When you daven, don't give Hashem your laundry list. It might come true  

AS

we enter the period of the Three Weeks, our hearts turn to the loss of the Beis Hamikdash and the avodah that once brought us close to Hashem. We mourn not only the building itself but the daily korbanos that were once offered there. Yet Chazal (Berachos 26b) teach us that even in the absence of the Mikdash, we are not left empty-handed. In place of korbanos, we can offer our tefillos.

Tefillah is not merely a substitute; it carries within it the same potential for closeness and elevation. And if this is the avodah of our times, then it is only right that we take a closer look at how tefillah really works, and at the tremendous power it holds.

There’s a unique intensity that fills us when we really want something. It might be a specific shidduch, a long-awaited job opportunity, or a major shift in communal or world affairs. In those moments, tefillah becomes deeply emotional and highly specific.

But that raises a crucial question we rarely pause to ask: When we daven with such strong desire, is there a right way to do it? And more specifically: Should we ask for what we want? Or only for what’s objectively good? Should I daven for a specific shidduch, business partner, or outcome in worldly or communal affairs?

Chazal teach something that at first sounds quite sobering but is also deeply encouraging, upon further reflection: Hashem always hears our tefillos — and sometimes, He grants our requests, even when what we’re asking for isn’t ultimately good for us.

We see this hinted in the phrase in Shemoneh Esreh, gomel chasadim tovim — He bestows kindnesses that are good. Why the word “good”? Explains the Vilna Gaon: Because not every “kindness” is truly good. A job, relationship, or windfall may seem like a blessing — but can lead to hardship, spiritual stagnation, or deep regret.

That same caution appears in Bircas Hachodesh, where we daven: “Malei mishaloseinu — mishalos libeinu l’tovah [Fulfill the desires of our hearts — for good].” The Rashash (Berachos 16a) explains that those final two words aren’t just poetic embellishment; they’re the essence of the request. We’re not asking Hashem to give us everything we want — we’re asking Him to answer us only in ways that will bring true and lasting brachah, even if that means holding back when it isn’t ultimately for our good.

Rav Tzvi Pesach Frank, in the opening teshuvah of Har Tzvi, explains this concept starkly: Hashem may grant a heartfelt tefillah even if it leads to harm. Tefillah can affect outcomes — even when our request is based on an imperfect perspective, and what we request isn’t truly good for us. Rav Avrohom Pam ztz”l would also frequently repeat this idea.

This leads to an essential distinction: We’re not saying that one should avoid being specific in tefillah. On the contrary — Chazal encourage it. Asking for clarity, health, guidance, wisdom, parnassah, spiritual strength — these are specific requests that align with objective good and should be expressed clearly and personally.

But when it comes to subjective requests — things we assume are good, like a specific shidduch, a certain business venture, or one particular outcome in a complex situation — that’s when we must be cautious.

Trust, Not Control

Rav Mordechai Druk ztz”l used to say: “When you daven, don’t give Hashem instructions.” It’s a common mistake. We come to tefillah with a plan: Here’s what I need, Hashem — and here’s exactly how You should give it to me. But that’s not tefillah. That’s a to-do list.

To explain, Rav Druk would cite the example of Miriam at the Nile. As Bas Pharaoh approached Moshe’s basket, our instinct might be to daven: “Hashem, don’t let her see him!” But had that tefillah been answered, Moshe might never have been rescued. It was that moment — her seeing him — that led to the yeshuah.

The same with Esther. As she was taken to Achashveirosh’s palace, the natural tefillah would be: “Please, Hashem, don’t let her be chosen!” Yet her selection was the catalyst for Klal Yisrael’s salvation. Had we davened based on what made sense to us, we might have davened against the Geulah itself.

Why is Rav Druk’s point so critical? Why is it important not to specify to Hashem how we want things in life to play out?

Because, as the Ramban notes, the entire power of tefillah depends on submission. When we try to dictate how Hashem should run our lives, we lose the very force that makes tefillah effective. But when we humbly say, “You know better than I do — please take care of me in the best way possible,” that mindset itself becomes our greatest zechus. When a person truly lets go — when his request is rooted in trust, not control — that act of surrender and submission itself has the power to tip the scales and bring about the very yeshuah he longs for.

But what if someone davens with complete sincerity, truly believing that what they're asking for is good? If it turns out to be harmful, why would Hashem grant it at all? Doesn’t He see that the intentions were pure?

Here we arrive at the heart of the matter.

To answer this, the Maharsha in Kiddushin (29b) introduces a powerful idea: Tefillah isn’t a force outside of nature — it’s part of nature itself. It’s a built-in force, woven into the very fabric of creation, designed by Hashem to move the world, just like gravity, wind, or light.

The Gemara tells of a terrifying demon that was wreaking havoc in Rav Acha bar Yaakov’s yeshivah. To confront it, Rav Acha orchestrated for Abaye to be left alone in the beis midrash overnight, knowing the demon would appear. He believed that Abaye’s tefillah would be enough to defeat it. And that’s exactly what happened.

The demon appeared as a seven-headed serpent. With each bow Abaye made during Shemoneh Esreh, one head fell off — until it was gone.

The Maharsha asks: How could Rav Acha knowingly place Abaye in danger? After all, we’re not allowed to rely on miracles. His answer is both startling and profound: This wasn’t a miracle — it was tefillah. And tefillah is not outside nature — it’s part of nature.

Tefillah That Never Fails

Hashem designed the world so that tefillah functions as a real, built-in force — just like gravity, electricity, or sunlight. It moves things. It changes things. And because it’s part of the system, tefillah can “work” even when it’s off-target. That’s its incredible power — and also its potential danger.

When we daven, we’re activating something real. That’s why we ask not just for what we want, but that our requests be l’tovah — used only in a way that brings true blessing.

So how should we daven? When the request is for something clearly and objectively good — refuah, emunah, simchah, parnassah, clarity — we can and should be specific. The more sincere and focused, the better.

But when our tefillah is for something subjective — something we want but can’t be sure is truly good for us — we daven with both hope and trust: “Hashem, if this is good, please grant it. And if it’s not, please send me something better.”

Because real tefillah isn’t about handing Hashem a plan to carry out. It’s about opening our hearts and saying: “You know me better than I know myself. Please take care of me — in the way only You can.”

And that kind of tefillah — rooted in humility and powered by trust — never goes unanswered.

Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner is the rav of Agudas Yisrael of Montreal and a noted posek and popular speaker. Many of his shiurim and speeches are available online. He is the author of the sefer Halachah at Home, published by ArtScroll/Mesorah

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1070)