This Elul, in one of our prayer and song learning sessions, we spent some time with the ‘Amida of the Mousaf service of Rosh Hashana. Mousaf (also spelled Mussaf) is the aptly named prayer service of Shabbat and festivals. Mousaf comes from the Hebrew root יסף (yud-samekh-feh) which means « to add »  or « to join » and this is based on the additional sacrifice which was brought on Shabbat and on festivals in the earliest iterations of Judaism where physical offering (animals, grain and wine, incense) was our primary way of trying to bridge earthly and Divine realms. As material sacrifice became increasingly less possible - and perhaps also less desirable - our earliest rabbinic ancestors moved towards the practice of offering words, which would eventually become the core elements of synagogue-based prayer service. Notably, one of these elements is the ‘Amida (which takes its name from the upright position one assumes while saying it. More about what upright means below). The proto-rabbis mapped the prayer service times onto the rhythm of sacrifices, which is how we end up with three daily services during the week - morning, afternoon, and evening - and an additional prayer offering on Shabbat and festivals. 

Keeping in mind that home-based prayer and other offering has always been part of our traditions (being more accessible, including and especially to women and others who aren’t adult men, these offerings are unsurprisingly less widely regarded than collective and synagogue-based prayer),  the ‘Amida together with the Shema are considered the « essential » elements of Jewish prayer service. The ‘Amida is at once rigid and flexible - the beginning and end sections always remain (basically) the same, and what happens in between depends on when and where we find ourselves at any given moment in the cycle of the Jewish calendar. 

These changes to the ‘Amida during Shabbat, festivals, and collective fast days, not only reflect the turning of space-time, but also serve to prevent us from getting too comfortable - or even complacent - in our prayer offerings. Even for those who are very familiar with the ‘Amida in its many forms, the shifts in the ‘Amida — what we ask for and how, where we are directing our kavaanot (intentions, attentions) — necessarily mean that we cannot offer our words by rote. Rather, we must bring our offerings with some kind of presence - and presence is not inherently comfortable. 

There is, of course, a pretty direct correlation between presence and comfort - the more comfortable we are, the more likely it is we are (or could be) present. In many ways this makes sense! For most of us, it’s hard to imagine being very present when we are uncomfortable. We tend to distance and distract ourselves in moments of discomfort; when discomfort is prolonged and/or complicated, we may dissociate. 

While there’s no shame in the essential human instinct to move away from what doesn’t feel good and towards what does, it’s likewise essential that we recognize the ways in which systems of domination — fascism, colonialism, capitalism… — are designed to warp and weaponize everything, including comfort. We see this on every level, from the individual to the institutional to the global. The comfort (such as it is) of dominant groups as a driving force leads to the discomfort (and, more importantly, the destruction) of everyone and everything else. This is the false comfort of idolatry. This kind of comfort will never beget presence — indeed, it actively negates, and consumes, presence. 

In the weeks leading up to Rosh Hashana, comfort is actually a theme evoked in our textual tradition. From the Shabbat after Tisha b’Av, and for the seven weeks following, the Torah cycle includes Haftara readings from the prophet Isaiah (and one reading from the prophet Yeremiyahu) which focus on consolation and hope in the face of uncertainty. The consolation spoken of here isn’t (despite some of the « G!d as patriarch » language) the patronizing or pampered kind. Rather, it’s grittier — grief-filled and with the instructions to « shake it off » and try again. We are reminded in these Haftarot that we have agency, that we are active participants in our own comfort. At the same time, we are also reminded that we are not alone in our endeavours, and that consolation requires collective presence (in relationship with the Presence of the Divine). This orientation towards security rather than complacency carries us through to Yom Kippour when we again read from the words of Isaiah and are reminded that our own comfort can never be truly possible if it comes on the backs of others. 

This brings us back to the ‘Amida of Rosh Hashana Mousaf. One of the most complex versions of the ‘Amida, it includes three lengthy sections — malkhouyot (sovereignties), zikhronot (remembrances), shofarot (shofars) — each of which could be entire rituals unto themselves. Gone is the flow of the weekday or Shabbat ‘Amida. Instead, there is a sort of staccato to this offering, one which quite literally culminates in the broken blasts of the shofar — followed by a final unbroken note. We do all kinds of things during this Mousaf ‘Amida that we normally do not do - we sing, we call for the shofar, we interact with one another far more than we otherwise ever do during what is usually a fairly structured moment of quiet contemplation. We reach outside of individual reflection and actively seek connection. This version of the ‘Amida, with all of its once-a-year-ness pushes us towards presence and asks for a kind of special attention. Those of us who have a daily or ongoing with the relationship with the ‘Amida may find ourselves startled by the arrhythmic and unusually outward nature of this particular offering. Those of us who generally choose to offer an ‘Amida that is not based in the standardized, fixed liturgy may find ourselves pulled towards the group in ways we normally aren’t. We grieve our familiar impulses. Nothing here is by rote - and, at least for many of us, that is uncomfortable. And while it is understandably tempting to move away from this feeling, to emotionally and spiritually put up our hands in a kind of defensive reflex, to turn away, to dissociate, we are given another option. We can instead move toward what we initially experience as discomfort, putting out our hands in a kind of connective reflex, supporting one another in practicing presence. The ‘Amida, after all, is a space of practice. 

And so the Mousaf ‘Amida of Rosh Hashana is not only an offering from ourselves — but also to ourselves. This elaborate service affords us a prolonged moment to practice being uncomfortable and being present at the same time. This is the kind of practice that collapses the binary between comfort/discomfort, presence/absence; it’s a kind of practice that actually expands our capacity to experience, and to actively participate in what we experience - individually and collectively. Which, as it turns out, is a necessary capacity now perhaps more than ever before. To paraphrase our dear friends and teachers in the band Brivele, « if we can’t figure out how to support each other in remaining present while uncomfortable, how do we expect to continue doing what it takes to free Palestine? » This Mousaf ‘Amida invites us to be held in the messy work of being where and when we are, providing us a relatively* safe container to be confused, annoyed, angry, grief-filled curious, excited, joyful… We are offered time and space to (you knew it was coming) « forget our perfect offering » and stick around to become familiar with what else can be possible if we are willing to do the uncomfortable work of finding out. 

May the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts be in service of the uncomfortable pursuit of freedom. For Palestine, for all. 

Shana tova

*recognizing that religious and spiritual trauma is real, especially under fascism and zionism, and that for some of us communal prayer space may not currently feel like - or be - a safe(r) container