A number of years ago, I had occasion to visit a dying congregant in the hospital. Her family had surrounded her and were tearfully and quietly preparing themselves for the inevitable; they had called me in to recite what is known as Viddui, the Confessional. A version of Viddui, which we recite over Yom Kippur ten times, is also recited as we transition from the olam hazeh, this world, to the olam habah, the world that awaits us.

Just before entering the Intensive Care Unit, the patient’s social worker met me and took me aside to let me know how relieved she was to see me. She said something that I’ve never forgotten. She told me that she has been present at countless deathbed gatherings and have seen all sorts of clergy at work. The clergy who bring greatest comfort, she said, are the ones who can speak the prayers from their heart rather than read them out of a book. At that point, the grip on my rabbi’s manual, there to put all the right words into my mouth, loosened a bit. I knew this young social worker spoke a truth.

I went into the patient’s room, asked God for a little help on this one, and prayed together with the family with words that came only from the heart. If that moment was meant to bring comfort to the family, to assist with a dreaded transition which we nonetheless must all make, then it worked.

Moving prayer does not require our gathering around a loved one who is about to pass on. Although those moments are rare when we feel our very being connected with something far greater, more powerful and awesome than anything else we can possibly imagine, but they are not impossible to experience. Anyone who thinks they are going to show up at synagogue, open the mahzor, read a passage and thus become inspired, will most likely be disappointed. It just doesn’t work that way.

As a nation, the Jewish people have all sorts of ethnic traditions that keep us connected. Food, of course is primary—kasha and knishes, bagels and blintzes, etc.; the snippets of language we bandy about—Gut Shabbos, schlepping, meshugeh; the themes at our Bar and Bat Mitzvah parties or whether we grew up in the Orthodox, Conservative or Reform worlds, etc. This is the stuff of Jewish ethnic life that keep us connected and it is important. But in order to achieve the spiritual connection with the cosmos and God that Jews throughout the ages have nurtured through prayer discipline and forays into Kabbalistic teachings, showing up at shul is only a beginning.

When people tell me that they don’t believe in organized religion, I know exactly what they mean. They don’t believe in a religion that consists of sit, stand, read responsively, talk to your neighbor on the left, shush your neighbor on the right, close your eyes for a few minutes, stay for a respectable amount of time and leave. If that’s organized religion, I don’t believe in it either. But what I do believe in is this incredible notion that the raison d’être of the Jewish people is to hone our consciousness to the point where the presence of God is palpable. That is a life changing moment. It is then that we subdue our weaknesses, pursue our goals most effectively, and live with a generosity of spirit that brings contentment to ourselves and those around us. Pretty cool—yes? I want you to think about how you can move to that point and I am going to do the same. I am going to think about exercises that we can all do to move us to a greater spiritual plane. So be prepared before you come to synagogue this year. At some point, I’m going to ask you to close the book.