“Does anybody really know what time it is?” the great song by Chicago, is a protest against the hectic pace of the modern world. A cynic might respond to the title question by hurriedly looking at their watch and saying, “Yes, you idiot. It’s 3:14. Can’t you tell time?” The obvious irony is that if time is only measured by what is on the clock, rather than by what is experienced, then time becomes a mere artifice, without meaning.
Jewish time is measured in several different ways. One is linear, a progression of events from ancient times, to the present, to the future. Abraham Joshua Heschel once said something to the effect (I’m paraphrasing) “I know exactly who I am. I am the child of Abraham. And I am waiting for the Messiah.”
Another form of time is cyclical and seasonal—the annual progression of Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret, reflecting the seasons in Israel; or simply cyclical—the annual drama of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Note: the reason September/October are so crowded with Jewish festivals is that it is then that these two cycles intersect. (Note to Hashem: Next time, would you mind spreading them out a little more and give us rabbis a break….?)
How these perceptions of time interrelate is a fascinating question. In the prayer Geshem, the prayer for rain, which is recited on Shemini Atzeret, the cyclical and seasonal event—the beginning of the rainy season in Israel—serves to collapse the linear flow of time. The prayer mentions a series of archetypal biblical figures—Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, and the twelve tribes of Israel—and their experiences of water (Jacob crossing the Jordan, Moses floating in the Nile, etc.). The point is not to conduct an historical survey, but to underscore the archetypal necessity of water for everyone.
In the hands of Hollywood, we could easily imagine a scene where people are praying for rain in a parched climate, and as the camera scans the crowd, the figures of Abraham, Isaac, et al are interspersed with the other supplicants. [For film buffs: this was the powerful technique used in the final scene of Places of the Heart, starring Sallie Field. In that scene, a prayer service is held in which are seated all the protagonists as well as Field’s deceased husband and the lynched black child who accidentally killed him at the very beginning of the movie. This was the film for which Field won her 2nd “you like me, you really like me” Oscar—although she really didn’t say that. But I digress.]
Here’s the bottom line: when we are praying for rain, we are joined by a huge congregation, one that transcends time and space, playing our role in the eternal drama of human survival in the natural world. It is an awe-inspiring experience, which is why the shaliach tzibbur/Cantor dons the white kittel (robe) that was worn on the Days of Awe. In such fashion they stand before the Master of the Universe and pray for our survival.
For without rain, we do not survive.