Aggadot from Hamivtar

by
Rabbi Yitzchak Blau

The Proper Place for Praying: Of Windows and Valleys

R. Hiyya bar Abba said in the name of R. Yohanan: “A person should only pray in a house with windows as it says ‘And the windows of his (Daniel) upper chamber were open toward Jerusalem’ (Daniel 6:11).” R. Kahana says: “A person who prays in a valley is brazen.” (Berakhot 34b)

Although one might have thought that the above statements are purely aggadic, they are both cited in halakhic literature. R. Yosef Karo codifies in the Shulkhan Arukh (Orah Hayyim 90:4-5) both that a shul should have windows and that one should not pray in an open area. Of course, this still leaves us with the aggadic question regarding the theological significance of these two ideas.

Why should one pray in a house with windows? Talmidei Rabbenu Yonah suggest that the visual component enables a person to focus his or her attention toward Jerusalem. Thanks to the windows, Jerusalem is not just an abstract idea but a concrete entity towards which my eyes can locate the way. Rashi suggests that looking out at the heavens and seeing the grandeur of the created order subdues the heart to God. On the other hand, Rashi argues that praying in an open area can inspire feelings of total freedom and arrogance while the enclosed structure of a building reminds the praying individual of restrictions and subjection to the Divine. According to Rashi, the twin statements reflect an attempt to inspire without losing the sense of subjugation.

Rav Kook offers a different interpretation. Prayer essentially occurs in the heart and mind of the individual praying. In prayer, an individual stands before the King, affirms basic Jewish beliefs and commitments, sings hymns of praise and pour out his heart in supplication. All of the above can generate a very powerful religious experience. However, that power also creates the danger of the praying individual losing himself in a flight of devotional rapture and forgetting about the worth and significance of the outside world. Ideally, prayer should lead to a renewed commitment to realize the inspiration gained through prayer in the broader arena of human endeavors. Thus, the windows remind the mitpallel both not to reject the outside world and that ultimately the worth of the tefilah will be determined according to its ability to act as the catalyst for sanctification in the totality of human life.

How should we understand the problem with praying in the open valley? Rav Kook, in his Ein Ayah, takes the analysis in another direction but I would like to build upon Rav Kook’s first point. When we fully internalize the need for windows, the possibility of an opposing danger emerges. We might become so enamored of the broader playing field that we would refuse to see any value in ever receding from that broadness in the interest of seclusion and narrowness of focus. Those who pray out in the wide expanse of the open valley may indeed have arrived at this mistaken conclusion. On the other hand, those inside the structure of a building understand that sometimes, a person does have to leave the world behind in order to stand alone before his Maker.

This fine balance between narrowness and broadness extends beyond the question of prayer. I would say that it applies quite powerfully to learning in a yeshiva. Yeshiva life involves a certain intensity of focus on a personal particular religious goal. This in itself is quite valuable but it should come with the understanding that the inside of the beit medrash must have positive impact on the outside. The windows of our batei medrash remind us that our valuable time dedicated to learning should enable us to bring knowledge, ethical excellence and sanctity to the working world, to our families and to the entire community.