The life of a davening guy sure isn't easy, thought Dave Geiss in the middle of Pesukei d'Zimra. Now I'm two kapitalech behind. I thought for sure that I'd be only one behind at this point. It must have been the baal tefilla's Ashrei, it must have been a lot faster than usual. Well, I can skip the next two Hallelukahs to pull even, right? But you know, I'm really thinking of skipping three, to give me a little slack which I could invest in Az Yashir. I could squeeze in Yishtabach at the right time that way, instead of after Borchu. Man, what a fast Ashrei! I don't see a choice. With that kind of Ashrei, who knows how quick his Az Yashir's going to be?
This is what was passing for Dave's Pesukei d'Zimra kavanna today, and it wasn't much different than on other days, despite his resolve to daven better. He simply had yet to develop the practiced mental discipline to daven slowly in a fast minyan. But there was no better choice; his job and his community offered no viable alternatives other than davening at home.
Or just daven faster. Why not? Why bother trying to pronounce the words, when all you're thinking about is how fast everyone else is, how far behind you are, and what to leave out in order to get with-tzibur credit for Shemoneh Esrei? It was getting harder and harder to think of good answers to these questions.
Somehow, though, Dave got a little kavanna back at Shemoneh Esrei time. The silence in the shul often helped Dave with that, if only for a few minutes until Chazaras HaShatz, or maybe less, if someone's cell phone went off. Especially if they answered the phone.
Then Shemoneh Esrei was behind him, and he found himself in Tachanun. Long Tachanun. A typical long Tachanun, in which almost against his will, Dave skimmed like a Jet-Ski over the surface of its meaning.
Not as fast as the shaliach tzibur, though. Kaddish hit as Dave reached the phrase, “Nivhala nafsheinu meirov itzboneinu.” He wondered what that phrase meant, and whether it meant anything that his davening was suspended at that phrase. He had to know what it meant. But, since he somehow was davening from a Hebrew-only siddur that day, he couldn't just look across the page to read off the English. With the help of the Hebrew-English dictionary app on his archaic PDA, though, Dave arrived at the translation, “Our soul is panicking from so many neurons.”
Hmmm... Why should so many neurons lead to panic? Dave thought. And what does it mean for a soul to panic? He started to panic. Uh-oh, that's not good. Maybe I have too many neurons!
Panicking all the way, Dave rushed through what was left of Shacharis. How do I cut down on neurons? What if I don't? Wait, aren't neurons generally a good thing?
He didn't remember putting away his tefillin and tallis. He found himself gasping for breath at the Lisa and Morris Phelton Cubby Wall. That's where Yecho Chelrich found him as well.
“You don't look so good, Dave. What's up?”
“Something about the davening,” gasped Dave.
Yecho narrowed his eyes. “What about the davening?”
“N... n....” Dave paused to collect himself. “Neurons.”
“Neurons? Didn't you say it was something about the davening?”
“Yes.”
“What do neurons have to do with davening?”
“I was wondering the same thing myself. But here.” Opening his siddur to the page, Dave read, “'Nivhala nafsheinu meirov itzboneinu.'. What do you make of that?”
“What do you mean?” Yecho replied, a guarded expression on his face.
“I mean, when you say that phrase during Shacharis, what is your kavanna?”
“That's in the davening?”
“Yep, in long Tachanun.”
With a snap of the fingers, Yecho declared, “Oh, well, that explains it.”
Dave's eyebrows knitted into a querulous pattern. “Explains what?”
“Come on, Dave. Long Tachanun. Who actually puts his mind to what's in long Tachanun? Who has the time? I don't, that's for sure.”
“All right.” Turning the siddur to face Yecho, Dave pressed on. “But suppose you did? What do you make of that phrase -- 'Our soul is panicking from so many neurons.'? What does it mean to you?”
Yecho glared at Dave. “You're actually asking me about my thoughts about davening content?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don't!”
“Why not?”
“Because no one does! Davening's a private thing! What is it with you lately? How come you're so serious in shul now? You've got to lighten up a little.”
“That's just the trouble. I've been davening lightly for too long, and more and more it seems to me that it doesn't get the job done.”
“Job? Davening's not a job, it's a...”
“A what, Yecho?”
“Dave, let me give you some perspective here.” There was a hint of anger in Yecho's voice. “You're different now, and not in a good way. I'm telling you as a friend, people are starting to think you're weird. You're a distraction during davening, with those strange sounds and body movements. If you start getting on our cases with your provocative questions, prying into our private business, it might get ugly. My advice is to get normal again. You've had your fun.”
Dave hadn't looked at his davening this way before. “I'm bothering other people?” he said softly. “I don't want to do that.”
“Right. That's why I had to tell you. Good day.” Yecho shoved his tallis bag into his cubby and stomped away.
Feivel Murglewitz arrived to see Dave staring into his cubby, lost in thought. “Hey, what's the matter, Dave?”
With an introductory sigh, Dave listed the matters. “First it was falling behind in the davening again. Then panicking about neurons. Finally getting told off by Yecho.”
“Oh, don't listen to Yecho.”
“But he's saying it's not just him that thinks I'm davening weird.”
“I'll bet that what's really going on in his head is that he feels threatened by people taking davening so seriously.”
“You think so?”
“Sure. If you're not into davening seriously, then you don't want to see people who are, especially if they're like you in other respects. Plus, you give chizuk to those of us who do want to improve but haven't quite got around to it yet. So I say, keep it up. Now what's this about neurons?”
“You've got a siddur with English, don't you?”
“Yeah, here.”
Dave took the siddur from Feivel and flipped to Long Tachanun. “Right, well... Oh. It says 'sorrows', not 'neurons'. And here I was, coming up with various and sundry theories based on translating it as 'neurons'. All that mental activity was probably increasing my neurons, I feared, which was bringing me to the edge of panic. You can see how I would easily fall into that trap.”
“Not without thinking a lot more about it, which I am loathe to do, on account of what that will do to my own neurons.”
“Fair enough. Of course, I could have avoided the issue entirely if I had remembered to bring my Metsudah siddur and saw the 'sorrows' translation. Thanks for setting me straight, on that account and on my davening.” They shook hands.
“Glad to be of help.” With a check of his watch, Feivel added, “It's getting late. Gotta get going.”
“Yeah, me too, in a minute.”
Feivel headed off, while Dave mulled over the morning's events a little more. Boy, is davening complicated or what? So many parameters: speed, intensity, kavanna, halachas of davening. You have to get them all just right, because if you don't, it'll either be a bland experience to you or a distraction to someone else. And even if you get the right settings, if you stick with them then the Yetzer Hara can easily shift you into cruise control. Wish there was a way to optimize it. Maybe there's a calculus of davening...
Someone grabbed Dave by the shoulders and spun him around. “A calculus of davening, you say?” declared the man. “Tell me more!” Evidently the last part of what Dave was thinking found its way into his voice.
The man's face was familiar to Dave. He had seen him around the shul intermittently the last couple of months. But never with such a fiery look in his eyes. “I... I...”
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and index finger, and squeezing his eyes shut, the man announced, “Don't be apprehensive – Nikanoff is pensive!” Then he opened his eyes and stared.
The name rang a bell. “Wait, are you Malcolm Nikanoff? You recently moved into the Summers' old apartment, didn't you?”
“Yes, yes, but please call me Mal. Now, no more stalling. Give me details about the calculus of davening.”
“There aren't any more details to tell. The idea just occurred to me.”
“Oh, well that's sad. I was really hoping you could offer the means to improve my davening through science.”
“I wish I could, but the more I get into it, the more difficult the task grows.”
“Then the more imperative it is to find the solution! I thank you for giving me the start. So, if there's a calculus of davening, we'll want to take some derivatives, no? That means... that means... “ Mal took out a pencil and paper and hurriedly scribbled down some notes. “We need to define the dependent and independent variables, don't we? Then work out the equations. Find where the derivative equals zero... yes...” More scribblings. “Hmmm... Differentiate kavanna with respect to velocity, yes... You're onto something, you know.”
Dave shrugged. “Beginner's luck.”
“Don't be so modest! The possibilities are astounding! I need to get back to my lab and start number-crunching.”
“What was that all about?” asked Baruch Shplitz, who suddenly materialized next to Dave.
Dave watched Mal lumber away. “I don't quite know.”
“That's that new guy Mal, isn't it?”
“Yeah.” Something that Mal said stuck in Dave's mind. “He was going to differentiate.”
“Differentiate? Like, in math?”
“Yes, but... That's the thing I keep running into. Differentiation.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I don't know.” Dave turned to Baruch. “Tell me, was your davening different today than it was yesterday?”
“Well, yeah. Today I had to leave out three kapitels Tehillim during Pesukei d'Zimra, yesterday only two.”
“Okay, but what about on a deeper level, the effect it had on you?”
“I'd prefer not to go there today.”
“That's the thing. I want my davening to be different than what it used to be. I want it to be different today than yesterday. Each day it should be different.”
“That is a noble aspiration.”
“Yes, but it also scares me. If my davening is different, and it's worth its salt, don't I become different?”
“Sounds right. So you are saying...?”
“Well, this is a life-long thing. If it really works, I'll keep becoming different from what I was. So, how much difference can I handle? How much can I tolerate? And how much can others tolerate in their relationship to me?”
Baruch smiled. “I think you'll figure that out when you get there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I say, go for it. As they say in Spain, vive la difference.”
“Isn't it France where they say that?”
“France, Spain, what's the difference?”
