Every day as a Jew, three times a day, we say a lot of words. In the morning we say a whole lot of words, and call it Shacris. In the afternoon we say less words, and call it Mincha. In the evening we say more words than in the afternoon, but not nearly as many as we do in the morning, and we call it Arvis.
Saying a lot of words, the same words, every day, can become tiresome. Understanding what we’re saying makes this daily practice more interesting. The traditional liturgy is in Hebrew, so understanding begins at the most basic, literal level. Past that, there are myriad sefarim which give insight into the words we say every day, covering the full spread of Jewish thought and tradition, from the classical commentators to modern anthologies, from the simplest explanation to the more sophisticated, to the insights of Kabbalah and Chassidus.
Certainly, there is a lifetime of depth, beauty, and brilliance to our daily prayers, and the more we understand, in breadth and in depth, the better.
But it is still words, the same words, every day. There are other holy things which also have depth and beauty but with a richer variety which we could prefer to spend our time with. You could spend hours a day studying Talmud, and still take 7 years to cover the whole thing one time. Even sophisticated prayer can’t compete with that.
These words we say, which we call Tefilah, we are saying to G-d, the King of Kings. Knowing that should be enough to inspire our davening every day. Someone who has, either by nature or hard work, a profound and deep spiritual sensitivity, and a child, who can have a simple unquestioning connection to the profound, and perhaps more people who are fortunate in other ways, can connect to that. But beyond that - having in mind a reality that we don’t feel and don’t see is an exercise in futility. A physical king sits resplendent on his throne. We see him, and we see his closest ministers, who all see and react to his endless power over the life and death of everyone in the Kingdom. For moments, perhaps the height of the Rosh Hashono or Yom Kippur services, surrounded by others trying to pray deeply, we can feel that to whichever extent. But that is far from every day.
If our concept of G-d and our connection to him is shallow, a deep understanding of words can not make our time of davening meaningful. But if our concept of G-d and our connection to him is deep, then even a simple understanding of the words of davening can be powerful. Every day.
Deep does not have to mean sophisticated or intellectual. As the Alter Rebbe articulates in Tanya, the essence of a Jew is chochma, not bina. Bina is explanations and ideas. Chochma is seeing. When you see, you don’t have to understand. And it is chochma, not bina, which gives the Jew the imperative to die rather than deny G-d and His unity, even superficially.
What we call “a simple Jew” has the same chochma in his soul, and could very well live with a deeper reality of G-d that we can only wish we can have. If that’s you, then to paraphrase the words of the Baal Shem Tov in the well known story, keep on doing what you’re doing, and I hope you didn’t read this far. You’re doing great.
But what of the rest of us, who don’t feel naturally inspired? How can we have a deep concept and connection of G-d, and daven with fire?
Tefilah is the labor of the heart. In matters of the heart there are as many paths as there are hearts. Even within the writings of Chabad Chassidus, there is a rich myriad of ideas and explanations of what it means that G-d is both our creator and more than that at the same time, and what is creation, and everyone’s heart and mind can be touched by something else. And so it is worthwhile to learn as much as you can.
The Alter Rebbe writes in his introduction to Tanya that there are many paths, and each speaks to someone else, but here, in Tanya, he is writing all of the answers to all of the questions of all those (as the Rebbe explains) who learn this sefer.
It is difficult to briefly describe the vast landscape that the Alter Rebbe creates in Tanya in a way which does it justice. The good news is that it’s a very small book - it’s only 53 chapters, and most of them are less than 2 pages long. Imposing 5 volume commentaries of Tanya, for all of their many positive qualities, also do Tanya a great disservice, in that they make what is (can also be) a quick, spirited, and thought provoking read a monumental commitment.
The Rebbe Reshab taught that,
“Tanya is like Chumash. Every Jew, from the greatest of the Torah geniuses to the smallest of the small, learns Chumash. Each one according to his level knows what he knows, and no one knows anything. The one who is greater appreciates more how astonishing it is.
“So too, we see two opposite things in Tanya. In a simple way, it can be understood with ease by every single person. But when we delve into its study - [we see that] we don’t understand anything.”
The Rebbe Maharash taught that,
“Tanya - the Torah ShebeKsav of Chassidus - is like Chumash. Just like Chumash has to be studied with fear of heaven and without extra explanations, so too Tanya. Someone who learns Tanya for the sake of its profound intellect - it is possible that he doesn’t know Tanya, and Tanya doesn’t know him.”
Davening can only be meaningful when it comes from a deep connection to G-d. The general path, which everyone can use, of Chabad Chassidus is to reveal the essence of the Jew into intellect, and make that real enough that it can affect his heart, actions, and life. And the first station along that track, which was written for and is approachable by every Jew, is the Tanya.
PS: Two sefarim which I know of which give a deeper understanding into the daily davening are the Siddur Illuminated by Chassidus by Rabbi Shmuel Kaplan, published by Kehot, and Siddur Im Likeutei Torah.
The latter is only available in Hebrew, and was one of many references used by Rabbi Kaplan, but I want to say that it’s a simple, approachable Hebrew, and the explanations brought down there are likewise concise and approachable.