What If Prayer Sounded More Like You? | 10@9 | 2026.09.07

Good morning. Today is Monday, September 7, 2026. There are multiple modes of prayer. There's prayer in the synagogue, prayer at home, prayer on a walk, in a hospital room, anywhere. There's quiet prayer, there's public prayer, prayer at specific times, prayer at any time, prayer for an individual, prayer for prayers in the plural, prayer in any language, prayer without words, with thoughts, with feelings, prayer with set words from the Sidurr, prayer with our own words. And I want to dwell on this last mode because I think it would be valuable for us to focus on this, especially now. So the ideas I want to share are based on a conversation I had with my cousin recently. We are very close. She is a writer and a poet. And I always learn from her that I'm a writer and a poet. And I always learn from her and based on that conversation a few weeks ago, I want to share with you three prayers that you might not initially think of as prayers. But I want to suggest that they are. And I want to suggest that we, each in our own way, do more of them. The first is technically a poem written by Rainer Maria Rilke, one of my favorite poets. He was an Austrian poet. He died in 1926. And he wrote this poem in a collection called The Book of Hours. You God, who live next door, if at times through the long night I trouble you with my urgent knocking and I will never hear you again. I hear you breathe so seldom. I know you're all alone in that room. If you should be thirsty, there's no one to get you a glass of water. I wait, listening, always. Just give me a sign. I'm right here. And I know you're all alone right here. As it happens, the wall between us is very thin. Why couldn't a cry from one of us break it down? It would crumble easily. It would barely make a sound. This line, if you should be thirsty, reminds me that prayer is not only about us. It's not only about what we ask God for, for us. Especially on Rosh Hashanah. I say, in low Lema'an-e-Naynu, do this for your sake, God. We're praying for you, God, for your majesty in the world, for your sovereignty, for your holiness, not only for what we need. And we pray, we pray that you should help that the entire world, not just the Jewish people, but the entire world should become one unified organism. La sos ritzonchah b'le'evav sholim so that all of us should do your will with a full heart. The Simlok atah Hashem le vadchah al-Kol mas'echah and you, God, should reign alone on all of your creatures. We want what's good for you, God. We want you to be the sovereign. What we need, yes, yes, we have a list. What we need, I need what you need. But I'm also praying for you, God. That you should be more known in the world, that you should be more revered. And so, if you should be thirsty, I'm listening. Just give me a sign. In this line, as it happens, the wall between us is very thin. Why couldn't a cry from one of us break it down? And we need this cry. We need this cry to break down this thin wall between us. Sometimes we think of it as a very, very thick wall. A very, very durable wall. But Rilke is saying, no, it's not. And our prayers say, no, it's not. It's very thin. And we can pierce it. And if we can pierce it, we must pierce it. Prayer number two. Even less likely that you will consider this a prayer from a very different source. It's a song. The title of the song is Becoming All Alone by Regina Spector. I, Erwin, I, Regina Spector, I urge you, it is so beautiful. Please find it on YouTube and listen to it. I find it so beautiful and so inspiring. Again, Regina Spector with a K. Becoming All Alone. I went walking home alone. Pass all the bars and corner delis. When I heard God call out my name and he said, hey, let's grab a beer. It's awful late. We're both right here and we didn't even have to pay because God is God and he's revered. And I said, why doesn't it get better with time? I'm becoming all alone again. And I said, let the ones who want it bad get all the things that make them better. You have a heart. Why don't you use it? I went walking home alone past all the bars and corner delis when I asked God, please call. Call my name. And I said, hey, let's grab a beer. It's awful late. I'm becoming all alone again. I said, hey, let's grab a beer. It's awful late. I know you're here and we wouldn't even have to pay because you are God and you're revered. And so I ask you, why doesn't it get better with time? I'm becoming all alone again. We have to try to hear God calling our name. God does call our name. And we have these questions. Why doesn't it get better with time? Let the ones who want it bad get all the things that make them feel better. And we ask this all the time. You have a heart. Why don't we see that you use it, God? And we say to God, please call. And we pray. Isn't this really the prayer so many of us want to pray, need to pray? And we should in our own form, in our own words, one last prayer. This is written by Hannah Yerushalny. She grew up in the Midwest. Hannah is an ordained rabbi. She's a licensed professional counselor. She lives in Annapolis, Maryland. And recently I have shared a few pieces from her that speak to me very deeply. This one, I think, is just magnificent. And the title is Conversations. How was your day today, God asked? Fine, I said. And there was evening and there was morning and there was silence between us. How was your day today, God asked again. Fine, I said after a pause and there was evening and there was morning. The silence continued. What made you laugh today, God asked? And my heart exploded with stories of the desert stars dancing with the gazelles and standing for hattikva. What surprised you today? That's easy. A driver let me merge easily on the eye alone and the teenagers at the beach shared their watermelon. What was the hardest part of today? My eyes filled with tears. Another soldier died. A world collapsing upon itself. An entire family line forever changed. Last question. What made you feel cherished today? I sighed with the breath of generation. I sighed with the breath of generations. Only this, dear God. Your soul bound up with mine. Your left hand under my head. Your right arm embracing me. May we be capable of opening our hearts to speak directly to God in our own language. In our own language. In our own tone with our own words. My friends, I wish you a great day and I look forward to seeing you soon in person. Thank you.