One of the most beautiful and inspiring illustrations of the power of prayer is told about King Chizkiyahu (Berakhot 10). Faced with a divine death sentence that Isaiah describes as irrevocable, Chizkiyahu ignores one of the greatest prophets of all time. Instead, he tells Isaiah that when it comes to prayer, even when the executioner’s sword is upon our neck, there is no such thing as coming “too late.” The Talmud endorses his position, telling us that Chizkiyahu’s prayer was effective and pushed off the supposedly irrevocable decree.
Inspiring though it may be, it is difficult to relate to our own lives even on a good day, all the more so in times like ours. Moreover, it is theologically complicated by rabbinic statements that emphasize the attenuated relationship of God to the Jewish people after the destruction of the Temple. Such statements give us the sense that what was true for Chizkiyahu may not be entirely true today.
So where does that leave us, and where does it leave our prayers?
Practically speaking, we must recognize that the door to our prayers is still open, even if the opening is very small indeed. If anything, the difficulty of getting our prayers answered requires us to pray with even greater effort. When confronted by medical procedures that only have a slight chance of saving a life, the importance of the goal makes most of us pursue it nevertheless. On some level, this was precisely Chizkiyahu’s point. He was not saying that we would certainly be answered, nor even that there is a good likelihood. Instead, his point was that prayer always has a chance of working, no matter how small.
But there is yet another problem. If our times are not the same as Chizkiyahu’s, we are also not nearly the person Chizkiyahu was. And it stands to reason that God will be more likely to listen to someone worth listening to. Of course, that is not a binary proposition. There is certainly something we can do to make ourselves at least a little more worth listening to.
So where should we start? Perhaps God’s poetic justice suggests that if we want God to listen to us even when He is not inclined to do so, perhaps we need to model that very behavior toward others.
This presumably means that we have to look at others the way God likely looks at us. When we ask God to listen to our prayers, we are asking Him to listen to people who, from His lofty perspective, must seem rather immature, ignorant, inconsistent and uncouth (if often well-meaning).
Are these not, after all, the terms we often use for our own opponents? More importantly, is this not the description we often use for them as an excuse for not listening? (I am not saying we always see our opponents in this light, nor that it is justified when we do so. I am simply presenting this as the worst, but all too common, scenario.) If so, we would be well advised to internalize the divine wisdom that exists in God’s nevertheless listening to those so inferior to Him.
And perhaps now more than ever. For though many of us remain focused on Israel’s current war, the more general polarization in Israeli society and throughout much of the world that preceded it and continues to serve as its backdrop should be an even greater concern.
Perhaps it is the holy spark that comes with being created in the image of God that makes all people worth listening to (if not necessarily acceding to their requests, just as God does not always accede to our requests). Or perhaps it is from the need to work on our humility that the Rabbis say exists wherever there is greatness. Regardless, if there is one thing we should work on this year, my vote is for truly listening to those with whom we disagree.