One of the most distinct features of Jewish history, as recorded in the Torah, is that numerous women suffered from infertility before eventually conceiving and giving birth to healthy children. Our matriarchs Sarah, Rivka, and Rachel struggled for a long time with infertility, and so did Hannah, the mother of Shemuel. The contemporary Bible Scholar, Robert Alter, in his book The Art of Biblical Narrative, develops the theory that whenever themes reappear in Biblical stories, we can focus on the differences between them and derive meaning from those differences.
In this instance the reaction of each husband when his wife struggles with infertility is instructive. The most dramatic and the most relevant comparison is between Avraham and Yitzhak.
Avraham was desperate for a child, and repeatedly prayed for a child and heir. God’s promises to him, Avraham says, are worthless so long as he has no child. But Avraham demonstrates no awareness that Sarah too was suffering. After Hagar gives birth to Yishmael, Avraham is immediately satisfied. While Sarah still yearned for a child, Avraham had forgotten that he and Sarah had dreamed of a child of their own for so many years. When he is told that Sarah will have a child – Avraham’s first reaction is “What about Yishmael?” Can’t Yishmael be my heir? This reaction demonstrates Avraham’s love for Yishmael – which is admirable – but it betrays a deep lack of awareness for Sarah’s suffering and her desire to be a mother.
In contrast, when Rivka and Yitzhak struggle with infertility for many years, Yitzhak cares! Yitzhak is the one, without being asked by Rivka, who initiates prayer. “Vaye’atar Yitzhak Lashem, L’Nokhah ishto, ki akara hi. Vaye’ater Lo Hashem, va’tahar, Rivka Ishto.”
“And Yitzhak pleaded with Hashem because of his wife, for she was barren.” Rivka’s infertility is a reason for Yitzhak himself to approach God. It’s relevant to him! He doesn’t take a second wife or a concubine – he’s the only one of our patriarchs who was able to successfully remain monogamous – instead he understands that Rivka’s infertility is his problem too. The significance and relevance of Yitzhak’s behavior should be obvious. When a spouse is suffering, that isn’t his or her problem – it’s my problem. And the same is true for a sister or a brother or a parent or a child. Indeed, each member of a sanctified community, a kehila kedosha, a shul community, has a covenantal responsibility to each other. The problems of the other are my problems too.
But there’s a further level of significance and further level of relevance. Yitzhak is described as praying, “l’nokhah,” his wife. This word, “l’nokhah,” is most commonly understood to mean “on behalf” or “for” – Yitzhak prayed for Rivka. But it can also mean, and indeed its most literal meaning is, “in the presence of” and this meaning was picked up by the Midrash and later quoted by Rashi. Yitzhak prayed in the presence of Rivka. In Rashi’s words, “Yitzhak stood in one corner, and Rivka in another corner, and they prayed.”
We are very often praying “l’nokhah” someone who isn’t actually right next to us. They are in our mind’s eye and at the forefront of our consciousness when we pray, even though we are in one corner, and they are someplace else. Sometimes we pray l’nokhah a close relative suffering from a serious illness. Sometimes we are praying l’nokhah a friend who is unemployed or facing financial challenges. Sometimes we pray “l’nokhah a parent or grandparent who has been dead for many years, yet whose memory inspires and infuses our relationship with God.
Nobody else can possibly know with whom or for whom one is praying in this internal way.
Rabbi Hershl Cohen a’h was the associate rabbi at Lincoln Square Synagogue in New York when I first began attending shul regularly in high school. He taught the five-minute halakhah lesson between mincha and maariv each day and the seriousness with which he prayed and the care with which he cultivated a life of careful observance of mitzvot remain inspiring. He once told us about being approached by a mourner during shivah with the following question: Last week, when my parent was alive, fighting for life, I came to shul to pray on behalf of my parent, to plead with God for more time – and specific individual– who sits near me in shul – talked throughout the Misheberakh for holim, distracting me from my prayers and demonstrating absolutely no sensitivity to my intense need to pray at that moment. Now my parent is dead and this person wants to visit my home and offer condolences and I don’t want to see that person!
Yitzhak teaches us that when we pray, we can have the intense existential distress of someone else, or of ourselves, in mind, and so we need to have the highest possible level of sensitivity when in the presence of someone at prayer. They could be struggling with a heavy burden.
Yitzhak taught us something else by praying “l’nokhah” – in the presence of Rivka. The midrash and Rashi explain that Rivka and Yitzhak both prayed, and prayed with an awareness of each other, but did so in their own space. Prayer requires cultivating a sense of inwardness, interiority, and personal authenticity. Even when we are together as a congregation, we need to be able to generate the privacy that can enable true prayer – the encounter between an individual and God. That isn’t easy to accomplish.
Last Monday, there was a Town Hall Meeting here to discuss children’s programing at Anshe Sholom. People shared what they liked, shared experiences that did not work out well, and we talked about ideas for the future. We also formed a committee to create some basic written guidelines and expectations bringing children to shul in a way that is safe and respectful of others. This document, however, is not going to emphasize rules, behavior, or decorum, and it won’t only be about children. We hope to create a document that will express our commitment that this shul – during the hours set aside for prayer, is a place where genuine and deep prayer can take place. The document will express our expectations that children and adults will feel welcome to join our community in whatever way they wish to, but in a manner that acknowledges how challenging it can be to engage in genuine prayer.
Even as we dedicate ourselves to making our shul a place where private and intense prayer can take place, we also must dedicate ourselves to the public and communal aspects of prayer. Winter is approaching, the sun is setting early, and we revert to Standard Time this weekend. For the next few months, maintaining a regular minyan on weekday afternoons is going to be hard. If your schedule allows, please show up. If your schedule does not allow you to attend frequently, please try on a weekly or even monthly basis, to leave work early, or make special childcare arrangements so that you can join us.
Although we understand that halakhah requires ten men to constitute a minyan, women who pray with a minyan are fulfilling the very same mitzvah of tefilah b’tzibbur as men. Please come to shul during the week and let your prayers join the prayers of others. Furthermore, there were three different women who came to our shul this week to say kaddish. They came on three different days and each one of them was alone in the ezrat nashim during a time of emotional vulnerability. In addition to the spiritual advantages of praying with a minyan, only the women of this community can make sure that no woman, whether a visitor or a veteran member of the community, prays alone.
Yitzhak, in Jewish tradition, is understood to be the first one to pray Mincha in the afternoon. Praying Shacharit each morning, as the sun rising fills us with hope and optimism for the coming day, was invented by Avraham. Reciting Ma’ariv at night, as the growing darkness fills one with fear and insecurity, was invented by Yaakov. Yitzhak was the first to recognize that one needs to step away from the concerns of the day, and devote ten or fifteen minutes to God. Yitzhak’s prayer is described as “lasu’ah” – meditating. Rabbi Mecklenberg in his commentary “HaKetav veHaKabbalah” explains that “lasu’ah” has the same root as “heseh ha’da’at” – interruption. Yitzhak understood that praying means stepping aside from the thoughts and concerns and activities of our daily life. Prayer, if you will, is a distraction from distraction! Yitzhak reinforced this discovery when he prayed ‘l’nokhah’ his wife Rivka. He demonstrated sensitivity to the needs of his wife, and also carved out a private space where his own voice could make itself heard before God.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 