Spiritual Services

By: Jonathan Seidel

Appendix I: Struggling Service

I perpetually struggle to connect to the mystical layer of Judaism. Though once fervently attached to the onslaught of spiritual audacity. Such moments of genuine ecstasy have muddled into cynical irrationality. The past is filled with sparks of lingering connection and loftier awareness. Today seems to be more of a neurological farce and chemical trip. I remember humming my wits through the services, chanting the words in my head as I shifted my hips back and forth. A lovely display of authentic devotion to the good Lord. I was lost in my ecstatic sensations. Filled with immense awe and wonder. The mystery seemed so real to me. I was captivated by the celestial abstractions. My heart was full of joy to stand in place singing and swaying for a brief window in time. The tunes enhanced my spiritual fervour engulfed in a tranquillity of a lifetime. Alas, this was a beautiful past life. At this moment feels like a lifetime ago. Another world, a different person. The war changed me. My experiences shaped me. Scepticism has been my best friend in a fight for ingenuity and truth. Abandoned in the abyss, questioning and solo journeying pushed me forward. 

For a while I kept to my prayers. I read but would persistently tend to the services. Yet, the moments of crying out and begging God for salvation were a lost cause. The advocacy of dialogue and detest for personal fulfilment I believed swapped in the manner of minutes. I no longer held true that some divine overlord listened to my prayers. Prayer was for me. Although I reluctantly held on to my previous position, in practice it had ceased. Then this stage was quite fruitful. Prayer as a way of personal development had a nice ring to it. Saying prayers to remind oneself of the important aspects in life was strong. Yet in time, it became a robotic enterprise. I followed suit out of habit. A routine that was consistent since my youth. I followed the rules and showed up. I didn’t do it for anyone. Most of the time it was executed in the private sector of my bedroom. I needed no outside appreciation. Such rubbish is lacking in its own fulfilment. My confidence was my own right-hand man. 

This folded in the past few months. My nihilistic tendencies and destructive traits have invaded the sanctum of my safe haven. I can’t remember the last time I put on phylacteries or uttered a classic prayer. With the exception of the blessings on Shabbat before the meal and afterwards which I mainly do for social reasons (not pressure but compliance), I do not maintain any passion for speaking to God. Ironically, as any good Jew my position is based on the text. Nahmanides said you only have to pray in times of terrible crisis and such a term is subjective and up for interpretation. Though in my case, I find it futile. Concerning phylacteries is another matter that I do not have a good religious explanation for so we will skip it. I still show up to synagogue on Saturday morning for social reasons. Not that I care for the social interactions more for the Jewish community aspect. Even if I had no friends I would still feel a sense of commitment to the community as a whole. In the beginning of the year I showed up to services as the tenth man to aid the struggling community. I did not pray. I answered when necessary and spent the time flipping through my book. 

I have reached a conclusion that just as everything in my life, review is in order.  A new perspective is required in the face of prayer. Hopefully a more optimistic and compelling outlook will suffice. As an agonistic sort, this endeavour may be difficult but not impossible. Let us try and hopefully discover a gem of revival. The pragmatist prayer is long dead, stapled in the graveyard with a headstone unmarked. It is time to take though reluctantly a more mystical or mythical view in my opinion.

Focusing on what I have looked into as of late is the postmodern positions of the mystical affiliates: Shagar, Zinger and Green. We live in a world of chaotic absurdity and prayer can be the cure to nihilistic provisions. It is less the words said and more the meditative state. Yet there is something to be said concerning the product itself. Meditative isolation is a misconception. There is a heightened awareness to the existential self. To call out in pure agony the struggles of life. These days people open up to a therapist. Prayer is that punching bag to expose all issues. It is an honest expression of our deep troubles. I am one to talk to myself and introspect on a nice Friday night walk with a beer in hand. Though unconventional, it is quite serene. Prayer is a similar moment absent booze to concentrate on looking inward. Silence is golden but it lacks expressive power. By speaking one articulates his true feelings and then internalises more clearly. It is a set time to locate the grief and meditate on it in a poetically empowering way. Speech gives way to raising awareness and getting infants to the issue. 

The mystical vibes for me are still quite foregone but the leap to entertain the almighty is comforting. It is not some sort of psychological attainment. Nor do I expect someone to listen. In a mythical sense there is a routine to a hierarchical chain but that need not align with divine immanence. The logic does not hold up but there is a peaceful feeling to let go of the burdens by blowing them into the air. To get it off your chest. Additionally, the communal gathering bolsters this comforting scenario as a unified decompression of struggles. Each with their own struggles in their own way but united in the same room with the same words for the same purpose. To connect to the celestial spirit is inconsequential; it is the leap to oblivion. To rid your struggles to the abyss of infinity. Whether pouring your heart out or making a mental note, one is reminded of the encounter with the absolute. 

Absurdity is overwhelming but overcome with consistent commitment. We live in tumultuous times engulfed in perpetual stressors that poke us in the cheek and grab us from our shoulders dragging us through the slimy mud. Standing at attention with brother’s in arms focused on absolving those difficulties with a peaceful lullaby and a ‘screw you’ in the form of personal expression. The overall experience is enlightening in a solace idyllic sea, blissful and relaxed.