___ Paper ____________________________________________________________________

“Know Before Whom You Stand”: Humility in Jewish Prayer and Music

Author: Jonathan L. Friedmann

Abstract

While Jewish religiosity is expressed through a complex system of liturgy, employing language that extols the greatness of God, there is also subtle recognition of the inability of such words to capture the vastness of God and His attributes. This paper argues that both confident prayer and a sense of personal finitude are necessary for Jewish spirituality: prayer helps establish and maintain an awareness of God, while realization that God is beyond full human comprehension—and thus beyond prayer—enables one to remain in a state of humble religiosity. Moreover, as Jewish prayer is sung and not spoken, I argue that it is especially important for the cantor, who acts as a singing intermediary between the congregation and God, to approach his or her task with an overwhelming sense of humility before God.

Introduction

Humility, it has been said, is the trait on which all virtues and duties depend. [1] The humble individual is one who views him or herself “as a dependent and corrupt but capable and dignified rational agent.” [2] This balanced self-awareness results, ultimately, in a measured view of one's own significance, and an apperception of personal finitude. By acknowledging a force beyond one's limited purview—whether religious, philosophical, or scientific—one may cultivate a “grounded” and humble evaluation of oneself—what Saint Augustine saw as the foundation of ethical life. [3]

In the context of Jewish prayer, the importance of humility is expressed in the Talmudic injunction, “Know before whom you stand,” [4] and Abraham Joshua Heschel's formulation, “Be humble before the words.” [5] Human life is at once futile and spiritually sublime; our distinction from the animal world deems us worthy to “stand before God,” but we must do so in fear and awe. Embracing this paradox of human existence, Judaism affirms that it is one's inadequacy, rather than one's prowess, that justifies prayer; and the sages even declared, “The greater man's stature in the world, the greater the extent to which he must humble himself before his Creator.” [6] Professor Walter Orenstein explained further this position: “Every human being feels lowly when he stands before the Lord in prayer. We are alike in this regard. We pray not because of what we are but because of what we are not. Thus it is not the sophistication of the prayer that is important but rather the sincerity of the one who offers it.” [7]

Of course, human smallness before God limits our perception of the divine reality, and the language of prayer, however grandiose, cannot possibly capture fully the infiniteness of the divine. Still, human understanding is dependent upon language, and the language of prayer is a primary means of cultivating an awareness of God. For the person of faith, worship is central to the totality of life; it is an ontological necessity rather than a psychological need. As Heschel put it, “He who has never prayed is not fully human.” [8]

In light of this, it is surprising that the inadequacy of divine praise is addressed explicitly in Kaddish , a prayer intended to sanctify God's name. Kaddish is among the central prayers of Jewish liturgy, and its primary liturgical formula in praise of God; yet it contains the profound and seemingly anti-liturgical declaration: “Blessed is [God] beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world.” This statement, casting doubt on the very activity of prayer, establishes an important, if subtle, theme of humility in Jewish worship.

Such humility has particular value for the cantor, who sings the prayers of the congregation to God. Jewish prayer is synonymous with song; liturgical texts are sung, not merely spoken. And, while the cantor's song should be moving and inspirational, its value, according to Jewish tradition, lies in the modesty and sincerity of its presentation, not its aesthetic qualities. Indeed, regardless of the certainty with which the sacred text is written, humility should underlie all that the cantor sings; just as the cantor is not a musical performer but a messenger of the congregation, his or her song should be free of pride and vanity, and imbued instead with a palpable sense of awe and wonder.

This examination is comprised of two parts: an analysis of humility in Jewish liturgy, as exemplified in Kaddish , and an overview of the importance of modesty to the vocation of the cantor. I will argue that being humble before God is fundamental to the spiritually efficacious singing of sacred text, and that such humility begins with sincere and total acknowledgement of one's personal finitude. Furthermore, I will demonstrate that music in Jewish ritual is employed primarily to help worshipers transcend the inherent limitations of language. Where words often fail to capture the grandeur of the sacred moment, music enhances the words of prayer, providing them with a greater emotive range and associational power. [9] Thus, sacred music, and the manner in which the cantor sings it, may inspire within worshipers the simultaneous and spiritually necessary feelings of elation and trembling before God.

I. Jewish Liturgy

Prayer is, in the words of Milton Steinberg, “the bridge between man and God.” [10] In response to God's longing for devotion, [11] man presents prayer—the service of the heart [12]—and forges a divine-human fellowship. [13] Yet, the subject of theology cannot be depicted justly in human vocabulary. God is, after all, “that which nothing greater can be conceived.” [14] This concept of “negative theology” is implied in the Talmud, when Rabbi Chanina encounters a man appealing to God as “the great, mighty, awesome, powerful, potent, feared, strong, valiant, enduring, and honored God.” [15] After the man finishes his list of laudations, Rabbi Chanina scolds him for heaping attributes onto God, stressing that any attempt to describe God—even in the most exalted language—is ultimately futile. In the twelfth century, Maimonides reiterated this position:

The best thing said on the subject was said by the Psalms: “To Thee silence is praise” (Ps. 65:2). The interpretation is that silence with reference to Thee is laudation, for everything that we might say, though we intend with it magnification and laudation, there is always connected with it something that besmirches the rank of the Highest, and we can detect in it a degree of inadequacy. [16]

Similarly aware that no word is adequate for God, Christian mysticism favors silent devotion over what William Law called “vain babble.” [17] As expressed by John Tauler, a medieval contemplative:

If a man would prepare an empty place in the depths of his soul there can be no doubt that God must fill it at once . . . So you must be silent. Then God will be born in you, utter his word in you and you shall hear it; but be very sure that if you speak, the word will have to be silent. The best way to serve the word is to keep silent and listen. If you go out, He will most surely come in; as much as you go out for Him, He will come in to you; no more, no less. [18]

For this reason, it has been said that silence, not prayer, is the ideal mode through which one experiences God. In fact, many theologians favor “silence in the face of mystery,” viewing speechlessness as the most appropriate expression of awe and wonder before the divine. [19] However, the fact remains that without words, one is left without knowledge of any kind. Language is, whether describing physical or extra-physical reality, a flawed yet indispensable component of human consciousness. As such, the words of prayer reveal a profound paradox: “we cannot speak, and yet speak we must; God cannot be addresses and yet he must be spoken to; man cannot say what goes on in his heart, and yet he does not even exist unless he speaks out.” [20]

Biblically, this tension is expressed in Nehemiah 9:5: “May Your glorious name be blessed, exalted though it is above every blessing and praise.” Following such recognition of the limits of language, one would expect to find careful avoidance of divine praise; yet after offering this humble concession, the text continues with a sustained and detailed exposition of God's characteristics and achievements. With this contradiction we encounter a central motivation behind Jewish prayer: though words cannot capture or convey the divine, our response to the mysteries of the universe nevertheless compels us to engage in worship. In other words, “we pray because we must.” [21]

A similar paradox is conveyed liturgically in the Kaddish prayer, Judaism's primary doxological statement. Tellingly, Kaddish contains both a declaration of God's attributes, “Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the Name of the Holy One,” and a startling admission, “Blessed is He beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world.” In one succinct, contradictory sentence, Kaddish illustrates the self-conscious character of Jewish liturgy, which directs lofty language toward an entity beyond all words. Drawing attention to this important juxtaposition, both halves of the prayer conclude with affirmative congregational responses: “Blessed is He” following the list of accolades, and “Amen” following the proclamation against such praise. Even as the activity of prayer seeks to make God immanent, [22] Kaddish reminds the worshiper of God's ineffable transcendence.

As such, within the highly structured Jewish liturgy, Kaddish seems anti-structural: with intended irony, Kaddish recognizes both its own futility, and, implicitly, the futility of all liturgical worship. Like Rabbi Chanina's admonition of the man who listed God's attributes, Kaddish —in more genteel language—forces the worshiper to descend temporarily from the ecstasy of prayer, and into a more primitive state of fear and trembling. In no uncertain terms, Kaddish reminds the worshiper of his own finitude in the presence of God.

This is especially important as Kaddish is used to divide major sections of the liturgy, creating a motif of uncertainty and human inadequacy in a service otherwise aimed at drawing near the immanent presence of God. In this way, Kaddish is used in Jewish worship to express an anthropological concept: liminality. Rather than simply marking the conclusion of significant liturgical units—as is commonly assumed [23]— Kaddish is a transitional prayer, linking one portion of the service to the next. And, just as times of transition are filled with uncertainty, angst, and a realization of one's powerlessness, Kaddish brings to the prayer service a shuddering awareness of the awesomeness of God, and a sense of confusion in the midst of prayers brimming with confident declarations of God's majesty. So, by examining Kaddish as a sort of case study in “liturgical anthropology,” we find that it embodies, perhaps more than any other prayer in the Jewish liturgy, the larger theme of humility in worship. [24]

Kaddish

Kaddish was not originally part of the synagogue service, but emerged out of doxological affirmations presented by the sages after a teaching [25]—a practice attested to specifically in Talmud. [26] Kaddish is, accordingly, written in a literary dialect of Aramaic (the vernacular of Babylonian Jews) used by the sages in a house of study. [27] As liturgist Ismar Elbogen explained:

The rule was that every sermon had to conclude with words of consolation—that is, with references to the messianic age—and some preachers added another short prayer to these eschatological conclusions. This prayer may at first have had no fixed formula, but was freely worded by the preacher. One such prayer that became established in the course of time was the Kaddish. [28]

As a liturgical prayer, Kaddish first appears in the seventh-century Tractate Soferim , where it comes at the end of the Torah reading (21:6), in connection with Barchu (“Bless the Lord”) (10:8), and at the conclusion of the service (19:1). [29] It retains a messianic message in its opening sentence: “May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire Family of Israel, swiftly and soon.” Such messianism is, however, found more forcefully in other Jewish prayers, [30] and Elbogen and others agree that the Kaddish 's placement in the liturgy owes more to its mention of blessing, song, and praise than to its hope for messianic redemption. [31]

In other words, Kaddish entered the Jewish liturgy as a transitional prayer precisely because it contains the paradoxical statement, “Blessed is He beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world.” In this brief proclamation, Kaddish reveals two concepts fundamental to the Jewish religion: (1) prayer is a necessary means of cultivating an awareness of God, and (2) God is, by definition, beyond everything, including prayer. Moreover, because it is placed between major sections of liturgy, Kaddish humbles the worshiper emboldened by the liturgy's myriad affirmative statements about God. In this way, the assuredness of Jewish liturgy makes Kaddish —and the liminality it suggests—a religious necessity. As one scholar noted, “[this] very repetition suggests that the previous recitals were ineffective, not surprisingly in view of the declaration of the inefficacy of language with which the second paragraph ends.” [32] Thus, the architects of the prayer service, I would argue, understood the humility of Kaddish to be an obligatory antidote to what can be called the “arrogance of prayer.”

Likewise, the careful placement of Kaddish in the liturgy reflects an important theological tension between certainty and doubt. To this point, it is helpful to view Kaddish in light of the theories of Bronislaw Malinowski, who maintained that religious rituals reduce anxiety and fears, [33] and A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, who noted that insecurity and doubt might also arise because of such ritual. [34] The grand sweep of Jewish liturgy conveys an attitude of spiritual confidence, evident in prayers and petitions extolling God, asking Him for reward, and calling for future redemption—all of which suggest an immediate and intimate knowledge of (and even influence over) the divine. However, while these prayers reflect an existential need for certainty in the worshiper's ultimately precarious life, they are tinged with a subtle sense of doubt—what Rudolf Otto described as a feeling of “personal nothingness and submergence before the awe-inspiring object directly experienced.” [35] Participation in ritual, therefore, can stimulate a euphoric response, as one finds comfort in the presence of the sacred; but the sacred presence remains beyond one's total comprehension—a realization that can create uncertainty and angst. Both serenity and anxiety stem from God-consciousness.

No matter how eloquent its language of devotion, spiritual empowerment, and comfort, prayer cannot capture the grandeur of the divine, but only hint at what is beyond our blessings, songs, and praises. It is the role of Kaddish , then, to remind the worshiper of the limits of language, and of the healthy tension between confidence and unknowing in mature faith—that is, the simultaneous emotions of love (intimacy) and fear (unease) in the presence of God. As Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, an eighteenth-century Jewish mystic, wrote:

One of the things that one must strengthen within himself is his love and fear of God. He should consider the unimaginable loftiness of God and the great lowliness of man, and humble himself before God, standing in awe before His greatness. He should then yearn and desire to be among those who serve Him, to exult in His praise and be exalted by His greatness. [36]

Liminality and Anti-Structure

In his book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces , Joseph Campbell argues that the triadic structure of rites of passage reflects a universal cosmic force present within us all. Identifying these three stages as separation, struggle, and incorporation, Campbell suggests that such rituals demonstrate a social, psychological, and spiritual dynamic fundamental to human life—a process evident cross-culturally in sacred stories, rites, and dreams. In particular, Campbell saw this universal phenomenon exemplified in dreams of archetypal heroes, figures who, in Jungian psychology, are projections of us all:

A Hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder [separation]; fabulous forces are there encountered, and a decisive victory is won [struggle]; the hero comes back from his mysterious adventure with power to bestow boon on his fellowmen [incorporation]. [37]

The journey of the hero begins with separation from the relative stability of ordinary life, and entrance to a realm of the unknown. He endures hardship and doubt, tests and ordeals, all of which he must triumph over before crossing the threshold and returning home. According to Campbell, such mythic adventures are paralleled—though perhaps less dramatically—in lifecycle rituals. Like the stories of heroes, rites of passage follow a narrative in which the individual leaves his or her previous status, experiences uncertainty, and, having overcome a challenge (e.g., a bar/bat mitzvah or wedding ceremony) reenters society in a transformed state.

In liturgical ritual, the stages of separation, liminality, and incorporation may also be symbolically conveyed. As mentioned, Kaddish , with both its placement between sections of liturgy and its admission of the insufficiency of praising God, marks a transition between two stable units of worship. In the weekday morning liturgy, for instance, Kaddish first appears between Pesukei D'Zimrah (“Songs of Praise”), which contains the laudatory Psalms 145-150, and the Shema and its Blessings, which, among other things, express God's mastery over nature, and describe God's role in the flow of history. [38] More specifically, this first Kaddish comes between two verses of confident praise: “Blessed are You, Lord, God, King exalted through praises, God of thanksgiving, Master of wonders, Who chooses musical songs of praise” ( Yishtabach ) and “Bless the Lord, the Blessed One” ( Barchu ). These firm theological statements can thus be seen as analogous to the well-defined stages of the lifecycle, while Kaddish represents the liminal period of anxious transition. It is, after all, no accident that Kaddish 's words against the suitability of songs and praises come directly after a prayer that proclaims God's desire for those very things.

Importantly, too, Kaddish represents the anti-structure anthropologist Victor Turner believed inherent to rites of passage. From his close analysis of Ndembu ritual, Turner concluded that the characteristics of a social structure are “no longer and not yet applicable” during the immediate period of liminality. [39] At this time of uncertainty and marginality, the ritual subjects find themselves “neither here nor there,” and are forced to realize their ultimate mortality and equality before the daunting presence of the unknown—what Turner called communitas . [40] In the context of worship, this is reflected in the contention that “Every human being feels lowly when he stands before the Lord in prayer.” [41] This is of particular relevance during the recitation of Kaddish , which is intended to humble the worshiper caught up in the ecstasy of prayer. Indeed, as mentioned, such humility before God is an essential element of prayer, as it both inspires gratitude from the individual who, despite personal finitude, is deemed spiritually worthy to “stand before God,” [42] and creates among worshipers a “comity of comrades and not a structure of hierarchically arrayed positions.” [43] Stated more poetically:

Humility does not consist in hiding our talents and virtues, in thinking ourselves worse and more ordinary than we are, but in possessing a clear knowledge of all that is lacking in us and in not exalting ourselves for that which we have, seeing that God has freely given it to us and that, with all His gifts, we are still of infinitely little importance. [44]

So, inasmuch as the goal of worship is to inspire spiritual growth, Kaddish serves as an analogous representation of the liminal periods experienced in physical growth—transitional states Turner described as “betwixt and between the positions assigned and arrayed by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial.” [45] Following Arnold Van Gennep's study of rites of passage, [46] Turner argued that ritual exemplifies the transition of an individual from one state to another. [47] In Jewish worship, this three-phased process of ritual [48] is conveyed in (1) the movement away from a section of liturgy (separation), (2) the recitation of Kaddish (liminality), and (3) the beginning of a new liturgical unit (incorporation).

Of course, this deep symbolism would not be possible without Judaism's embrace of liturgical expression. Even as there is biblical precedence for silence in the presence of God—e.g., “keep silent before Him, all the earth” (Hab. 2:20)—the language of liturgy was developed enthusiastically, tempered though it is by a keen acknowledgment that words cannot capture the grandeur of the divine. The language of Jewish worship, when balanced with the humbling statement of Kaddish —“Blessed is He beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world”—illustrates clearly an eternal truth: because humanity is finite, the infinite God is ultimately beyond human expression. By critiquing the institution of prayer in this way, Kaddish embodies both the need for and the shortcomings of structured, God-directed speech; it simultaneously praises and deems praise futile. In this way, Kaddish booth embodies and produces one of the most significant aspects of religious worship: humility.

II. Jewish Sacred Music

The humbling words of Kaddish can be applied to the entirely of Jewish liturgy: even those prayers that praise or describe God in bold language should be weighed against the realization that God is beyond all words. Though the worship experience may be intimate and profound, the relationship between God and man is, by definition, unequal.

Judaism views prayer as an encounter between the finite (humanity) reaching toward heaven, and the infinite (divine) descending from on high—a “symbolic handshake” [49] depicted in Exodus 19:20: “The Lord came down upon Mount Sinai, on the top of the mountain, and the Lord called Moses to the top of the mountain, and Moses went up.” In order for such an encounter to materialize in worship, it is believed, one must first shudder at the awesomeness of the divine, and then recite quietly the Psalmist's verse, “O Lord, open my lips, and let my mouth declare your praise” (Psalms 51:17). [50] Only through proper mindfulness and humble self-perception can one truly direct his or her heart heavenward. [51]

The Cantor's Role

The challenge of directing prayers toward heaven is amplified in Jewish congregational worship, where the cantor is charged with converting, through song, an assemblage of worshiping individuals into a liturgical community, and transmitting its prayers to God. In the words of Cantor Benzion Miller, the cantor is “an intermediary . . . a lawyer, pleading a case for [a] client.” [52] It is the cantor's unique responsibility, then, to generate a prayerful experience. A cantor who is devoted to both the sacred text and to an atmosphere of prayer is also an expert sheliach tzibbur (messenger of the congregation). Yet, as a singer, the cantor must be especially aware of the need for humility in prayer; he or she must fight the temptation to “perform.” As Cantor William Sharlin has written, for the cantor, “To move or to impress” is the central question. [53] Cantorial “non-performance” implies a careful distinction between the necessity of emotionalizing the fixed liturgical service through prayer-song, and the spiritual damage done when liturgy is sung to satisfy the ego or to “entertain.”

Understanding well the need for humbleness in the cantorate, the eleventh-century poet Yekutiel B. Moses composed this meditation:

With trepidation I pour forth my fervent plea as I rise to beseech Thee, awesome and exalted God. Because of my insignificant deeds I am seized with apprehension; lacking wisdom, how dare I hope? My Creator, grant me the wisdom to transmit my holy inheritance. Strengthen and fortify me against weakness and vacillation. May my whispered plea be as acceptable to you as rare incense, and may my sacred utterances be to you sweeter than pure honey. Accept them as uttered in sincerity and not to deceive. Let those who have made me their emissary find atonement and forgiveness. [54]

As this passage suggests, achieving such humility in prayer requires great sincerity; a prayer without the heart is like a body without a soul. [55] The cantor's song must therefore be triply directed: inward toward his or her soul, outward toward the congregation, and upward toward God. If the cantor's mind is misdirected from this delicate task, the efficacy of the liturgy itself may be compromised. Likewise, as prayer begins with “personal introspection, meditative self-judgment, spiritual self-examination of feelings, thoughts, deeds, directions and motives,” [56] it can be said that egocentric singing is the greatest barrier to attaining sincere cantorial prayer.

Without doubt, the close relationship of prayer and song in Judaism, as in other religions, is due primarily to music's emotional qualities. Through the direct channel of human emotion, truly effective prayer-song transcends the confines of language, and provides a sense of the immediate yet ineffable presence of the sacred. Just as God is beyond theology, the experience of music is beyond rational analysis. This analogous representation of the sacred through music, while limited, is of central importance to the cantorate. As one scholar suggests, “When the hazzan (cantor) prays in a spirit of genuine piety and avodat hashem (love of God) he can with his melodious voice and his cantorial talent inspire the congregation and lift the worshipers to greater spiritual heights.” [57]

The cantor's sincerity, however, cannot be measured objectively. And, it can be argued, a cantor who lacks deep religious commitment may still be capable of singing the liturgy in an inspiring way, though the source of inspiration may not be the holy text, but the music itself or the thrill of performance. For this reason, Heschel insisted, “Reverence and faith are as important as talent and technique, and the music must not lose its relationship to the spirit of the words.” [58] And, since reverence and faith, like sincerity, cannot be gauged objectively, various standards of behavior were developed for the cantorate—many of which can be viewed as external, ethical expressions of the internal humility demanded of the cantor.

In particular, it is worthwhile to examine cantorial imperatives presented in two documents: Aruch ha-Shulchan (compiled 1884-1906), and the Eighteen Takkanot for the Cantorate (1910). Both texts list specific behavioral guidelines for the cantor, and, importantly, both place these guidelines above the demand that the cantor possess a pleasant voice.

Aruch ha-Shulchan and Eighteen Takkanot for the Cantorate

Aruch ha-Shulchan (“Laying of the Table”) is Belarusian rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein's commentary on the sixteenth-century codification of Jewish law, Shulchan Aruch (“Set Table”). This eight-volume catalogue contains regulations specific to the cantor's personal character, including a summary of qualities that deem one worthy of leading a congregation in prayer:

It is written in the Book of Jeremiah, chapter twelve: “She has raised her voice against me, therefore I despise her.” The Rabbis in Tractate Ta'anit 17b, explained this verse to refer to a Sheliah Tzibbur (messenger of the congregation) who is not worthy to approach the prayer desk. What determines the meaning of worthy? He must be free of sin, without a bad reputation even from childhood, a humble individual, accepted by the people, pleasant personality, pleasing voice, and one who is accustomed to read the Torah, Prophets and Hagiographa. If it is impossible to find an individual with all these characteristics, the congregation should choose the best candidate who has wisdom and performs good deeds. [59]

Not accidentally, good reputation, sinless-ness, humility, and pleasant personality are grouped before the more obviously relevant skills of singing and Hebrew fluency. And, if all of these prerequisites are not met, it is wisdom and commitment to good deeds, rather than an outstanding voice, that remain necessary attributes of the cantor. The text even goes on to state, “If there is a choice between an elderly, ignorant person who has a pleasant voice and a young person of thirteen years who understands the meaning of the words of the prayers, but whose voice is not as pleasant, the younger person has preference over the older person as Sheliach Tzibbur (messenger of the congregation).” [60] Understanding the meaning of the words in this context implies also commitment to them—that is, as the sacred words are the source from which requirements of character are drawn, one who truly understands them is also one who lives by them. Indeed, this reflects a central theme in Jewish ethics: the partnership of belief and right actions. [61]

For this reason, Aruch ha-Shulchan states that a cantor “must be a God-fearing person, otherwise his prayer is an abomination.” [62] In addition to the ethical behavior discussed above, ritual decorum is also delineated to represent this inward humility and devotion. For example, the text states that the cantor must stand before the prayer desk as if he or she were standing before a king, “ Tallit (prayer shawl) over his head, not on his shoulders, without bizarre movements, not looking to the side or the back, not yawning, not spitting.” [63] And, in its central statement urging humility in the cantorate, the Aruch ha-Shulchan declares:

Whomever God blessed with a pleasant voice should chant with joy of performing a mitzvah. This singing should not include secular songs and certainly not love songs, which are most sinful. A Sheliach Tzibbur who prolongs the prayers in order to express his delight in giving thanks to the Almighty will be blessed. If his intent is to impress others with his singing, he is doing a terrible wrong. Whoever prolongs the prayers is causing uneasiness for the congregation in that the worshipers grow weary. [64]

The theme of humility in prayer is emphasized further in Pinchas Minkowski's Eighteen Takkanot for the Cantorate . Developed in pre-revolutionary Russia, these takkanot (enactments) were intended to raise the professional standards of the cantorate, and to enhance the overall dignity of the synagogue service. The text begins with the fundamental statement: “The person who carries the responsibilities of leading the liturgical service is firstly a Sheliach Tzibbur and afterwards an artist. He can be the greatest performer but his art must be treated with secondary importance.” [65] In order to express this to the congregation, Minkowski argued, “A distinguished cantor should not wave his hands or head nor practice any theatrical mimicking during the service. These special effects belong in a circus or theater, but not in the synagogue . . . He must remain dignified at all times.” [66]

As part of his effort to rid the synagogue of cantorial “performers,” Minkowski condemned the then emerging phenomenon of cantorial recording:

Don't record synagogue compositions on the gramophone. Flee from that terrible development. Take a holy oath not to introduce into the liturgy any melody heard from the gramophone. Run from that modern desecration. Don't sing the immoral compositions of Warsaw and Vilna. We are not like the other nations. We have only prayers and songs in the service of our synagogue. Don't introduce them into the cabarets. [67]

Added to this, Minkowski wrote, “a distinguished cantor must also be a distinguished person. If a cantor wants to be received by the community as a distinguished cantor and not as an itinerant singer, he must first honor himself.” [68] Without upright character—rooted in humility before God and expressed in outward behavior—the cantor is not considered a worthy emissary of the congregation. Humble devotion to God is, then, an essential prerequisite for prayer-song. As it is written: “the people feared the Lord, and they believed in the Lord and in His servant, Moses. Then sang Moses and the Children of Israel this song to the Lord” (Exodus 14:31, 15:1).

Conclusion

Rabbi Brad Hirschfield wrote that, “To be a true monotheist is to understand that no one human understanding of the infinite power can ever fully capture what that power is, or how, exactly, to relate to or honor it.” [69] While Jewish religiosity is expressed through a complex system of liturgy, employing language that extols the greatness of God, there is subtle recognition—in Kaddish and elsewhere—of the inability of such words to capture the vastness of God and His attributes. It is therefore evident that both confident prayer and a sense of personal finitude are necessary for Jewish spirituality: prayer helps establish and maintain an awareness of God, while realization that God is beyond full human comprehension—and thus beyond prayer—enables one to remain in a state of humble religiosity.

Moreover, as music expresses the verbally inexpressible, [70] it has for centuries been used to convey the mystery and majesty that lies beyond the sacred text. As one scholar noted, “only the elevated language of tones is fitted for speaking with God.” [71] Poet Naphtali Herz Imber described succinctly this profoundly spiritual quality of music:

[Only] music is able to speak to the inner spirit in its own language, whose words are expressions, and whose arguments are feelings. Only on the wings of music can we best make the flight to unseen space; and music is the only medium through which our astral body goes out from its clay prison and walks among the Celestials, in the realm of the ethereal universe. Music is the language spoken by the angels [72].

Truly effective sacred music can both foster and enhance a meaningful religious experience, making the transcendent present among the worshiping congregation. Indeed, liturgical language begs for musical presentation: as an aid to worship, music helps clarify the religious emotions and divine presence that holy words often fail to convey. And, as the sages maintained, only a prayer sung by a humble cantor, fully aware of his or her role as (imperfect) intermediary between the congregation and God, can reach its highest spiritual potential.

Notes

1. Rabbi Bachya ibn Pakuda, Duties of the Heart , vol. 2, trans. Daniel Haberman (NY: Feldheim Publishers, 1996), 589.

2. Jeanie Grenberg, Kant and the Ethics of Humility (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 133.

3. Augustine of Hippo: “Humility is the foundation of all the other virtues: hence, in the soul in which this virtue does not exist there cannot be any other virtue except in mere appearance.” Quoted in Judith Fitzgerald and Michael Oren Fitzgerald, Christian Spirit (Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom, 2004), 31.

4. Berakhot , 28b.

5. Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Insecurity of Freedom (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1966), 247.

6. Walter Orenstein, The Cantor's Manual of Jewish Law (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1994), xxiv.

7. Ibid., xx.

8. Abraham Joshua Heschel, “The Spirit of Jewish Prayer,” Journal of Synagogue Music , vol. 29, no. 1 (1989): 96.

9. Don E. Saliers, Music and Theology (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2007), 6.

10. Milton Steinberg, Basic Judaism (New York: Harcourt, 1947), 116.

11. Yebamot 64a.

12. Ta'anit 2a.

13. Abraham Joshua Heschel, “The Spirit of Jewish Prayer,” Journal of Synagogue Music , vol. 29, no. 1 (1989): 96.

14. Anselm of Canterbury (eleventh century), quoted in David Novak, “Is the God of the Philosophers That Which Nothing Greater Can be Conceived ,” Jewish Studies Quarterly , vol. 13, no. 3 (2006): 196-204.

15. Berachot 33b.

16. Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed I, ch. 59.

17. William Law, quoted in Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy (New York: Harper and Row, 1944), 216.

18. John Tauler, Spiritual Conferences , trans. and ed. by Eric Colledge and Sister M. Jane (Rockford, Il: Tan books and Publishers, 1978), 157.

19. Saliers, 72.

20. Steven S. Schwarzschild, “Speech and Silence Before God,” Judaism , vol. 10, no. 3 (1961): 204.

21. Orenstein, xx.

22. Heschel, “The Spirit of Jewish Prayer,” 89.

23. See, for instance, Ismar Elbogen, Jewish Liturgy: A Comprehensive History , trans. Raymond P. Scheindlin (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2003), 538, and Philip Birnbaum, Encyclopedia of Jewish Concepts (New York: Hebrew Publishing Co., 1979), 80.

24. The theme of humility is also expressed in the High Holy Day prayer Hineni he'ani mima'as (“Here I am, poor in worthy deeds”), in which the cantor states, more explicitly, his inadequacy before God. However, while this prayer is only recited annually, the Kaddish , which is read multiple times daily, is a more familiar and constant reminder of the virtue of humility in Jewish prayer.

25. Macy Nulman, The Encyclopedia of Jewish Prayer (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1993), 185.

26. Sotah 49a.

27. See David de Sola Pool, The Kaddish (Leipzig: Rudolf Haupt, 1909).

28. Elbogen, 80.

29. Ibid., 81.

30. See, for instance, references to the messianic age in the weekday Amidah (“standing prayer”).

31. Elbogen, 81.

32. Jeremy Schonfield, Undercurrents of Jewish Prayer (Oxford: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006), 306-307.

33. See Bronislaw Malinowski, “The Role of Magic and Religion,” in Reader in Comparative Religion: An Anthropological Approach , 4th ed., eds., William A. Lessa and Evon Z. Vogt (New York: Harper and Row, 1978), 37-46.

34. See A. R. Radcliffe-Brown, Structure and Function in Primitive Society (New York: Free Press, 1965).

35. Rudolph Otto, The Idea of the Holy: An inquiry into the non-rational factor in the idea of the divine and its relation to the rational (London: Oxford University Press, 1923), 17.

36. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, The Way of God , trans. Aryeh Kaplan (New York: Feldheim Publishers, 1988), 69.

37. Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), 30.

38. See Elie Munk, The World of Prayer: Volume I (New York: Feldheim, 1963).

39. Deflem, 14; Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Chicago: Aldine, 1969), 94-97, 125-130.

40. Victor Turner, Dramas Fields and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1974), 45-55.

41. Orenstein, xx.

42. Yehuda, Zvi. “The Dialectical Quality of Jewish Prayer: Appreciating the Paradox in the Style of Jewish Liturgy,” Journal of Jewish Music and Liturgy , vol. 25 (2002-2003): 27.

43. Turner, The Ritual Process , 94-97.

44. Jean-Baptiste Henri Lacordaire, quoted in Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy (New York: Harper and Row, 1941), 164.

45. Victor Turner, The Ritual Process , 95.

46. See Arnold Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (London: Routledge, 1960).

47. Victor Turner, The Forest of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual (Ithica, NY: Cornell University Press, 1967), 93-103.

48. Mathieu Deflem, “Ritual, Anti-Structure, and Religion: A Discussion of Victor Turner's Processual Symbolic Analysis,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion , vol. 30, no. 1 (1991): 13; Roger Schmidt, Exploring Religion , 2nd ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1988), 436.

49. Ibid., xxvi.

50. Zvi A. Yehuda, “The Dialectical Quality of Jewish Prayer: Appreciating the Paradox in the Style of Jewish Liturgy,” Journal of Jewish Music and Liturgy , vol. 25 (2002-2003): 22.

51. Berakhot 31a.

52. Benzion Miller, quoted in Gigi Yellen, “Scales out of Shul,” Hadassah Magazine , vol. 88, no. 9 (2007): 50.

53. William Sharlin, “Why Can't a Woman Chant Like a Man?,” in Jewish Sacred Music and Jewish Identity: Continuity and Fragmentation , eds. Jonathan L. Friedmann and Brad Stetson (St. Paul, MN: Paragon House, 2008), 93.

54. Quoted in Leo Landman, The Cantor: An Historical Perspective (New York: Yeshiva University, 1972).

55. Bachya Ibn Pakudah, Chovot ha-Levavot 8:2, 9.

56. Yehuda, 20.

57. Gersion Appel, “The Sheliah Tzibbur in Halakhah and Jewish Tradition,” Journal of Jewish Music and Liturgy , vol. 3, no. 1 (1979-1980): 5.

58. Heschel, The Insecurity of Freedom , 249.

59. Wilfred Wolfson, “Laws and Customs for the Sheli'ah Tzibbur According to the Arukh ha-Shulhan,” Journal of Jewish Music and Liturgy , vol. 14 (1991-1992): 4.

60. Ibid.

61. Norman Lamm, The Shema: Spirituality and Law in Judaism (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2000), 6.

62. Wolfson, 15.

63. Ibid, 7.

64. Ibid.

65. Solomon F. Rybak, “Minkowski's Eighteen Takkanot for the Cantorate,” Journal of Jewish Music and Liturgy , vol. 6 (1983-1984): 25.

66. Ibid.

67. Ibid., 27.

68. Ibid., 26.

69. Brad Hirschfield, You Don't Have To Be Wrong For Me To Be Right: Finding faith Without Fanaticism (New York: Harmony Books, 2007), 152.

70. Saliers, 9.

71. Oskar Sönhegen, “Music and Theology: A Systematic Approach,” in Joyce Irwin, ed., Sacred Sound: Music in Religious Thought and Practice (Chico, California: Scholars Press, 1983), 8.

72. Naphtali Herz Imber, “The Music of the Pslams,” Music: A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Art, Science, Technique and Literature of Music , vol. VI (1894): 571.

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