I love Parshas Naso. In addition to so many fascinating topics and great insights, it happens to be my Bar Mitzvah parsha, so I’ll admit, I’m a bit partial. But for many, people dread this Shabbos, because Naso is the longest single parsha in the Torah – 176 verses. The longest chapter in Psalms and the largest tractate in the Talmud, both contain 176 verses and folios respectively. I don’t know of any significance to the number; see what people think at your Shabbos table! Although there are so many messages and insights contained in this parsha, I would like to address the question of length. Naso’s largesse can be attributed to the Torah’s repetition of the twelve identical gifts given by the prince’s of each tribe upon the dedication of the Tabernacle. The recounting of each gift takes six verses. That means that 66 (the 11 superfluous renderings of the gift) verses seem to be additional; two and a half of the seven aliyos only deal with these donations. Since we know the Author of the Torah, we cannot argue that the verses are extraneous; we can attempt to surmise why each identical gift needed to be repeated in its entirety. Our sages have offered various reasons ranging from stressing the importance of each tribe, to the occurrence of a miracle in which the tribes all thought of the same gift, albeit for different reasons. There are times when the Torah tells us very little when we would like more; here in our context, we will experience the opposite, as we will patiently listen to the litany of gifts for about 15 minutes. I would like to address an issue that most shul’s face; length of davening. Even if we were to know with full certainty that a longer service means a better service, are we permitted to extend it, and by how much? One of the reasons why we use multiple Torah scrolls on special occasions and holidays is to save time rolling back and forth. A strong value that must guide our policy making in shul is the concept of tircha d’tzibura, Aramaic for ‘burdening the congregation.’ I have thought about writing an article about these shul issues; that idea unfortunately remains on my ‘to do list.’ A perfect case in point is the prayer recited for those who are sick. [In one of the minyanim in which I have prayed, the Gabbai said the mishebeyrach for ‘those not yet well.’ I like his choice of language.] Making a separate entreaty for each ailing individual may bring a greater sense of relief to the family, friends and even the choleh, the sick person. Yet if that takes place for each person, it could exhaust 10 minutes of davening. Unfortunately, many people will begin talking during this time; those conversations often carry over through the rest of davening. I have never been known as someone embracing innovations at the expense of long-standing traditions, but I wholeheartedly endorse the notion of having everyone stand, recite the mishebeyrach together, insert the name of the individuals for whom you pray, reciting Amen together and then moving on. I have found it fulfilling personally and feel that it prevents those side conversations which can be the death knell to the ideal kavanah (focused concentration) for which each minyan strives. I have struggled with the idea of the length of the davening. Back at the beginning of the upsurge in Palestinian terrorism in ’01 and after September 11th, many shuls began reciting tehillim at the end of davening. Certainly we were all scared and found solace in the Psalms. Many of these shuls have continued to say it. I remember discussing this matter with some colleagues at the RCA convention a year ago. One rabbi, whom I respect as talmid chacham and communal leader, told me that when the fear of constant terrorism waned, he instructed his shul to cease adding the chapter of psalms at the end of each prayer service. I wholeheartedly agree. Maimonides and Nachmanides famously debate the source of thrice-daily prayer. Maimonides argues that prayer’s source is Biblical and provides a Scriptural proof text. Nachmanides argues that the established liturgy we recite daily fulfills a Rabbinic law. One only fulfills prayer on a Biblical level when they pray as if they were in a foxhole. The Rav, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik zt’l, in a celebrated analysis, finds a fundamental distinction between the approaches of Maimonides and Nachmanides. While Nachmanides feels that we pray daily because we are commanded to do so, Maimonides argues that each time we pray we do so because we are in dire danger and must plead for our lives. The normative Halacha follows Nachmanides’ view, yet the latter would concur that prayer becomes Biblical if one finds themselves in a foxhole – praying for their life and seeing the davening as such. I have frequently thought of this famous debate when encountering shuls that have added psalms to the end of the service. I have felt that when one feels that their prayers are needed and that when one’s heart yearns to recite and plead using King David’s psalms, they have become numb to their power. This is the great insight of the Ramban (Nachmanides). When one studies the history of the canonization of our daily prayers, one will find different types of innovations, some revolutionary and some evolutionary. Different prayers were added at different times in history. We have several paradigms of innovation in the liturgy. I would like to address three. First, we have additions sanctioned by our Sages. I like to call these Adaptive Innovations. There were times in our history when prayers needed to be added. The Talmud records (Brachos 28b) that Shmuel haKatan fashioned the 19th blessing which was added to the Amidah to counter Jews who would slander other Jews (v’lamalshinim) to the hegemonic authorities, threatening the onset of killings and pogroms. Another example of this could be the Av haRachamim prayer, added to memorialize those Rhineland Jews and communities destroyed and massacred by the marauding and murderous Christian Crusaders in the 11th and 12th centuries. A second category would be additions to the daily service that perhaps were intended to be said only on infrequent occasions. I like to call these Accidental Innovations Case in point: the prayer mizmor shir, “a Psalm: a Song at the Dedication of the House.” This paragraph precedes Baruch She’amar (in the Ashkenazic tradition). It did not appear in the liturgy until the 17th century Sephardic prayer books. The Tur mentions this prayer, but only in the context of being recited on the eight days of Chanukah. The Vilna Gaon and more ancient prayer books advocate omitting it, because it was never meant to be part of the daily prayer service. Finally we have what I call the Accented Innovations. After the conclusion of the Haftarah on Shabbos, we recite three paragraphs, known as Yekum Purkan. The third paragraph offers heartfelt prayers for the success of those who “faithfully toil for the community.” This prayer is recited at warp speed by individuals, and swiftly repeated by the Chazzan. I have felt somewhat cheated that this prayer does not receive nearly as much focus as do the prayers that are recited by many modern shuls immediately thereafter. Many synagogues today have adopted the custom to basically stop the pace of the service and ask the congregation to rise and recite in dramatic form a series of blessings, usually including the prayer for the United States government, the prayer for the State of Israel, the prayer for the US and Israeli military forces and other critically important causes. The stress may be one of patriotism, political correctness, passion, or all of the above. If “Family Feud” were to survey 100 Jews and ask them which prayer on Yom Kippur bears the most significance, I guarantee you that the top answer would be Kol Nidrei. Yet Kol Nidrei must be recited before sundown – i.e. before Yom Kippur – because there would be Halachic problems with reciting it on the most holy day. Yigdal is a prayer that was composed to highlight Maimonides’ thirteen principles of Jewish belief. What could be more important than a reminder of the foundations of our faith? Adon Olam, added to the liturgy in the fifteenth century, is a beautiful poem that describes the might of God. How do people react to these beautiful and powerful descriptions of our belief structure? The advent of these songs – often led by youngsters – implies folding up our talleisim (prayer shawls) and preparing to dine at Kiddush. On September 11th, I received many calls from congregants wanting to know what they can do, and wanting to know what the shul was planning. I told people that we did not need to create a special service. I told people to come to shul on that Tuesday afternoon and daven mincha to God with all their hearts and souls. We would recite Psalms as a community for about 15 minutes. After that we would daven ma’ariv with our hearts and souls. As can be expected, we had an overflow mincha and ma’ariv for a Tuesday evening that day. I believe that every one of us fulfilled the Biblical mandate to pray, even according to Nachmanides. We also realized as a community that we should not be tempted to look outside for meaning. That meaning is in the prayers; we just tend to forget it sometimes. The Talmud calls one who recites Hallel every day a blasphemer. Why? The meaning of the statement is that if we praise Him every day, when we really need to laud Him, how will we do it? The Ramban teaches us that we cannot possibly daven every prayer as if we are truly in a foxhole, because if we did, how would we pray when we really were in a life and death situation? I apologize if the size of this d’var Torah has extended itself too far; I guess that’s only appropriate for Parshas Naso.