Following the Script (Ki Tavo)

By Reb David

As Rosh Hashanah nears, this week’s paresha (Ki Tavo) prepares our ancestors to enter the Promised Land, much as today we now undertake the preparation to re-enter our own inner Land of Promise at Rosh Hashanah. The two preparations – one ancient and past, one modern and present – speak to each other in profound ways.

Before our ancestors could enter the Promised Land, they received not only a lesson in gratitude but also specific words to speak in a scripted liturgy of thanksgiving. Torah records (Deut. 26:1-10):

When you enter the land that YHVH your God gives you as a heritage … you will take some of every first fruit [that] you harvest from the land, put it in a basket and go to the place where YHVH your God will choose to establish God’s name. Go to the priest in charge at that time and say to him: “I make known this day before YHVH my God that I entered the land that God swore to our ancestors….” The priest will take the basket from your hand and set it down in front of the altar…. You will then recite as follows before YHVH your God:

“My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt in meager numbers and sojourned there, becoming a great and populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labor on us. We cried to YHVH, God of our ancestors, and YHVH heard our plea and saw our plight, misery and oppression. YHVH freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm, with awesome power, by signs and wonders. God brought us to this place … so now I bring the first fruits of the soil which You, YHVH, gave me.”

These words and practices of gratitude are Judaism’s first-ever recorded liturgy – scripted words and behaviors of communal prayer. They appear in the Haggadah, the annual book of the Passover seder, but they originate in this week’s Torah portion. For Jews, Christians and Muslims, the very idea of scripted liturgy can be traced back to this place and time in Torah – long before prayerbooks, long before what today we would call “prayer.”

Modernity has no lack of liturgy (the High Holy Day machzor fills hundreds of pages), which begs a key question: what is the role of liturgy (versus prayer) in spiritual life generally and High Holy Day observance in particular?

For those of us who ever were bored in a house of worship, this question is vital. Even more vital is this question behind the question: what do we imagine liturgy accomplishes? This question is even more poignant because Jewish tradition – which has no lack of words! – specifically enjoins not to “fix” one’s prayer (Mishnah Avot 2:13). In Jewish wisdom, prayer is to be heart-centered, personal and intentional. The story of Hannah (1 Sam. 1:1-2:10), which we read on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, is the very paradigm of personal prayer without scripted liturgy. All of this begs the question of why we should care about liturgy at all.

I understand liturgy to be like a cookbook. A cookbook can instruct, but can’t feed. Only our own effort to add ingredients, mix and cook can convert cookbook to nourishment. As for cookbooks and food, all the more for liturgy and prayer: liturgy can organize and instruct, but only one’s personal effort to make prayer can nourish the heart and soul.

Describing this difference between liturgy and prayer, my teacher, Rabbi Sami Barth, offers this poem written by his teacher, Dr. Jonathan Magonet:

Liturgy 
defines 
the 
Community 
that 
prays
;
Prayer
 is 
the 
offering
 of 
each 
individual
.

Liturgy 
affirms 
the 
values 
of 
that 
Community;
Prayer 
sets 
those 
values on 
our 
lips 
and 
in 
our 
hearts.

Liturgy 
unites 
those 
who 
share 
a 
tradition;
Prayer 
connects 
us 
to 
all 
who 
pray.

Liturgy
 describes 
the 
boundaries
 of 
a 
community;
Prayer
 locates 
us 
within 
creation 
as 
a 
whole.

Liturgy 
offers 
a 
language 
for 
our 
prayer;
Prayer 
reaches 
out 
beyond 
language.

Liturgy 
places 
us 
within 
a 
history;
Prayer 
opens 
us 
to 
the 
future.

Liturgy 
invites 
our 
emotions;
Prayer 
refines 
our 
emotions.

Liturgy 
begins 
with 
the 
world 
we 
know;
Prayer 
suggests 
worlds 
to 
be 
explored.

Liturgy 
provides 
a 
place 
in 
which 
to 
pray;
Prayer 
tests 
the 
truth 
of 
what 
we 
pray.

Liturgy 
seeks 
to 
bring 
God 
into 
the 
world;
Prayer 
helps 
make 
room 
for 
God 
in 
our 
lives.

Liturgy 
provides 
security, 
continuity 
and 
certainty;
Prayer 
disturbs, challenges 
and 
confronts.

Liturgy 
without 
prayer 
may 
 become 
sterile;
Prayer 
without 
liturgy 
may 
become 
selfish.

Liturgy 
is 
an 
event.
 

Prayer 
is 
a 
risk.
Liturgy 
sets 
limits. 


Prayer 
offers 
space.

Liturgy 
asserts. 



Prayer 
expresses 
hope.
Liturgy 
is 
the 
motor. 



Prayer 
is 
the 
fuel.

Liturgy 
is 
the 
vehicle. 


Prayer 
is 
the 
journey.
Liturgy 
is 
the 
companion. 


Prayer 
is 
the 
destination.

We embrace liturgy because we belong to a specific people with a history, language, context and value set all its own. And, we embrace prayer because we belong to a humanity called into constantly deeper communion within, among each other and with the One transcending all particulars. Liturgy reflects collective memory, prayer expresses and nurtures humanity. Liturgy is the holy cue, prayer is the holy act.

Following liturgy’s script is only as spiritually nourishing as our intention and authenticity. Liturgy can cue and invite our gratitude, but the rest depends on us. So too for entering into the Promised Land; so too for entering into our inner Land of Promise; so too for entering into the New Year ahead. May both the liturgies and the prayers of our teshuvah (return) bring us with joy into the boundless promise of the New Year. Shanah tovah.