How can I connect when I daven?

Facilitated by Faigy Peritzman

Q:

I have a very hard time davening. I know Hashem is there and listening, but somehow, I can’t connect the words to feelings of appreciation for being able to speak to Him. It makes me feel so disconnected that it discourages me from “speaking” to Hashem at other times during the day. How do I resolve this?

Prescriptive Power

Ruchi Koval

T

he first thing you need to understand is that davening is mostly about building a relationship with Hashem. In any relationship, there needs to be two-way communication. I speak to you; you speak to me.

Okay, so what does that look like in a relationship with Hashem?

We talk to Hashem through davening. Hashem talks to us through Torah, through nature, and through messages from other people.

But davening isn’t just about the siddur. Davening has two parts: scripted communication and unscripted communication. Just like in a relationship with a human being, there are certain things we say because those are the prescriptive expected phrases and they have the power to create a real feeling appropriate for specific occasions. Thank you for coming. Happy anniversary! These scripted phrases grease the wheels of social human interactions.

But if the whole relationship is about scripted communication, where it’s difficult to attach real meaning, then it’s neither organic or genuine. What Hashem really loves to hear is our unscripted communication. This is the impulsive “Thank You, Hashem!” when you find a parking spot or “Please, please, Hashem” when you’re waiting for test results from the doctor.

Hashem craves, so to speak, our unscripted communication because that’s the true glue of our emotional and spiritual connective relationship with Hashem as our Heavenly Father. Meaning, how you talk to someone impulsively and spontaneously says more about your relationship than what you read from a script — even an extremely holy and powerful script.

So, as a woman, you actually have the luxury of keeping the scripted communication, which is still extremely valuable and holy, but which you find hard to relate to, to a minimum, and your unscripted communication with Hashem, which hopefully feels more natural and “real” to you, to a maximum. In this way, you’re fulfilling the true purpose of prayer: building a real and connective relationship with Hashem.

Ruchi Koval is a parent coach, author, kiruv rebbetzin, and public speaker who helps parents struggling with their teens and adult children.

Underline with Attention

Elisheva Kaminetsky

Y

ou want to speak to Hashem in your own words, and sometimes the siddur feels in the way. Chazal gave us a fixed text to support — not replace — our relationship with Hashem.

Many share your frustration: It’s hard to fit the specifics of your life into words that seem so general. If we are all saying the same thing, where is my connection? How can these shared lines carry my private heart?

A mashal helped me: My grandmother a”h sent a birthday card every year. I wasn’t the only one; all the grandchildren received cards. Yes — thousands of the same Hallmark cards existed. But she underlined the phrase in the card that showed why she chose that particular one — the line that conveyed, “This is you.” Those underlines turned a mass-printed message into a personal conversation. I still felt seen.

The siddur works the same way. The words are the card; your kavanah is the underline. When you pick a greeting card, you read to discover which printed message reflects your feelings. Do the same with tefillah. Before you begin, pause and ask: “What part of this tefillah speaks to my life today?” In Shemoneh Esreh, linger on “Hashem, sefasai tiftach” when you need help to daven, “chonein hadaas” for clarity, or “shema koleinu” when your heart is full. Underline with attention — slow down, stress a word, add a whisper in your own language before or after the printed line about what the words mean to you. Let the fixed text become a foothold for a personal conversation.

Small steps are holy steps. Chazal teach that it is better to say less with kavanah — thought and reflection — than more without that personal inflection. Read slowly. Ask, “What am I actually saying?” Bring one concrete detail of your day to that line.

Don’t wait to feel to speak; often speaking grows the feeling. The goal isn’t fireworks; it’s honesty. “Hashem desires the heart — Rachmana liba ba’ei.” Even an underline, quietly, can be precious in Shamayim.

Elisheva Kaminetsky is a wife, parent, grandparent, principal, adult educator, consultant, and kallah teacher.

It’s Information

Shevi Samet

M

any women quietly share this ache; I show up, I say the words, and yet I feel disconnected and frustrated with myself for feeling that way. It can be painful to pick up a siddur or Tehillim and wonder why the words don’t seem to lift us the way we believe they should.

Part of the struggle is that we live in an olam ha’asiyah, a world of doing. We’re conditioned for productivity, efficiency, and quantifiable outcomes. Tefillah, however, asks something very different of us. At its core, tefillah is less about doing and more about being in a spiritual and emotional state of connection with our Source. That can feel unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, in a world that doesn’t appreciate the stillness of introspection. We so value accomplishing, that simply being present, with our thoughts, longings, confusion, or pain, can feel elusive and even pointless.

Chazal understood this tension. The words of tefillah give us structure, but they aren’t meant to replace the inner world of a person. They’re meant to contain and articulate it.

This is why the quiet plea at the end of Shemoneh Esreh is so powerful: “Yehiyu l’ratzon imrei fi v’hegyon libi lefanecha.” We often translate this as asking Hashem to accept the words of our mouths, but it explicitly includes the meditation of my heart. Hashem receives not only what we manage to articulate, but also what remains unsaid and even unformed.

This means that frustration itself can become part of tefillah. The disconnect you feel isn’t proof of failure, rather it’s information about where your heart actually is. When you stand before Hashem and think, I wish this felt different, that thought itself is already an expression of relationship. Tefillah doesn’t demand spiritual perfection. It invites emotional and spiritual honesty.

For many women, connection comes from allowing small moments of truth. One line that resonates. One pause to acknowledge: This is hard for me today. One quiet recognition that Hashem is with you even when the feelings are muted.

In a world obsessed with doing, tefillah gently insists on being. Being tired. Being hopeful. Being disappointed. Being real. And in that space, sometimes slowly and unexpectedly, connection can begin to take root.

Shevi Samet is a wife and mother, educator, kallah teacher, and Core MMC.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 982)