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As my prayers are vertically directed, I am familiar with the sense that I am being observed from above. It's fair to say that I'm more accustomed to being internally watched. But I was spooked by the sense that someone was examining my prayer from over my shoulder. The discomfort increased when I realized that the man watching me was almost ethereal. He was creepily ancient, and, of even more concern was a huge razor in his hand.
He was surprisingly polite for a scary being. "I'm so sorry for bothering you. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am William of Occam." Although relieved to learn that the razor in his hand was a logical hypothesis, I was still surprised by a visit from such a famous man. Before I could open my mouth, he politely continued, "I understand that you teach that Kabbalah is the simplification of all existence, I thought we would be kindred spirits. However, I realize from your prayers that I was mistaken. Please forgive me for disturbing you."
I grabbed the hem of his ancient and fraying robe as he turned to leave, demanding an explanation! "Why did my prayers convince you that we are not kindred spirits?"
Perhaps the absence of any serious conversation in more than six centuries convinced William that it was worth a discussion. "Don't you also speak of how bothered you are by people who recite all sorts of prayers after the official service to pray for a long list of things, because all those issues were addressed in the official prayers? Do you not often quote me when guiding people to keep it simple, "that one should proceed to simpler theories until simplicity can be traded for greater explanatory power." William was animated, waving his razor around as he spoke, and, quite frankly, I was becoming nervous. I gently held his arm, and agreed that I often use his razor when speaking of serving God.
"Would you be comfortable with me using my razor on your prayer book? You have notes scribbled all over the pages, which seem to make them more complicated than necessary. The text itself seems far more complicated than necessary. Why do you not get directly to the point?"
It is not the prayer that is complicated, but I. The prayers guide me through the process of attaining simplicity in my service of God. "The prayers are the way I use that rather large razor of yours!"
Intrigued, William sat down - he is rather old - and noticed my bible open to the conclusion of this week's portion. He looked up and smiled, "You certainly have too many books for someone seeking simplicity! What are you studying?"
I explained that I was using his razor to understand the Ten Plagues. I began listing all the questions about the plagues in my customary Talmudic chant, but quickly realized that the hand holding his razor was beginning to again wave, so I broke down all the questions to their simplest form. "What did God want to accomplish in His complicated dealings with Pharaoh?"
Why did Pharaoh consistently ask Moses to pray for a plague to stop, rather than himself pray? "God is the righteous One, and I and my people are the wicked ones (Exodus 9:27)." Pharaoh believed that he, as a sinner, could not pray, and was so focused on his being a sinner, that he did not directly address his sin, and say, "The people are free!" It was not God, Who complicated everything; it was Pharaoh's internal confusion.
William agreed, and asked, "Is that not exactly how you described your internal process when praying? Why do you not use this idea for your prayer," he asked, offering me his razor.
"That is exactly how I pray," I responded as I gently refused his generous offer, "my prayer book is my razor," allowing him to return to his world with his razor still in hand. I was glad he paid me a visit though. He made me realized that I like the journey to simplicity, at least as much as the simplicity itself.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Simcha L. Weinberg
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