What I Learned From An Old Siddur

I was once gifted a small siddur with a blue cover. It wasn’t the sort of siddur I was accustomed to using, and as I attempted to increase my observance, I began davening with a Chabad siddur, leaving the gifted prayer book behind, wondering if it had ever been ok to use it. It was from a different denomination, a different period in my life.

But I remembered how the words had spoken to my soul when I was drowning in my sorrows, and as I suffered from heartbreak I opened the book once more and read from it. What I read was poignant. Moving. It tugged at my heartstrings and made me feel like Someone was listening. I wasn’t alone. Hashem was guiding me from above, and, after all, if someone had written a prayer which spoke to me that way, surely they had felt what I was feeling?

The siddur sits on the table. I hope I never have to read that prayer again. But it taught me a lesson. That maybe these unique prayers make sense in a weird way. Maybe they mean something. Maybe, even if they can’t replace the traditional prayers, they can supplement them. And maybe Someone is listening and answering my cries.

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