Let’s all pray online. Who’s ridiculous idea was that?

Have you ever been guilted into praying? Or worse – forced?

I went to hasmonean girls school so this was a totally normal part of my life for 5 years. But since my escape from that dark prison back in 1995, i’ve come to realise how utterly weird this is. Surely prayer is both personal and voluntary?

In the last month I have received chain letters (yes I also thought those things went out in the 90’s) via whatsapp asking me to pray for people (who I dont know) with cancer and several requests to join in with tehillim yachad, a group asking people to recite a psalm (for people who I do actually know.)

So until now, prayer, the last form of meditation considered kosher enough for the religious community, has become some stressful screen – related activity which can be ticked off along with other things on our task lists. Prayer – previously an option to stop, be truly mindful and just … NOT LOOK AT A SCREEN ….. to actually take time to breathe. Relax the thinking mind. Commune with the higher being. Etc.

And some idiot went and invented an app for it.

For Gods sake.

What are these people thinking???

The worst part of it is, it puts you under immense time pressure. I tested it when a friend asked me to pray for her mother (didn’t initially tell me it was for her mother, just sent me the link with a hebrew name I did not recognise. Can you imagine finding out in this way? When did this become normal?). So this link –  you click on it and the app finds you a relevant psalm, gives you about 30 seconds to speed read it, before it resets itself. If you manage to gabble it off in the alloted time it then asks you what extra good deed you want to sign up for (a nice idea, if you are about 7) before finally releasing you.

So there I am, circa 6:15 am, Husband away, two small people crawling over me attempting to say this prayer first thing before another 3 people require my attention, and before I need to manage the morning diabetes rollercoaster which is always impossible to juggle even if Husband is home but of course I cant say it fast enought and I keep getting interrupted before the end so the bloody thing keeps timing out and resetting itself.

A deeply spiritual and mindful experience that was.

In the end, after saying about 17 half psalms, I waited for it to re-set itself to something about 5 lines long, and that was that. Didn’t sign up for a good deed. Figured I would be spontaneous. How on earth can you plan something like that without doing something totally cliched?? Is nothing sacred??

I can’t tell you how irritating I found the entire thing. But the chain letter was worse. “Please pray or the chain will be broken”?? So now we have to make people feel bad if they don’t want to pray, not to mention the people who cant because they are busy doing lesser important things…. such as…um I dont know… caring for small children??

Call me old fashioned, but I thought of prayer as one of the last remaining truly mindful activities that humans do. Alone. To be at one. Or perhaps with other humans. In order to support each other. If it’s something we have to force or guilt people into doing, ON THEIR PHONES???? then who are we actually doing it for?

Which brings me to another (highly controversial, and yes I am aware it’s the night before yom kipur) issue. People who offer to pray for my diabetic child.

I have no issue with people who choose to be religious. Believe me. What angers me is when people use it to their own gain, and then pretend its a religious decision. Or use it raise themselves above others.

My son does not, in my humble opinion, need people to pray for him. What he does need is a supportive, loving family, and a helpful community. Praying for him might make other people feel better, but in practical terms, I struggle to believe it truly helps him. If these praying people really want to help, then perhaps just … ask him how he’s getting along? What he enjoys doing? What frustrates him? Or offer to buy him something helpful like a new bike, to enourage his desire and need for exercise? Or offer to help us manage it?

When he got his diagnosis, a friend of mine on a committee for our yeshuv, a group of people all looking to fill their time with activities asked the members if they would be able to help us. An hour here or there to help me at busy times when  I was simultanously cooking and caring for 4 – then 5 – small kids and getting to grips with doing blood tests and administering insulin all whilst heavily pregnant/breastfeeding. Not one person was available. A room full of (presumably bored?) people, and nobody could spare the time.

I’m sorry to say this but hidden chesed (i.e. helping people behind closed doors) is not a popular activity. Rambam was spot on with his 8 levels of tzedaka…. truly helping someone and not receiving any glory…. is the most true form. And very rare. Even among the religious.

However, I do have a volunteer, 2 hours or so a week, who comes to me through another channel. Em la’em (mother to mother), an organisation I encouraged her to join when she was retiring. Little did I know she would become my volunteer! After the standard 3 months was up she decided to stay on. Her job is… well to help me do all the stuff I usually do. Stuff no one else really wants to do. Help cook and clear lunch. Take my toddler to the toilet if I cant (no glory in that job I can assure you), hang laundry. Help me be available to my kids. Encourage me to sit and eat. Etc.  In other words, pure charity. She gets nothing in return,  not even an annual thank you … which our yeshuv has organised to thank other volunteers doing more visible work. By all accounts she is invisible. And she’s modest so she would be very embarassed if she ever saw this. But to my mind, what she does is far more thoughtful, helpful and meaningful than anyone dismissing my life situation with an offer to add him to their tehillim list. “Prayer Done. Tick. Laters.”

If this sounds ungrateful then I am truly sorry to all those who had good intentions, but as I recall, prayer alone doesn’t get you in the good book. Even with the wonderful app.

It’s right there in the tefillah, in bold print.