Sermon Archives

Contranyms

Contranyms, sometimes called “Janus words”  are words that mean the same as their opposite - like the figure Janus in Greek mythology who had two faces that looked in opposite directions. 

To bolt is to secure something to prevent escape…and it means to escape.

Consulting means soliciting advice and offering advice. 

Cleaving is severing and also attaching to something else.

Sanctioning is approving and punishing some behavior. 

A citation is a commendation and is also a mark of condemnation.

Hebrew too has many contranyms.  The three-letter root Het, Tet, Aleph can mean to sully something by sin or it can mean to cleanse something.   Shin, resh shin can mean to uproot something or it can mean to take root.  Kuf resh bet is to be close or to engage in battle. Nun shin kuf is a weapon or a kiss.

And, Rabbi Ilai Ofran notes that in Parashat Toldot there is a profound contronym. 

                                                               וַיֶּעְתַּ֨ר יִצְחָ֤ק לַֽה׳ לְנֹ֣כַח אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ כִּ֥י עֲקָרָ֖ה הִ֑וא וַיֵּעָ֤תֶר לוֹ֙ ה׳ וַתַּ֖הַר רִבְקָ֥ה אִשְׁתּֽוֹ׃

Yitzhak pleaded, וַיֶּעְתַּ֨ר יִצְחָ֤ק to the Lord on account of his wife for she was barren and God  וַיֵּעָ֤תֶר לוֹ֙ and God responded to him and Rivkah his wife became pregnant. 

The same word, Ayin, Tov, Resh, means to plead from God in prayer, and it means for a prayer to be answered. One word with two opposite meanings. And while all of the opposite “Janus words” cannot be redeemed, here we can try thinking differently. Instead of one word with two meanings, there is one word that includes the entire encounter between a person and God in the prayer experience in which the direction in which a request is made or answered is less important than the relationship and sense of presence that is created by reaching out. 

One of the great “gedolim” of the atheists back in the 19th century conducted a study of Queen Victoria and her health along with the health of the other  members of the royal family. He concluded that prayer could not be effective since the royal family were not any more healthy than any other family despite the fact that millions of people across the British Empire prayed each week for their health. 

One Irish theologian responded by noting that the study had forgotten to take account of all the counter-prayers by the Irish…

However, if we understand that the prayer experience is an opportunity for Atirah, ayin, tov, reish, then the experience is about connection and presence rather than about an answered request. We intuitively understand this which is why none of us would expect the British royal family to be healthier than otherwise expected due to the prayers of British subjects. 

                                                                וַיֶּעְתַּ֨ר יִצְחָ֤ק לַֽה׳ לְנֹ֣כַח אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ כִּ֥י עֲקָרָ֖ה הִ֑וא וַיֵּעָ֤תֶר לוֹ֙ ה׳ וַתַּ֖הַר רִבְקָ֥ה אִשְׁתּֽוֹ׃

Avraham prayed, for years, to have a child of his own but never showed an awareness of Sarah’s infertility. In fact, his first response to learning that Sarah will have a child is to express concern that Yishmael will be displaced. And Rachel’s infertility never seems to evoke any existential concern on the part of Yaakov who has child after child with his other wives and concubines. Yaakov, it seems, only appreciates the significance of his beloved Rachel as a mother after she has died and his love for Rachel is transferred to her children Yoef and Binyanim. And, Elkanah, famously, is callous when Hannah shares her deep and inconsolable wish for a child. 

Yitzhak is the only person in Tanakh who prays for his spouse to have a child. Yitzhak’s prayer represents how Atirah does not only build a connection between us and the Divine, but also is a way to reinforce and instantiate the love and concern that we have for one another. That’s true for a spouse who may be suffering in ways that are hidden even to themselves. It’s true for our neighbors who are suffering from illness or professional challenges. It’s true for our brothers and sisters in captivity in Gaza. 

Prayer creates bonds of concern and love, awareness and acknowledgment between people who pray on behalf of one another. 

                                                                 וַיֶּעְתַּ֨ר יִצְחָ֤ק לַֽה֙ לְנֹ֣כַח אִשְׁתּ֔וֹ כִּ֥י עֲקָרָ֖ה הִ֑וא וַיֵּעָ֤תֶר לוֹ֙  ה וַתַּ֖הַר רִבְקָ֥ה אִשְׁתּֽוֹ׃     

Yitzhak is described as praying, “l’nokhah,” his wife. This word, “l’nokhah,” is most commonly understood to mean “on behalf” or “for” – Yitzhak prayed for Rivka. But its most literal meaning is, “in the presence of” and this meaning was picked up by the Midrash and later quoted by Rashi. Yitzhak prayed in the presence of Rivka. In Rashi’s words, “Yitzhak stood in one corner, and Rivka in another corner, and they prayed.”

When people pray in the awareness of one another’s needs and out of concern for one another. When people pray in the same place - each in his or her own space in the room - when we davven with a goal of “atirah” the sense of presence and connection that unites humanity with the Divine, the result is a community.

 When I was fifteen years old, my father died suddenly. Like many mourners, I went to shul to say kaddish. I had grown up attending shul with my parents only three or four times a year and was unfamiliar with even basic weekday tefilot.  I came to shul, initially, to say Kaddish, but met a community there of kind and caring people. I learned the rhythms and patterns of Jewish life from those people and found that being in a sacred place and standing alongside good people helped elevate my tefilot into a daily opportunity to feel God’s presence and to enjoy the benefits of community. When my year of Kaddish ended. I saw no reason to stop praying alongside others in shul. And, like many of you, I have never stopped. 

Thanksgiving, in recent years, has reminded Americans of the challenge of sitting around a table and talking with family and friends who see the world, or talk about the world in radically different days. Whether it is the proverbial “racist uncle” or the stereotypical “activist niece” when our political and cultural divides seem to be fraught with so much moral valence it can be impossible and even undesirable to bracket those differences in order to chitchat about turkey roasting techniques or whether cranberry crisp is an entree or a dessert. 

Communal tefilah can offer a way to form and cultivate a diverse community when other forms of communication seem impossible. I can pray with people with whom I cannot talk because two daveners can say the same words and have two different kavvanot, or intentions, in mind. And the experience itself of standing alongside people who think and vote differently than you do can itself sustain a diverse community as we are reminded of some common dreams and hopes and prayers that can transcend even vast political divides. 

If you sit next to someone at your house-of-worship who voted differently than you in the 2024 elections, you are most likely attending a Modern Orthodox shul. We are possibly the most politically diverse denomination of any American religion. I don’t have to tell you how that can be challenging. But I can share that on some of the most politically divisive and intense days of the past decade, I have found solace and grounding in knowing that the good people who stood alongside me to recite the amidah had different evaluations of current events than I did, but that all of us were faithful Jews trying to respond in good faith to the demands of the Torah and to fulfill its mitzvot. 

In classic Hebrew, a Jewish community was known as a “kehilla kedoshah” a “sacred community” a term that foregrounds the goals and characteristics that our communal life should foster. 

In a kehila kedosha, the friendship and support that we extend to one another is expressed through Shabbat and holiday hospitality, hospital visits, baby meals, and prayerful pleading in support of our friends and neighbors. 

In a kehila kedosha each additional man, woman, or child who joins us at communal tefilah enhances the experience of everyone else who is in the room because each person’s voice contributes to a stronger chorus and each person’s worries and love and concern contributes to a stronger web of prayer. 

In a kehila kedosha no woman who recites mourners' kaddish should stand all by herself in an otherwise empty Azarat Nashim. In a kehila kedosha, each person worried about an aging and frail parent should be able to quietly recite their name when we pause in the Misheberakh for Holim without overhearing the distracting conversation of their shul neighbors who seemingly have no worries or need to include any names in the prayer.  

If you, like me, find comfort even in the saddest or most frightening or most confusing moments of life, in the knowledge that your next opportunity to stand in prayer and in the presence of God is already on your schedule, then let’s build a kehila kedosha where everyone is invited to partake of those moments of trasncendene and presence. 

When you close your eyes and recite the amidah, I do not recommend that you have a clear expectation that God will solve your problems for you. But the awareness that we do not face our problems  alone can be a source of strength and comfort. 

Prayer does not seem to operate as a soda machine where one can insert a coin, push a button to make a request, and hear a loud thump after a few seconds when the soda that we’ve asked for  falls to the bottom of the machine. Prayer does not always directly meet our needs. Prayer is itself a need. Human beings need connection. We need connection with one another and we need occasions where we can sense being in the presence of the Divine. Prayer as “atirah” meets that deep human need in a way that can sustain us and sustain our community.