Modeh Ani

There’s a Hebrew prayer in Judaism that we are supposed to say upon waking up each morning. I’ve been saying it with my kids for years on the drive to school. We say it in Hebrew then our own loose translation of it, which is , ”Thank you, Hashem, for this beautiful day”. If it’s raining, sunny, or has other obvious defining characteristics we insert that adjective too. It’s a lovely tradition I started many years ago en route to preschool with my oldest. The ride to school is fast, but even if we could sneak in a line or two about how the rain is beautiful because it helps things grow, then I’d feel it was the right way to start the day. After all, what is prayer without proper intention, and there’s no better lens of gratitude than the pure mind of a child.

I’ve been thinking about this particular prayer lately; are we thankful that we didn’t die overnight or are we thankful to have another day to be alive? There’s a huge difference between both meanings. Most Jews I know are consumed with death. The fear level among the physically healthy is sadly staggering. Pretty much everyone I know assumes they’ll get cancer at some point, it’s just a matter of time. We buy cemetery plots by the bulk, as if shopping for a party at Costco. The family I was raised in loves obsessing about illness and death. No group of people jumps at the chance to participate in a hospital vigil more. They set up shop, bringing food, knitting, and whatever else needed to hunker down in a hospital hallway. It’s unfortunately part of the  post Holocaust trickle down affect, where the threat of death literally lurked in every corner. Since most people I know are Ashkenazi Jews from Eastern Europe, they remain traumatized by many facets of the war even decades later. It’s a combination of learned behavior and unintegrated pain and fear that has never been excised from these families. Different time, different knowledge, different emotional skill set, different priorities; I understand. However, the residual grim negativity and neuroses remains very much a thing. I too used to be obsessed with my own mortality. I lived in fear for the day when I or a loved one would be yanked from this life. That stopped once I began inner healing and grew to become in love not just with my own life, but with the gift of life in general. Obsessing about death is the mind’s way of preparing us for it, though of course that’s never possible. If we envision it then maybe the impact will be less shocking. We will see it coming. We will be on top of the terrible situation. It’s a pretty funny yet macabre scenario when someone dies in my neighborhood, and actual fights break out over which yenta will be the reigning queen of the shiva house. It’s unreal. A person just lost their life, the family is in the throes of grief, and certain women race to the finish line to gain control of the shiva meal schedule. They are addicted to the accolades so the self righteous impulsivity takes over.  It’s essentially zero perspective and incredible self absorption, under the guise of help. But I digress. Well, not really. There’s always more than one way to look at things. Am I helping this grieving family for the right reasons and don’t need public recognition for it, or do I need some warped form of attention? Am I opening my eyes each morning in wonder and loving awareness of life, or am I relieved I outran the Angel of Death after I passed out watching Bravo? Like all things, prayer comes from a place of love or fear. It’s loving our wondrous eyes (our eyes!!) and being grateful to use them for another 24 hours, as opposed to being frightened they won’t work. And if we did survive the night, then what for? To just trudge through the same cycle as per usual, only to go to sleep with the same fears over and over until it’s really over? It’s not enough to be thankful to wake up. It must be that we understand the purpose of life. If we don’t the words kind of land nowhere. The point of prayer is to connect, and connection comes from a deep source within us before it can be felt outwards. God is smart; He knows you’re glad to be alive. I don’t think He gave us these prayers to test our manners like a school marm. I believe they were given to us to think about why we say them. What are words without meaning? Not much. What is a day without meaning, or an hour? Again, not much. It’s not being alive that counts. It’s what we do with that fact that matters. This isn’t a rah rah post about empowerment. Quite the opposite; it’s a post about the bliss that stems from humility. We have a job to do, and it’s not doing errands and making the meeting. It’s not even your professional human job. Yes, those things are important and essential for life. Our professions help us contribute to our families and to others, but we weren’t put here just to do them.  I’ve heard Buddhist monks say that we must be tapped into the dharma as well as know our social security number. Both matter. One just matters more. So it’s not the inaction of not dying overnight that matters. We didn’t escape death. Those things aren’t up to us. It’s the action of honoring the joy of life, of doing and being good, of helping everyone and harming no one, and of relieving pain and suffering however we can. The intentions we have for praying will only really have the right ripple effect if we fully grasp the enormity of what we’re saying. God doesn’t need your words; He needs your presence. It’s why He put you here. I’m grateful you opened your eyes today. Thank you for seeing me and reading this. I see you too.