"Halleluja! Holy [expletive] !" -- Clark W. Griswold

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"Sing unto the Lord with the harp; with the harp and the voice of a psalm..."

-- Psalm 98

"For heights and depths no words can reach, music is the soul's own speech."

-- Anonymous

My favorite Psalm is 150, the end of the line, the final psalm (sounds like the title of a bad action flick-- Communion 4: The Final Psalm)


Psalm 150 includes the lines,
"Praise ye the Lord...
Praise him with the sound of the trumpet...
Praise him with the harp...
with timbrel and dance;...
stringed instrument;...
loud cymbals..."

In other words... start a one-man band, like Dick Van Dyke in "Marry Poppins."

("Oh, it's a jolly 'oliday wiv Moses...")

(ahem)

No, it means there's more than one way to skin a proverbial cat.

Or praise God.

You can sing, play the horn, shake your booty, or read a prayer silently.

There's more than one way to do EVERYTHING, and prayer is no exception.


This theory, and my patience, were put to the test two days ago.




Friday night, I prayed at an interesting place.

In Jerusalem, there are HUNDREDS of prayer groups every single Friday night, some in synagogues, some in homes. You walk down ANY street in this city, you will hear the sounds of davening.

Two days ago I went to a small minyan, in a basement, chairs in a big circle, about 5 drummers, people with no shoes who were playing the bongos, others were chanting and dancing like hippies at Woodstock... Phoebe from "Friends" would've been very comfortable.

I was not.

It was the Jewish Renewal movement personified.

I personally don't go for that.


I can be quite sarcastic, bitter and cynical.
I am reluctant to open up, make myself vulnerable
... hence, the humor.



Dveikut. ("dedication", meditation during intense prayer)

Ruakh. ("spirit", spirituality)

These do not come easily for me.

Once upon a time, they did...


But now... I am a cynic.


So, Friday night, I was not "into it."

For about an hour.


Until... they sang a Psalm (#98, for you sports fans keeping track), in Hebrew, in an old doo-wop style.

And they got me.

I realize, of course, that there is no "they"... that it was I... I got me (woah..., soak it in... dry off, let's continue).
I "got", I understood that you can feel what you want to feel, if you let yourself.

I closed my eyes, sang along, and (as that philosopher Eminem would say) started to "lose myself in the moment..."


And it may not have been the spirit of God.

In fact, I think it wasn't.

My own musical preference.
It was my personality.
It was my family.

When I was growing up, 1950s/60s era music was very popular in my house.
Never mind that I came of age in the 1990s...

It was something my whole family enjoyed.

And on Friday night, that music... took me back.


It was audio cassettes, birthdays, anniversaries when my brothers and I would rewrite lyrics of old 60s tunes to suit our parents, Mother's Day and we're singing "Runaround Sue" for our mom... who's name is not Sue, nor does she run anywhere... but we all like the same music.

It was the Prom scene in "Back to the Future"... my love of Bobby Darrin, Dion and & Belmonts and Danny & the Juniors.


And maybe THAT... is God.

Who can say?



Ten years ago I was on a bus with 30 of my classmates from high school, studying in Israel for the semester.

The first time our bus took us into Jerusalem, the Holiest City for Jews, the homeland for which our ancestors prayed and fought and died....

I started to cry.

And it wasn't for any of the above reasons.

I was listening to a CD.

A Green Day CD (by 11th grade I expanded a little from the '50/'60s rock 'n roll).

And it was playing the song "Time of Your Life."

(A great song, but certainly not cry-worthy)

So why was a crying?

Because the previous year, "Seinfeld" aired its final episode.
The second-to-last episode was a highlight reel, best-of show... and the last two minutes were silent, comprised of behind the scenes footage, still photos of the cast and crew... with the Green Day song "Time of Your Life" playing over it.

And hearing it again, on a bus, away from home, away from my family (with whom watching "Seinfeld" was more of a ritual than prayer ever was), my being in a foreign country...

made me cry.

Am I shallow? Materialistic? Like the characters on "Seinfeld?"

No.

I'm just a guy. Because like it or not, for myself and many other people my age, television and music have played a huge role in our lives, in our memories, and in our connections with other people.

Seinfeld and doo wop. My youth and family. Nice feelings. Nice associations.


And when I am emotionally moved... Damn, that's a nice feeling.

I feel alive.

I feel close to myself and my family.


And I feel close to God.