Have you ever been in a yoga or meditation class, or participated in a workshop or women’s circle, where the teacher or facilitator invited you to “set an intention”? Sometimes there’s a brief explanation of intention and sometimes it’s swiftly glazed over, presumably in favor of making time for the other important aspects of the gathering. As Rosh Hashanah approaches, you may hear this call more and more, as spiritual leaders and friends alike offer the invitation to set intentions for the coming year. 

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Teaching yoga and meditation for almost a decade, I was often guilty of the quickie intention speech: “Set an intention. Listen to your wisest self. Repeat it three times using positive words and present tense.” And then we move on to the “real” substance of the class.

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For years, I personally worked with intention in a similar way, feeling as if I was just dipping my toe in. I couldn’t find any deep connection to the words or practice, but I wanted more. For months, I tried working with “I am peace.” Easy enough to feel in the controlled environment of my tiny home studio, sitting on my mat, the gentle breeze of the air conditioning blowing over my skin, relaxing music and incense filling the air. But stepping off of my mat and into the real world, “I am peace” felt like an irony out of George Orwell’s 1984, a challenging standard I was unable to live up to. In a crowded supermarket, the dropoff line at my daughters’ school, a miscommunication with a colleague — I would repeat to myself, “I am peace,” and at best the words felt like a stretch, and at worst a big lie. 

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Yet I couldn't shake the deep sense that there was something, somewhere in this practice for me. I kept searching, asking questions of trusted teachers and wise women, reading what I could find. Through the years I tried on different intentions, thinking that maybe I just hadn’t found the “right” one. Flush with all the information I gathered and practiced, I started teaching entire classes and workshops around intention. I thought I should share what I was studying, what was important to me, where I felt called to take my practice. Still, despite my very pragmatic, organized, and practical guide to setting and using intention, I felt as if I was still just dipping my toe in, no matter how desperately I wanted to be completely submerged and enveloped in meaning. My brain got it, but my heart felt largely disengaged.

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My breakthrough came in a very unceremonious way, on a very average day, doing a very average task. Not striving or pushing or calculating. My intention found me — through song and prayer — as I allowed my mind to rest and my heart to lead the way. 

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Growing up in Lakewood, NJ, I spent my childhood flowing back and forth among different Jewish communities, cultures, and traditions. From my Conservative day school to my family’s Reform temple, from my grandparents’ Orthodox shul to the Hasidic neighborhood I lived in for a time with my backyard abutting the world’s second-largest yeshiva, my rich upbringing came with an eclectic soundtrack that has stayed with me even while I explored other ideas about G-d and the Universe. 

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I often find myself in the kitchen or in the car belting out our hippie cantor’s acoustic version of “Beloved,” or what my 4th grade class thought was the very irreverent “My Toe Is Blue” version of “Mah Tovu.” A bit of a melody of a brakhah (prayer). A random piece of my haftorah portion. These songs live on in my heart. 

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One day, after months of working with the intention “I am well,” I found myself tidying up my bedroom and absent-mindedly humming one of these heart-songs, one I hadn’t known was still with me. 

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“Eternal G-d, open up my lips, that my mouth may declare your glory,” I hummed.

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I dropped everything and allowed the words and melody to wash over me. Then my thinking mind, of course, wanted in: What prayer is this? When is it recited? What is the Hebrew? And why when I sing it does it simultaneously feel like I want to weep with chest-heaving sobs and that a lightning bolt has hit my heart with the purest joy?

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אֲדֹנָי שְׂפָתַי תִּפְתָּח וּפִי יַגִּיד תְּהִלָּתֶךָ.

Adonai, s’fatai tiftach, ufi yagid t’hilatekha.

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The more I sang it, the more it started to come back to me: singing it in temple on Shabbat, at morning prayers at my Hebrew day school. Traditionally, Adonai S’fatai Tiftach is recited at the beginning of prayers, asking G-d to use our voice for praise. I used to see it as a sort of warm-up to the “real” substance of our prayers — not unlike glazing over intention to get to the “real” substance of a class. But now my heart understood it to be so much more.  

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Suddenly, it all made sense. All that searching, striving, studying — that came from my thinking mind. What I needed was to let go and allow my heart-mind to welcome in my truth. This was my intention. This was my heart’s deepest wisdom and desire. And, what’s more, I had a partner in living this intention. 

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To me, Adonai s’fatai tiftach means that at any time, anywhere, I can call on the entire Universe, “Eternal G-d,” to help support me in my intention, my reason to be: to uncover light. “Eternal G-d” — the light essence of the Universe that is omnipresent, that is in every living thing — is my partner. My partner not only “opens my lips,” but supports me in revealing all of the beauty that surrounds me in every moment. Whether that light, that “glory,” is easy to find — out in nature, talking with my daughters, moving through a vinyasa — or more illusive — in a crowded supermarket, the dropoff line at my daughters’ school, a miscommunication with a colleague — I know in my heart it is there and I have a partner to help me hold it.

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As Rosh Hashanah approaches, we are called to take stock of the past year and consider who we want to be in the coming year. We might ask: What have I accomplished? Who have I helped or harmed? What mitzvahs have I done and which callings have I ignored? Within this contemplation, I will be asking myself: How have I uncovered light, and how can I continue to do so in the coming year with a heartfelt intention?

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At The Well uplifts many approaches to Jewish practice. Our community draws on ancient Jewish wisdom, sometimes adapting longstanding practices to more deeply support the well-being of women and nonbinary people. See this article’s sources below. We believe Torah (sacred teachings) are always unfolding to help answer the needs of the present moment.

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Sources

Why Do We Recite Adonai, S’fatai Tiftach?, Temple Sinai

Adonai S'fatai (folk), YouTube

Kavanah, Or Intention, My Jewish Learning

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