American history professor Jonathan Sarna notes that “how people pray for their government reveals much about what they think of their government.” Each Shabbat we say a prayer for the government. Too often, however, it is said in a perfunctory way – recited by rote, delegated away or drowned out by talking. When we live in a democratic society that cherishes multiculturalism, too often the way we pray for the government does not reflect the way we should think about our government.
Praying for the government is amongst the oldest traditions of Jewish prayer. Following the Babylonian exile in 586 BCE, the exiled community was paralyzed by a depression instigated by the destruction of the Temple and the razing of Jerusalem. Jeremiah sent a letter urging the exiles to build homes, plant gardens and allow their children to marry. In closing, he urged the community to “seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you and pray to the Lord on its behalf; for in its prosperity you shall prosper.”
Throughout the following centuries, prayers were composed and recited no matter where Jews were or what their relationship to the ruling party was. The Talmud and other sources of that time describe sacrifices being made for both Roman and Greek rulers. In fact, the Talmud relates that when Alexander the Great marched on Jerusalem, Simon the Just asked how Alexander could consider “destroying the House wherein prayers are said for you and your kingdom.”
In medieval Europe, prayers were written for kings, czars and other rulers. We have records of prayers written on behalf of wars and weddings, for ailing loved ones and for safe travels. The prayers were written with great care – often with rhymes, rhythms and acrostics. They were often translated into the vernacular, illustrated and sent to the monarch. Historian Yosef Haim Yerushalmi suggested that “throughout medieval Christian Europe, the Jews inevitably, yet willingly, allied themselves to the crown as the best, and ultimately the only, guarantor of stability and security.” In many cases, it was this overriding concern for protection and security that motivated the composition of these prayers.
It was only in late 16th century Spain, in the lead up to the Inquisition, that a standardized prayer was written: Hanoten Tshuah, The Giver of Salvation. It’s filled with double meanings and hidden subtexts, as the composer used his knowledge of biblical text to conceal hints of resistance. For example, the prayer begins with a quotation from Psalms, 144:10, “You who give salvation to kings,” and continues to describe God saving King David. On the surface, a prayer urging God to grant the same salvation to the current monarch as was granted to King David would seem flattering. The next verse in Psalms, however, omitted in the prayer, states: “Rescue me, save me from the hands of foreigners, whose mouths speak lies and whose oaths are false.”
Spread by Sephardi Jews fleeing the Inquisition, Hanoten Tshuah quickly became the standard prayer throughout the world.
Notwithstanding the vastly different political circumstances in which we find ourselves today, many synagogues continue to use Hanoten Tshuah as their prayer for the government. In fact, across Canada, the treatment of the prayer is too often lackadaisical. Usually using American siddurim, the translation into Canadian political terminology leaves much to be desired, and when juxtaposed to the traditions surrounding prayers for Israel, the stature of the prayer for Canada pales.
We are blessed to live in a country where religious identity is not only protected but celebrated as part of the mosaic of society. It’s time to transform our prayer from one of supplication for autocratic rulers to show mercy and favour, to an expression by Jews who view ourselves as part of civil society and contribute to the welfare of that society, in part, through prayer.
Daniel Held is executive director of the Julia and Henry Koschitzky Centre for Jewish Education at UJA Federation of Greater Toronto.
