The Strength to Pray

What gave our ancestors the ability to face impossible challenges?

So… What’s Your Solution?

Recently I found myself chatting with a fellow Jew, and as often happens these days, the conversation drifted to politics and the security situation in Israel and around the world. Before long, he launched into a full lecture on how to bring peace and quiet to the Middle East. I listened politely. When he finally took a breath, I gently pointed out that many of his ideas had already been tried — unsuccessfully.

He didn’t give up. He offered a second round of suggestions, this time even less practical. I smiled. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Okay, Rabbi, what about you? Do you have a solution? Let’s hear it!”

So I told him a story.

There’s a Chabad shliach in South America who once needed a double lung transplant because of a serious illness that made it hard for him to breathe. Before agreeing to such a dangerous surgery, he consulted with many doctors. One of them was a well-known, observant Jewish physician in New York.

He and his wife sat quietly in the doctor’s office as he reviewed every detail — the reports, the scans, everything. After a long silence, the doctor looked up and said, “The other doctors are right. A transplant is the only chance. There’s no alternative.”

The shliach asked him, “Isn’t there anything — any medication — that could help me until we find a donor?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “There is a treatment called Tehillim.”

His wife leaned forward, thinking at first it was the name of a new medication. “Really? Because every doctor told us there’s absolutely nothing that can help.”

The doctor nodded and said, “I meant Tehillim — Psalms. You’re believing Jews. Pray. Say Tehillim. Until the surgery, that’s the only thing that can truly help.”

I turned back to the man who was trying to save the entire world and said, “That’s the answer. A little prayer. It can’t hurt — and it might do more good than we realize.”

The First to Pray

Where does prayer really begin? When do we first meet the idea of a Jew turning to G-d in heartfelt prayer?

When we look at the lives of our forefathers, each one embodies a different spiritual quality. Abraham represents kindness. He taught his children—and all of us—what it means to live with open hands and an open heart: welcoming guests, visiting the sick, giving charity, and all the acts of compassion that have defined the Jewish people for generations.

Isaac, by contrast, stands for strength and discipline. What does “strength” mean in this context? In one word: sacrifice. The willingness to give something up for a higher purpose. Isaac’s nature is captured in the story of the Akeidah, where he was ready to give up everything—without asking questions—simply out of loyalty to G-d. That same inner strength shows up in daily Jewish life: choosing shul over the big game, passing on the non-kosher food at a party, giving the money to charity instead of spending it on luxuries. These are small but very real acts of sacrifice.

Jacob, however, embodies compassion. And in Judaism, there is a concept of requesting compassion: prayer. Jacob teaches us how to speak to G-d. He is the one who gave us the gift of prayer as we know it.

It’s true that the sages tell us Abraham established the morning prayer and Isaac the afternoon prayer. But in the simple meaning of the Torah itself, the first time we explicitly see a forefather turn to G-d in personal prayer is Jacob. In last week’s portion, we see Jacob make a vow about the future. But in this week’s portion, Vayishlach, for the very first time we see Jacob standing before G-d and asking for help with his personal needs.

How to Pray

Let’s take a look at how Jacob structured his prayer.

First, he mentions his forefathers: “G-d of my father Abraham and G-d of my father Isaac,” just as we mention the Patriarchs at the opening of the Amidah. When a person approaches the gates of Heaven, the first thing he offers is his “identity card.” Who am I? I am the child of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Next, Jacob moves to gratitude. He thanks G-d for the good he has received, saying, “I am unworthy of all the kindness You have shown me.” And he spells out that kindness clearly: “For with my staff I crossed this Jordan, and now I have become two camps.”

When a person begins to pray, the first step is to thank G-d for the good in his life—not just in general (“Thanks for everything You’ve given me”), but in detail. To think: Where was I twenty years ago, and where am I today? When I finished college, I had nothing but student debt. No family, no home, no job—nothing. I crossed the river with just a staff. And today I have a loving family, a home, and a business—two camps.

After that comes the heart of the prayer: asking for what we need. Jacob turns to G-d in simple words and says, “Please save me from the hand of my brother, from the hand of Esau, for I am afraid of him.” Jacob isn’t embarrassed to admit that he’s afraid of Esau. When he speaks to G-d, he isn’t pretending to pray for the whole world or to worry about everyone else. When a person stands in prayer, he must be honest—with himself and with G-d—and ask for the personal things that weigh on him, the things that worry or frighten him.

And finally, Jacob ends his prayer with the words, “And You said: I will surely do good to you.” What does that mean? Jacob is saying: Even if I myself am not worthy of a miracle, please do it because of the promise You made to Abraham. As Rashi explains: “For to Abraham You said: I will greatly increase your offspring like the stars of the heavens and the sand on the seashore.”

This is similar to what we say in Avinu Malkeinu: “Do it for Your sake, if not for ours.” Even if we are not worthy, act for the sake of Your promise that the Jewish people will endure. 

The Secret Strength of the Jewish People

This remarkable gift—the power of prayer—is what Jacob passed down to us and to every generation after him. Prayer gives a person the strength to get through even the hardest moments in life. It fills him with hope, faith, and trust in G-d that everything will ultimately turn out for the good. And who better to learn this from than Jacob himself, whose entire life was a chain of challenges—and yet, through the power of his prayer, he made it through them all. In the end, the Torah says, “And Jacob came whole”—he arrived complete.

One Chassid who spent many years in a Soviet prison camp in Siberia once spoke in detail about the lengths he went to in order to keep Shabbat, to eat kosher, and to hold on to his Judaism. Someone asked him how he managed to survive all of it.

He answered like this: “The Russians took away my tefillin. They managed to take away my tallis. They pulled my siddur out of my hands. But there was one thing they could not take from me—the ability and the power to pray. That is what gave me the strength to endure the brutal Siberian cold and the forced labor. Prayer warmed my heart and kept me going without giving up. And that is what held me together through all those long years in the Soviet prison.”

That’s the power of prayer.