Daily Prayer, Part 2

Talking to God: Personal Prayers for Times of Joy, Sadness, Struggle, and Celebration
by Naomi Levy

(Page 2 of 2)

Thanks to the cook

When my husband was courting me, he used to walk me home from synagogue on Saturdays. One day I invited him in. We sat talking for hours sipping tea, and it never occurred to me to offer him something to eat-I didn't know how to cook. At one point I got up to use the bathroom, and he used the occasion to hunt through my cupboards. He was starving. But all he found was a bag of stale potato chips and two cans of tuna. When I returned from the bathroom, I found him looking around my barren kitchen. He picked up a tuna can and asked, "Do you eat it out of the can like a cat?" "Well, yes," I admitted. That night Rob brought me to his apartment and cooked me a magnificent meal. The rest is history. Although every now and then for nostalgia's sake, he opens up a can of tuna and calls, "Here, kitty, kitty."

A Blessing over Food

Thank You, God, for the food on my table and for the cook who, like You, knows the secrets of creation. Thank You for plants, animals, and water, and for my own life, which You nourish and sustain each day. Please, God, answer the prayers of all those who turn to You in need. May all who are hungry be blessed with food. May I never be indifferent to the cries of those in need of my assistance. May I never take my good fortune for granted. Thank You, God, Creator of all. Amen.

Difficult Days

It was a Monday morning. I knew in advance it was going to be a painful day. A member of my congregation was dying. I had been up all night with my one-month-old daughter, Noa, who was doing her best to turn colic into an art form. My two-year-old son, Adi, was busy taking fistfuls of mud from the ficus tree in our living room and dumping them onto the floor. This was our second day in our new home. I had a sinus infection and an ear infection. A friend of mine volunteered to watch my children so that I could visit Marty.

I drove to the hospital, made my way to Marty's room, and saw him lying there ashen and unconscious. His nurse took me aside and told me that he probably would not make it through the night. I thanked her for her honesty. Marty was only fifty. Six months before I had taken a walk with him on the boardwalk that runs along Venice Beach. I had trouble keeping up with his pace. He exercised daily, ate well, had a perpetual suntan, and was forever making fun of my pale, or, as he put it, green, complexion. "You need to get your face out of the Talmud and into the sun, Rabbi." I stood beside Marty and recited the final confessional. Then I blessed him and bade him farewell.

I took the elevator to the lobby, headed back to the parking garage, got into my car, and started driving in a total daze. My mind was on Marty, not the road. I accidentally drove my car onto a cement island that separated the lanes in the parking lot. Embarrassed and shaken, I tried to drive off the island, but my car wouldn't budge. People behind me were honking and shouting. Finally, two men got out of their cars and pushed my car off the island as I steered.

Before returning home I decided to drive back to our old apartment to check if we had left anything behind in the haste of packing. When I got there, I saw that the door was ajar. The painters were there repainting the whole place. I told them that I was the old tenant; they nodded at me. I suddenly realized that I had returned to say goodbye. I bid farewell to my son's lavender bedroom that we had painted ourselves, and to the little yard where we had kept three chickens. I stepped back inside to take a final look out the living room window, which had a spectacular view of the ocean, and I noticed something on the floor.

The painters had spread drop cloths all over the place, so at first I thought that I must be mistaken. But when I got closer I recognized it. One of the painters was standing on my tallis, my prayer shawl. It was the prayer shawl my dean had presented to me and draped over my shoulders on the day I became a rabbi. I asked the painter to step off the cloth, then I picked it up and walked out the door. It was spattered with paint. I sat down on the front step, draped my tallis across my lap, and, in honor of Marty, I turned my face to the sun. The warm light felt good against my wet cheeks.

A Prayer for Bad Days

Be with me, God. I feel so lost. I can't seem to escape the dark cloud that is hanging over me today. Help me, God. Give me strength to combat despair and fear. Show me how to put my pain into perspective. Teach me to have faith in the new day that is coming.

Thank You, God, for today's blessings, for tomorrow's hope, and for Your abiding love. Amen.

A Prayer for Those Days When Life Spins Out of Control
When I panic, God, teach me patience.
When I fear, teach me faith.
When I doubt myself, teach me confidence.
When I despair, teach me hope.
When I lose perspective, show me the way-
back to love, back to life, back to You. Amen.

Seeking the Ability to Pray

Having the desire to pray doesn't necessarily lead to prayer. There are numerous obstacles that prevent us from speaking to God. Distractions from outside combine with resistance from inside, and it is no wonder that prayer rarely comes easily. What helps? Make time for daily reflection. Don't feel inhibited by your lack of eloquence. If no great thought enters your heart, just remember to give thanks for something each day. Don't allow guilt or shame to cause you to hide from God. Search for sources of inspiration-the beauty of nature, the love of your family, your health, your hopes for this world. If no words rise up from you, say a prayer for the ability to pray.

A Prayer for the Ability to Pray
Dear God, as I pray, day after unpredictable day,
May the voice of my soul spring forth from my lips.
May I turn to You, God, in tears, in laughter, and in song.
And may my prayers be answered. Amen.

A Prayer for Daily Insight

Open my eyes, God. Help me to perceive what I have ignored, to uncover what I have forsaken, to find what I have been searching for. Remind me that I don't have to journey far to discover something new, for miracles surround me, blessings and holiness abound. And You are near. Amen.

Mentors in Unlikely Places

A couple of years ago when we were doing some construction on our home, my husband and I and our two children moved in with his parents. My mother-in-law had just bought a beautiful downy white couch. As you can imagine, they weren't eager for my children to jump on this highly stainable piece of new furniture, and I did my best to keep the kids out of the living room.

The inevitable occurred when my in-laws were gone for the weekend. My son, in search of a napkin, found the nice white couch and proceeded to wipe his hands full of peanut butter and jelly on it. The minute I saw the golden streak across the sofa cushion I started to panic. I called friend after friend asking for advice on how to remove the stain. Soda water was the most common response. Some recommended Shout. Luckily it was a slipcover, and my friend Jane recommended a very reputable dry cleaner. Needless to say, the next morning I arrived at the dry cleaner's at six and waited for him to open the store. He welcomed me in, and I proceeded to tell him the tale of the brand-new white couch with the peanut butter smeared on it and how my in-laws were returning the following day and how I needed his help. The man held the slipcover in his hands, examined it, and said, "It's my experience that the best way to handle a situation like this is honesty. After all, what if I clean the cover and it comes out a different shade of white from the rest of the couch? That would make things much worse. I think you should calmly sit down with your mother-in-law and just explain what happened." When he handed me back the slipcover, I looked at him and said, "You're not a dry cleaner, you're a rabbi!"

Copyright © 2002 by Naomi Levy

About the Author

Naomi Levy, author of To Begin Again, was in the first class of women admitted to study for the rabbinate at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and was the first female Conservative rabbi to lead a congregation on the West Coast. She lives in Venice, California, with her husband, Robert Eshman, and their children, Adin and Noa.