal prayers, uttered at time of need or blessing, were not Jewish because they did not follow a traditional prayer formula. I have assured them, repeatedly, that their prayer, as a kavanah, is firmly rooted in the Jewish tradition.

Additionally, we feel awkward and ill at ease when attempting to pray freely, spontaneously. I remember the first time I was called on to offer an invocation. To my surprise-and dismay-- I felt unable to offer the prayer. Having no text to refer to, no guidebook to help me, I stumbled, and reverted back to a prayer we all know: the sheheheyanu. While it was absolutely appropriate, and meaningful, I was disturbed that I felt so awkward in that moment. I was unsure of my ability to speak to God in my own words, without the aid of the prayerbook.

With that, and other similar experiences, I have come to understand the importance of learning to offer spontaneous, individual prayer. Perhaps it will strengthen us to remember that whenever we feel awkward and unsure, we are not alone. We stand on the shoulders of Rabbi Akiva, and all who have opened their mouths and prayed, with their hearts aimed to God. Indeed, spontaneous prayer, kavana, has become a lost skill, one which we must reclaim.

As Keva is made up of the words we find in our prayerbook, kavana is comprised of the music of our souls. Both are necessary parts of Jewish prayer. We each need to find our own flute, by finding the words that most share our hearts with God-as did Akiva. With our kavana, our personal intention, the seemingly dull words on the page can spring to life. We return to these prayers anew, with fresh eyes, bringing our own voice to blend with the voices of the past, creating a new, meaningful melody.

When wandering up and down the aisles of the bookstore, one is not likely to see a book entitled “Praying for Dummies”. Sadly, the desire to become a prayerful person is not usually represented in the thousands of self help books that adorn bookstore shelves. Rabbi Larry Hoffman writes “. . .there is very little that should rank higher in our set of expectations. We cannot hope to avoid illness, but prayer can help us think differently about the illnesses we get. We can walk sightless among miracles of the everyday, or we can utter blessings that capture the moment and captivate the heart.” Prayer gives voice to the journey of our life. Rabbi Akiva, on the journey to help his city, called out to God in desperation. The little boy, just beginning to find God, called out to God in joy. We can, and will, talk to God for those reasons, and many, more. By bringing the words on the page to life, or by creating our own, our lives will be enriched.

In the last decade, I have taken a fascinating journey through the world of prayer. And, like Rabbi Hoffman, I have come to believe that prayer is a vital part of ones' life. Whether it is offering the sh'ma before going to sleep-or understanding that unexpected sacred moments deserve a word of thanks-prayer gives meaning to our lives and connects us to God and our community. Unlike training for a bicycle race, or studying for an exam, the results of prayer may be intangible, and yet they are equally life-altering: prayer deepens our personal insights. Meaningful worship leads to personal growth and development. As I continue to learn about and engage in prayer, I have learned more about myself, and deepened my relationship with God. Whether or not one utters a traditional bracha, or a simple, Thanks, God!, prayer should be an important part of one's life.

Let us be like Akiva, opening our mouths and let the words pour out. Let us embrace the gift of our heritage, our prayer book, giving the words renewed and personal meaning.

Which returns us to the beginning: there is something about the Avinu Malkeinu: it is a message that is meaningful, and yet, within it, we find our own challenges and joys. It inspires me, this morning, to offer my own prayer and, as the rabbis did, to speak to our community as we enter 5766. I share it with you now:

God
Please make the year a good one
as you muster and number and consider
each of us
Help us to feel comfortable
talking to you
freely
openly
honestly
Give us the will
to find new meaning
in the works of the faithful from years past.

As we strive to connect with You, God,
remind us of our sacred duties here
Be with us as we help so many heal.
When we become weary,
be our strength.

this year, God 5766-
may we remember to sing your praises at times of joy
may we call out to you in times of grief
may our prayers be heartfelt and true

Amen and Amen

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