The Talmud Makkos 11a teaches that, since the fate of the rotzeach b’shogeg, unintentional murderer, was dependent upon the Kohen Gadol’s longevity, there was fear that the rotzeach would pray for the early demise of the Kohen Gadol. Once the Kohen Gadol died, the murderer would be free to leave the ir miklat, city of refuge. To circumvent their prayers, the mothers of the Kohanim Gedolim would furnish the murderers with food and clothing to keep them happy and satisfied, so that they would not pray for the death of their sons. Why did the Kohen Gadol not personally pray for longevity? His prayer for life would certainly be as effective as the murderer’s prayer for his death. Perhaps this is why he had been elected as Kohen Gadol. He was a holy person to whom life was certainly quite important. He realized, however, that, by praying for life, he was essentially praying for the many unintentional murderers to be doomed to a life of exile away from family and friends. I guess the Kohen Gadol was such a person that “living at the expense of another Jew’s pain” was not something he felt warranted his prayer. If Hashem allowed him to live, if his personal merit outweighed the prayers tendered by the murderers – good. If not, well, that was his lot. It came with the territory. Nonetheless, he could not allow his personal prayer to have a detrimental effect on another Jew.
We derive from here the incredible power of prayer. The Kohen Gadol is a holy man. The murderer is an exiled Jew, who is in his position for a reason. True, the murder had been unintentional, but it was no accident. One is not sent to the ir miklat for an accident. He is sent for unintentional murder, which covers a gamut of ambiguous circumstances. This man is certainly not on a spiritual par with the Kohen Gadol; yet, the Kohen Gadol fears his prayers (or, at least, the Kohen Gadol’s mother fears for her son’s life). Karov Hashem l’chol kor’av l’chol asher yikre’uhu b’emes. “Hashem is close to all who call upon Him – to all who call upon Him sincerely” (Tehillim 145:18). Hashem listens, and, when the prayer is sincere, it achieves efficacy. The exiled murderer is sincere (perhaps for the wrong reasons, and self-serving – but sincere). And, thus, his prayers gave the Kohen Gadol’s mother reason to be anxious for her son’s life. This is the awesome power of prayer.
It works because of our relationship with Hashem. He is our Father in Heaven. A father always listens. He never closes his door to his children – regardless of the offense or the duration of time that has elapsed since they had last spoken. If this is true of human emotion, how much more so of Hashem, Who is our Creator?
While the significance of prayer cannot be sufficiently emphasized, we often (because of a lack of knowledge and awareness) ignore the significance of one mysterious word: Amen. Chazal teach that the individual who answers Amen is even greater than the one who initially recited the blessing. Amen is related to the word emunah, faith, a derivative of emes, truth. One who recites a blessing is acknowledging that he is about to partake of Hashem’s beneficence, and he offers his gratitude for this opportunity. The one who answers Amen is not acknowledging his gratitude to the Creator for the bounty, because he did not receive it. He is, however, seizing the opportunity to express himself to Hashem in terms of pure faith – unfettered by the limits of his gratitude. When he says Amen, he is connecting with Hashem on a purely spiritual level, declaring his total subjugation to Him. In other words, he is affirming his faith in Hashem as Provider, Benefiter – even though he personally did not receive; he is affirming it based upon pure faith. Thus, Amen is greater than the blessing, because the blessing is contingent upon gratitude, while Amen is a declaration of pure faith. When we say Amen, we declare to Hashem that we are prepared to do anything that He asks. We believe wholeheartedly in His ability to do anything. It really cannot get any better than that.
Amen is effective – even if the blessing to which one responds might be unreasonable, even injudicious. Even if hope for the realization of the blessing hangs by less than a shoestring, one should respond Amen in the hope that his response may catalyze the actualization of the blessing. The following vignette reinforces this idea.
Shabbos Kodesh, Sivan 26, 5677, 1917, in Vienna’s most prominent shul Khal Adas Yisrael, popularly known as the Shiff Shul. The chazzan began reciting the Yehi Ratzon for Mevarchim haChodesh, Blessing the New Moon. Herr Goldshmidt, the elderly gabbai announced the molad, precise time at which the new moon begins to appear in Yerushalayim. (Traditionally, they announce the exact hour, minute and chelek/portion – 1/18 of a minute or 3½ seconds.) Surprisingly, the time was precisely on the complete hour – no minutes or chalakim. The congregation continued with the recitation of the prayer with all the wonderful blessings that it engenders. The Mussaf service was concluded, and everyone began to return his siddur to the bookcase, in preparation for returning home.
Herr Goldshmidt asked everyone to wait a moment; he had something to say, “You all must certainly know that this molad is unique in the sense that the precise time falls out on a perfect hour.” Immediately, one of the congregants asked, “Does this not occur often?” “No!” replied Herr Goldshmidt. “It takes place only once every eighty-seven years! Therefore, at this most propitious time, I would like to wish each and every one of you to experience such a molad one more time in your lives!”
Most of the people smiled; some even laughed. After all, eighty-seven years was expecting a bit much. Even a brachah, blessing, should be realistic. Standing next to the bimah, listening to the gabbai and the congregation’s reaction, was a fifteen-year-old teenager, a refugee from Poland (it was during World War I) who did not react like everyone else. Perhaps it was because of his upbringing by his mother. Growing up, he was inculcated with the notion, “My child, never ignore a blessing that is given to you. Always respond with a hearty Amen!” Today was no different. When Herr Goldshmidt blessed the congregation, this teenager, true to his mother’s inspiration, responded Amen.
Fast forward to Yerushalayim, Shabbos Mevorchim HaChodesh Mar Cheshvan 5765, 2004. The gabbai of the shul announced the molad Thursday morning precisely at 2:00 am. The shul was silent. The congregants heard Reb Yosha, the oldest member of the shul, whimpering as tears slowly began to streak his face. They understood that every month was special to Reb Yosha. He had reason to be emotional. He had far surpassed in longevity the lifespan of his friends. One man, however, took a special interest in Reb Yosha’s weeping. “Reb Yosha, lama bachisa, why did you weep?” asked Gedalyah Stein. He assumed that, if Reb Yosha was weeping, he had to have a good reason.
Reb Yosha looked at Gedalyah and said, “My friend, this is the second time in my life that the molad fell on a perfect time, on a complete hour – without fractions. The last time that this occurred, I was a fifteen-year-old teenager in the Shiff Shul in Vienna. Today, I am one hundred and two years old. I have every reason to express my emotion. My Amen eighty-seven years ago was the catalyst for my longevity. You, Gedalyah, are still young. I encourage you to take to heart and teach your children the lesson my mother taught me – never ignore Amen! Every blessing is valuable. Answer Amen with great kavanah, intention, devotion! May it be the will of Hashem that you should be there for Mevarchim HaChodesh, Tishrei 5852, 2091, in good health and welfare!”
