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    I am an American in Israel living through a painful war in which my sons are serving. I am an American Israeli living through a national tragedy. But I keep my true self hidden. I have written so little publicly about the impact of this war on my family, friends, neighbors, and myself.

     For I am not a political person and I do not want my words to be drawn into the virulent conflict over who is right and who is wrong. Though I have strong opinions about this, I keep them to myself. But the suffering I am going through and my rich search for a personal God within it, I do want to share.

    The word “personal” God is crucial here. Though I am not religious, it has carried me through life. For me, it is the God of my Childhood, the Lord who found me when I was 11 years old after my mother had died.

   Though I was brought up without religion or forced faith; though I heard no Bible stories; though I was never taken by the hand to synagogue or church, at 11 years old soon after my mother died, a strong impulse inside  led me to lay on my belly at bedtime. Hands steepled on my forehead, I lay bare my heart for hours to this God of My Childhood Understanding.

    For the next three years, I did this every night. Though the art of prayer seemed to have left me when I became a teenager and became infatuated with boys and then embarked on the adventure of life, it returned to me in many forms throughout my life.

     I pray fervently now as a 73 year old anti-religious woman beset with the constant fear of losing a dear one, for so many have here. For I know that precious life can be swept away. I pray because I know I am powerless to do anything mighty against this almighty force. I talk, I plead with him/her, I give much thanks when I feel relieved.

     But what might this mean for you who are reading this?

      Let’s say something terribly disturbing has happened in your life. You are rankling with pain and confusion. But organized religion does not inspire you. You do not feel uplifted and healed in church or synagogue. Prayer books, Bibles and institutionalized liturgies and services leave you feeling dry and cold. You are not engaged at all in this “edifying” activity.

    Yet being engaged in an edifying activity is what will heal you!

     Intimate prayer is a healing act in which you seek and are drawn to your higher power.

    Yes, express your personal crises in your own words from your inner being!

Mumble your hopes. Mutter your fears. Cry about your needs. Let the regrets and doubts and confusion stream from your lips. Or still better stream onto the paper!

    Conversing with the God of Who You Are is the deepest kind of devotion to your own precious life. Be brave enough to let the stops out and to sink to the bottom of your pain with pen in hand.

    Here is my own personal prayer I want to share which I wrote the other day.

     Oh, please God, Be the God of love, God of Beauty, and Peace, not one who loves sacrifice and blood.

     My heart is being cut apart every second; pieces of it will be scraped from the earth here. For it is earth that devours its inhabitants, every droplet of them. And why did I settle here? And why did I stay here? And now what am I to do but pray and grow weaker.

    Please give me strength. Do not hurt me anymore. I am already impaired from loneliness, already sickened, weakened, and maddened from a poor way of life, from being widowed and  isolated and till I can no longer stand it. But who will catch me when I fall?

    O dear God I want my  daughters and sons to live to a ripe old age, to become parents of many, great grandfathers  and mothers of many more. To be fulfilled and blessed. God please I beg of you: Bless my children with all good and do not forget to help me.

   O God help me.

   Two days later, I poured out my gratitude when there were signs everywhere my words had been heard. My sons came home on leave.