Rosh Hashanah Celebrates the Gift of Free Will
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When we step into prayer, we step into relationship—with God, with our people, and with the deepest parts of ourselves.
At life’s most fragile moments—whether at the hospital bedside of a loved one or before stepping into a career-defining meeting—our hearts instinctively reach upward. We whisper words, sometimes clumsy, sometimes eloquent, always yearning to connect. Yet Judaism insists that prayer is more than a spontaneous plea for help. It is a discipline, a rhythm woven into the fabric of daily life. The synagogue, the siddur, and the structured prayers are not meant to suppress our raw cries but to refine them—channeling impulse into intention, and longing into lasting relationship.
Is prayer simply the reflex of the desperate, or is it the heartbeat of a spiritual life? Why ask when God already knows? To wrestle with these questions is to uncover the true essence of Jewish prayer—not as a ritual for God’s sake, but as a mirror for our own souls, shaping who we are and who we hope to become.
Although prayer includes praise and thanks, the most common form is request. The Amida, the central prayer of every service (literally “the standing”), is filled with petitions for livelihood, health, safety, and other necessities. Yet this raises a dilemma: if God is omniscient and omnipotent, He already knows our needs. And if He orchestrates all events, what does asking accomplish?
Prayer is not for God’s sake, but for ours.
Judaism’s answer is profound. Prayer is not for God’s sake, but for ours. Human life operates on two planes—the physical and the spiritual. We seek wisdom, meaning, and love, yet must also work, pay bills, and handle chores. Spiritual growth means linking the mundane with the transcendent. A job, for example, can be infused with spirituality by conducting business honestly, supporting family and community, and treating coworkers with respect. Every action a person does, even the seemingly trivial and meaningless, can take on a deeper meaning.
To help us make this connection, God created a system in which prayer enhances the success of our endeavors.1 If asking for something from God increases the likelihood of it occurring, the relationship between the seemingly mundane and God will become dramatically more interconnected. If one prays before a business deal, it becomes harder to ask God’s blessing on dishonest actions.2 Bringing God into the business world should make the entrepreneur stop and think about what is their motivation to make money. Prayer helps to reframe one’s goals: not “I want a nicer car than my neighbor,” but “I want to support my family and contribute to meaningful causes.”3
God already knows what we need, but we don’t necessarily know. Prayer is designed to open our eyes, not His. When we make requests, we must also ask ourselves: why do I want this? A bonus can be used for a meaningful vacation to renew family bonds, not just for social media posts. Asking God to heal someone prompts reflection on their potential to live a full, impactful life. Prayer deepens sensitivity, transforming requests into a tool that links every aspect of existence back to God.4
This concept is reflected in the Hebrew word used for prayer, tefilla or hitpallel (תפילה, התפלל). The root of this word is pillel (פלל), which means to judge. When praying we are judging ourselves, determining our needs, examining our priorities and unearthing our inner motivations.
If prayer is for self-reflection, why is it so structured? Why not pray whenever one feels the need?
The answer lies in two forms of prayer. Sicha (שיחה) means inner meditation or spontaneous expression5—saying what one feels in the moment. Tefilla (תפילה), as mentioned above, is related to “judging” (פלל). If one judges themselves, and discovers they aren’t feeling what they should be, those feelings need to be created and cultivated. The less one feels like praying, the more prayer is needed.6 Just as exercise strengthens the body through routine and discipline, prayer strengthens the soul through consistency. At first it may feel forced or frustrating, but with time it becomes natural and deeply rewarding.
Morning prayer frames the day, afternoon prayer injects perspective into daily activity, and evening prayer provides reflection.
Jewish life therefore mandates three daily prayers: Shacharit (morning), Mincha (afternoon), and Arvit/Maariv (evening).7 Morning prayer frames the day, afternoon prayer injects perspective into daily activity, and evening prayer provides reflection. This rhythm also parallels life: the energy of youth, the steadiness of adulthood, and the reflection of later years. Daily prayer mirrors the arc of a well-lived life, ensuring each stage is infused with meaning.8
A large portion of the Torah details the system of animal offerings in the Tabernacle and later the Temple, which lasted until the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE9—nearly 1,400 years. Much of the Mishna and Talmud describe these rituals, and Jewish prayer today is modeled after them. Jewish prayer today serves as a replacement for animal offerings,10 and follows the structure and timing of the daily schedule of offerings in the Temple.11
To understand the connection between prayer and animal offerings, you need to understand the meaning of “sacrifice”, a misleading English word that suggests appeasement of a wrathful deity. God doesn’t need anything from us. We cannot manipulate God or soothe His anger with tributes.12
The Hebrew word for offerings, korban (קרבן), means “to draw close.” An animal offering can embody several purposes, all under the overarching to bring one closer to God.
An offering may represent a person who once lived a sinful lifestyle but is now committed to better behavior. In this case, the offering becomes a physical metaphor for that person’s body and life-energy being placed on the altar fire, symbolizing God’s spiritual energy. The ritual is meant to stir the sinner’s heart, inspiring them to embrace their new path of ascent toward God, just as the animal representing them ascended on the altar.
An offering can also be a joyous expression of an existing relationship with God. Parts of the animal are offered in devotion, while most of the meat is shared in a festive meal with family and friends. Offerings can give thanks to God or mark life-cycle events, such as the birth of a child. Every holiday, and even Shabbat, has its own specific offerings, each with unique details and rules corresponding to its message.13
The unifying theme is that the animal serves as a symbol of the person making the offering.14 A living being is used precisely because it provides the most direct and visceral metaphor for human life, expressing devotion to God in a way words cannot.15 Alongside animals, other staples of human life—bread, oil, and wine—are also offered, since they sustain and energize life itself.16
A Temple offering, then, is a tangible expression of longing, devotion, or the desire to deepen one’s relationship with God. Similarly, prayer functions as a physical act: by verbally expressing one’s needs and feelings, a relationship with God becomes more concrete and less abstract. Therefore, during prayer one should speak17 (albeit quietly, to maintain privacy) to God, while focusing on timely, specific matters.18 Just as Temple offerings followed a structured series of steps that still allowed room for personal meaning, prayer is built on an ancient text designed to support genuine self-expression.
The Siddur provides a framework within which individuals can connect personally. Structure is not a barrier to feeling—it is the means of creating it.
This structure has a clear advantage. A person may want to feel contrition or joy but not naturally experience those emotions. The offering, through its form, helps shape and awaken them. Likewise, someone may struggle to articulate themselves in prayer or may not even feel the need to reach out to God. By using a fixed text that encompasses the core ideas of prayer, and by committing to regular recitation, one gains the best chance of experiencing the essence of prayer—the living sense of a relationship with God. The Siddur provides a framework within which individuals can connect personally. Structure is not a barrier to feeling—it is the means of creating it.
The synagogue service and the siddur (prayerbook) contain contributions from every major era of Jewish history. Moses initiated weekly public Torah readings19 and composed some blessings.20 King David gathered some of the greatest writings of his time into the Psalms,21 which now form a substantial portion of the siddur. After the destruction of the First Temple in the 6th century B.C.E., an assembly of scholars and prophets composed the Amidah22—the silent prayer that stands as the centerpiece of every service—along with other blessings. This marked the close of the prophetic era, and its authors sought to preserve the spiritual essence of their time for future generations.23 They accomplished this through the text they left behind.
At the end of the Second Temple era, the text was expanded24 and edited,25 in parallel with the beginnings of the written Oral Torah, which would later become the Talmud. Later additions were also made, such as Kabbalat Shabbat, the service that welcomes Shabbat, compiled in Tzefat in the 1500s during a flourishing period of Kabbalistic study. Thus, the siddur carries within it the achievements of every stage of Jewish spiritual history.
The siddur holds immense scholastic and spiritual depth. One Jewish thinker26 compared it to a telecommunications network: countless engineers and builders are required to make a cell phone conversation possible, but once the system is built, one need only pick up the phone and dial. Similarly, the siddur embodies thousands of years of contributions from the greatest Jewish minds and souls. Anyone can simply open it and use it to speak to God. Of course, one can converse with the Creator without it, but the siddur is a tool too valuable to set aside. Delving into its depths may require effort, but that effort yields powerful instruments for spiritual growth.
The most powerful form of prayer is communal service.27 When people gather with shared intentions of self-improvement and a desire for closeness to God, their prayers gain exponential strength.28 Individual shortcomings are diminished, while common goals are reinforced. A wholesome community is the greatest builder of love and meaningful relationships, which is why praying in a synagogue—and investing effort and resources into synagogue life—is so valuable.
Prayer is a personal tool to develop an optimal relationship with spiritual values and with God. Consistent prayer allows us to imbue ourselves with the values and attitudes we would like to live by so that we can lead the ethical and meaningful lifestyle we seek.
When we go to a synagogue and participate in the prayer service, we are connecting with like-minded peers and using the texts of our unimaginably rich history to further one goal. Becoming the best version of ourselves.
By praying regularly, both alone and with community, we remind ourselves that life is not random, that every moment carries purpose, and that we are never truly alone. When we step into prayer, we step into relationship—with God, with our people, and with the deepest parts of ourselves. And in that space, we discover that prayer is not only about asking for what we want, but about becoming who we are meant to be.
