Summertime.. Time takes on a different quality. More relaxed. More expansive. Four weeks stretching out. Eight weeks before the Jewish holidays. Longer days. A chance to read. To write. To run.

In June I took a four-week class on Contemplative Jewish Prayer offered by the Institute of Jewish Spirituality as part of my own professional development. I am committed to the concept of life long learning and modeling my own learning, study and growth. It was online class with lots of time built in for reflection, meditation, practice. Because practice is important to learning a new form of prayer. It is even called “practice”.

I don’t know really what I was expecting. A way for me to davven? A chance to refresh my soul? Some new skills I could share with the congregation? A way to take our “Mishkan” initiative to the next level? I was excited to try something new. And to learn more about the Rabbi Kalonymus Kalmish Shapira, the Piaseczner Rebbe.

I had read part of his book, “Conscious Community” in rabbinical school and have ordered a copy of it because of this class. More on that later. I was anxious to learn his technique of prayer in light of his love of community. Perhaps, Reb Kalonymus is most known for his work in the Warsaw Ghetto, comforting his students, many of whom became orphans during the war. He accompanied his few remaining students on a train to concentration camps where he and the majority of his remaining students were murdered Twalina in the fall of 1943.

The class began with us watching a video on Sunday morning so we would be ready to begin our “practice” on Monday morning. The Paseczener Rebbe has what he calls a “Quieting Technique.”

It is not very complicated—that’s a good thing! And it fits well within my own spiritual practice. After studying some texts that one of his students wrote, it was time to try.

Just a few steps. Twenty minutes:

1. Sit. Find a comfortable, relaxed position. Most people sit with their feet on the floor, hands in their lap, shoulders relaxed and spine straight.
2. Be mindful. Observe your breath, thoughts, emotions and any connections between heart-mind-body-soul. Without judgment.
3. Holiness. Recite silently a word, verse, or phrase that will cultivate a sense of holiness within you. Give it your full intention and full attention.
4. Positive Quality. Recite a phrase you have chose to cultivate the positive quality you have elected to cultivate. Do it softly and gently, surrendering to the words.
5. Surrender. Sing “Show me Your Way, O, God. Horeinu HaShem Darkekha.
6. Rest. End by sitting in silence, resting in quiet trust.

The first day I found myself fighting against it. I had hoped that this class would provide instant tools that I could use with my congregation on Saturday mornings. This practice is an individual practice and not really for congregational use.

But spiritual practice is exactly that. Practice. It requires discipline. It requires work. And my prayer practice needed refreshing. And practically speaking, I paid for it. Maybe I’ll get something for me. Maybe that is the wrong approach. Am I supposed to get something out of prayer?

So I faithfully began to practice. To sit quietly. To notice what was coming up for me.

Meditation has always been difficult for me. I fall asleep. I am afraid of what might come up, the depth of the emotions. I worry that I won’t come back. I worry that I will start to cry and not stop.

But OK, I’m in. I’ll give it my best shot.

My word about holiness began simply as “Kadosh”, holy. In the second week I changed my word to “You are holy.” And as I meditating I realized that in English, which I was using, “You are holy,” isn’t clear. Does it mean, “You, G-d, are holy,” or is G-d saying to me, “You are holy.”

There was something very important, very powerful about that shift. That understanding that in fact, it can be both. G-d is holy and I am holy. It was a holy moment. It reflects the verse in Leviticus 19, “You shall be holy, because I the Lord, your G-d am holy.” But I don’t usually see myself as holy.

I had decided even before starting this class, that I would do one sermon for the high holidays on holy moments. It fits with my Tikkun Leil Shavuot study session on finding sacred time and place. So I have been collecting holy moments, stories of people being good, being holy.

I found as the week continued I found holiness everywhere I went. You will have to wait for the High Holidays to hear more about that.

One week we added inspiration from Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav. I have long incorporated his spirituality as part of my own. He struggled with depression but wrote extensively about joy. He taught that “Kol Ha’olam Kulu…All the world is a narrow bridge. The central thing is to not be afraid.” And he taught about the importance of spending time outdoors in nature pouring out our hearts to G-d.

I had wondered about that connection in the beginning part. Part of my morning ritual—spiritual practice if you will, based on Rebbe Nachman, is precisely that. Being outdoors, walking or running and pouring out my heart to G-d. I am much more able to focus on my connection to G-d when I am outside and alone, following Nachman’s practice. It is not unlike walking a labyrinth. I have enjoyed exploring walking meditations both, guided and unguided.

Over Shabbat I had the opportunity to teach Rebbe Nachman’s Kol Ha’olam Kulu in three modalities. At Shabbat on the Road in a neighborhood park there was a narrow bridge, so we crossed it and sang it. On Shabbat morning, I taught it inside as part of the Pesukei D’zimra and then used it as the end of the sermon. Finally, on Shabbat afternoon, I went walking with a dear friend, a black Baptist lawyer. I didn’t know she had a fear of heights. She was afraid to cross a bridge on our walk along the river. So I taught her about Rebbe Nachman!

I wondered about the difference between a silent practice and speaking the words out-loud. Sometimes I find it helpful to say the words out-loud. The root for this is a complicated argument in the Talmud, Berachot 15 which talks about whether your ear must hear what your mouth is saying in order to be fulfilled in your obligation to pray. It made sense to me and it mirrors my understanding of active listening and the therapeutic process. Having to say the words out-loud and having someone hear them concretizes them. Sometimes it feels like prayer when I pour out my soul.

I have been thinking a lot about hearing this summer. My husband is undergoing chemotherapy and has lost much of his hearing as a result. He is deeply spiritual. More so than me. It is part of why I married him and part of what I love about him. But if his ears can’t hear what his mouth is saying, I am sure that he is still praying!

The next week I had another holy moment. Early, early in the morning, I went walking with the dog. Silently around the block. It gave me the opportunity to think. To pray? To be grateful for the early morning coolness and the fresh air. In the back of my head I could hear the strains of Debbie Friedman’s version of Reb Nachman’s prayer. It had been a hard day. My husband had to return to the doctor with a foot infection. It was so swollen and painful he couldn’t walk, not even to the bathroom. He crawled. So I sat at the hospital trying to pray while he underwent a scan to make sure it was not a blood clot. It wasn’t. But I came up empty. Later I was dealing with a young woman at end of life who wanted to commit suicide. Again, I tried to pray. Again, I came up empty. Then I was listening to a friend who is dealing with sexuality issues. Again, I tried to pray. To center myself. And, again I came up empty.

Yet each of these moments were holy moments. And in each moment, even though it felt empty, it was enough.

Here is that waking/walking thought. Our practice in class has been to say, “May I be blessed with…,” what ever we feel we need. My usual practice is to pray for others. May my husband be blessed with courage and strength. May he be surrounded by love and a skilled and compassionate care team. May that young woman be blessed with peace. May my friend be blessed with assurance and safety.” Those are prayers.

I am not sued to praying for myself. How can I pray for myself when the needs of others are so great? Isn’t it selfish? Or is it like the oxygen mask. You have to pray for yourself before you pray for others.

The thought came while walking that if the goal of Jewish spirituality is unity with the Divine, or in Hebrew “devekut,” cleaving to the Divine, then we have to diminish ourselves. Yet, in a class on mussar, the development of character traits, we learned about balance when talking about humility. We need to be humble but not be door mats. So there is a tension and a need for balance. May I be blessed…may we all be blessed.

The last Shabbat of the class, it occurred to me that I am living out a Chasidic story told in a Reform Movement prayerbook. Paraphrased, “When asked what he did before he prayed, the rebbe answered, he prayed that he might be able to pray.” On Shabbat morning, when I walked up and down the pews, straightening the prayer books and getting the sanctuary ready, I am praying. I am praying that I might be worthy. That my prayers might be listened to. That my sermon might be meaningful. That I am enough.

The very last day of class, our good friend Jack, a Catholic priest, went to an ice cream social meet and greet for the new director of Interfaith Family Chicago. After it was over, we explored the Bahai Temple in Wilmette. Quite a fascinating structure. Beautiful. And the sanctuary, open to the public, is filled with peace. Each of chose a different place to sit. I tried to practice my practice.

What I received was “All is holy.” Like the prayer Yotzer Or which praises G-d for creating light and forming darkness, for making peace and creating all things. All is holy. All means all. It was yet another holy moment.