“When you help others, you can’t help helping yourself.”
This is the chorus to a song in the raunchy puppet musical “Avenue Q,” and it connects to prayer and liturgy, I promise.
In “The Money Song,” our puppet friends goad each other into giving money because of how good giving feels. As in the rest of the show, there’s a bit of a wink and a nudge. It’s as if the authors are saying: “Look at these selfish people. They’re only giving money because of how good it makes them feel. They’re not such great people after all!” We in the audience might feel a twinge of guilt as we see ourselves in these characters. Perhaps we’re not as nice as we might think. If it feels good to help others, does that make the act less altruistic?
Well, what is the source of the “good feeling” that comes from helping others? Perhaps it’s that boost we get from feeling like a good and moral person, or a comparative gratitude where someone else’s challenges make us feel better about our own lives. But I think it is actually from turning our attention to someone other than ourselves as individuals that gives the most meaning to any good we do.
This came into relief a few weeks ago when Torah scholar Ben Sommers gave a fascinating and thought-provoking class at my synagogue. His thesis was that extemporaneous, from-the-heart prayer is really a Protestant notion. When modern Jews see this as “real prayer,” they are neglecting their own liturgical tradition, which is one of surrender—surrender to the prayerbook, our ancestors, each other, and most importantly, g?d. Someone in the Q&A asked what to do if prayer wasn’t meaningful for her. The answer was: This isn’t about you. It doesn’t matter if you find it meaningful or not. That’s not what prayer is about. Jews don’t pray to “feel good” or “find meaning,” we pray because we’re obligated to. Full stop.
While I respect that as an answer, it feels like a missed opportunity. Because actually, the fact that prayer “isn’t about me” is one of the things that makes it so meaningful. You know what’s really good in a time of rampant individualism? Regular reminders that we are part of a larger story, that we are part of a history, and that we belong to All-That-Is. Prayer is a posture of humility, a blurring of my own boundaries so I can feel part of the Oneness again. In that act of surrender, there can be deep meaning for the one who prays.
Does that mean that it’s not truly surrender, though, if it “feels good?” That it can’t be fully about g?d if it’s “personally meaningful?” I don’t think so. There can be great joy in the surrender, connection in bringing new life to the words of our ancestors, and emotional catharsis in the singing and the silence. It’s allowed to feel good: It’s good for us. So ultimately, it’s not about me. But that might be exactly what I need.