Amen

I have become very enthusiastic about the recitation of amen. Amen is the traditional Hebrew response to blessings uttered before food, ritual activity, or upon noteworthy sensory experiences. It is the chief response to liturgical declarations. It offers a resounding affirmation: I hear you and I affirm you. I serve as your witness.

This most ancient of Hebrew utterances forges a powerful, if sometimes ephemeral, link between the person making a formal declaration and those in their presence.  In her recent book, The Amen Effect (Avery, 2024), Rabbi Sharon Brous lifts up the recitation of amen as a means by which we weave the fabric of human connection that sustains us in our everyday lives, as well as during times of hardship.

In my own scholarship, I have explored the Hebrew root of this term, the three letters: aleph, mem, nun. In ancient Hebrew, these letters refer to steadfast presence and support. In my book, Mother’s Milk (Indiana University Press, 2025), I propose that the two-letter Hebrew word, aleph, mem (mother) may be at the root of this term. The constant support that is necessary for the infant to survive may have served as the concrete referent from which the more generalized meaning of support or constancy could be derived. Thus, the Hebrew term amen has a maternal aspect; within it we find the steadfast constancy of the mother, here defined as that person charged with the task of constant responsiveness to the communications and needs of the infant.

I recently came across a powerful amen story that I wish to share with you here. It appears in Susan Starr Sered’s book, Women as Ritual Experts (Oxford University Press, 1992). In this work, Sered describes the everyday lives of elderly Kurdish Jewish women living in Jerusalem in the 1980’s. Throughout her study, Sered observes that the behaviors and attitudes of these women regarding food, family, children, life and death are shaped by Jewish notions of time, space and relationality, even as some of their behaviors are unrecognizable and even at odds with rabbinic practice. I would like to share Sered’s account of the women’s recitation of amen:

“Many of the women treat the recitation of formal, Hebrew blessings as a social ritual… Often, the woman who is about to drink her tea picks up her glass and looks around the room until she makes eye contact with someone else. Then, she lifts her glass (in the same way that a person making a toast would) and says the blessing, waiting for the response “Amen” before drinking. During one of the rabbanit’s lessons a discussion of blessings began. Several of the women asked the rabbanit if it is permitted to say a blessing on food when one is alone in the house. The rabbanit did not understand the question and the women explained: Is it permitted to say a blessing on food when there is no one to hear and say ‘Amen’?” -Susan Staff Sered, Women as Ritual Experts, p. 78

I find this short account to be arresting in its power and implications. For these women, the recitation of brakhot (blessings) could only be enacted as part of a social exchange, akin to other liturgical recitations that require a public quorum. Indeed, as Sered goes on to tell us, the rabbinic teacher of the women did not understand the premise of their question, given that “the normative Jewish view is that one is equally obligated to say blessings when one is alone or in a crowd. (Sered, 78).” For these women, the recitation of brakhot had a necessary social component; they could not be done without witness, without someone to recite amen. This story echos the famous philosophical query, “if a tree falls in a forest, and no one hears it, does it make a sound?” If a blessing is recited and no one receives it with amen, was it ever meaningfully spoken?

Rather than think of this custom as deviant, a sign of the women’s ignorance of Jewish law, or even as a form of “extra-halakhic” behavior, I prefer to see this custom as a sign of the capacity of traditional Jewish practices to carry life forward and to take shape within the context of everyday relationships. Indeed, there are many rabbinically sanctioned customs that emphasize the power and importance of reciting amen. The recitation of amen, as Rabbi Sharon Brous has taught us, is an opportunity to see one another, and to acknowledge our humanity. This is a critical remedy for our time, a time plagued by social isolation, and attenuated social contact.

If I may, I wish to end this post with a call for the recitation of amen. If you are someone who recites brakhot (or perhaps is interested in taking up the practice), consider looking around first, making eye contact with someone, reciting the brakhah audibly, and waiting for amen. It will infuse the experience with the relationality, and with divinity; it will stir up the healing medicine of the mitzvot.

I discuss this topic along with other related themes in my book, Mother’s Milk: Essays on Childrearing, the Household and the Making of Jewish Culture (Indiana University Press, 2025).

Please join me for online zoom offerings later this month: February Talmud Together and my February session of Curious about Homeopathy.