Before reciting the Ten Commandments,
I first ask permission and approval
To start with two or three stanzas in fear
Of G-d who creates and ever sustains.
Were the skies parchment, were all the reeds quills,
Were the seas and all waters made of ink,
Were all the world’s inhabitants made scribes—
G-d’s might would still be endless, and indescribable.
With these powerful words, the Akdamut prayer begins. It is a prayer recited only once a year, right before the recitation of the Ten Commandments on the anniversary of our receiving them, Shavuot. The prayer describes the greatness of G-d, the grandeur of the Ten Commandments, the ongoing devotion of the Jewish people, our steadfastness in the face of attempts to get us to abandon the tradition and receive worldly riches, and finally the glorious messianic future when all the righteous will celebrate in the presence of G-d.
There is a remarkable legend concerning the origins of this prayer. During the crusades, they say, an evil wizard used black magic to kill 30,000 Jews. Summoned before the king, the wizard agrees to hold off for a year, if the Jews agree to bring forth a champion for a magic duel. If the wizard wins, he would kill all the Jews; but if the Jew won, the wizard would never attack them again.
No champion could be found. Almost a year passes, until one night someone has a dream that a champion was waiting among the Ten Lost Tribes, across the magical river Sambatyon. Rabbi Meir, the leader of the Worms Jewish community, leads a delegation to find the champion. They arrive at the Sambatyon, but the river rages too much to cross—except on Shabbat. Because it is a case of pikuach nefesh, of saving lives, Rabbi Meir agrees to cross alone, so that only he is guilty of violating Shabbat. A champion is found, the evil wizard is defeated, but Rabbi Meir is trapped forever on the far shore of the Sambatyon—there is no longer any reason for him to violate Shabbat in order to return. As a farewell gift to his community, he composes Akdamut, asking that every year it be read in his name on Shavuot. And indeed, if you look at the first letters of the last lines of the poem, it spells out “Meir ben Isaac, may he increase in Torah and good works.”
The legend is, well, legendary. But it teaches us something truly important about prayer. Rabbi Meir is, quite literally, the shaliach tzibbur, “the one who is sent from the congregation.” In this, he serves as a model of those who are called upon to lead congregations in prayer: wise, courageous, self-effacing, and capable of pouring their heart out.
And that is its own kind of magic. No wizards need apply.