The shiur last night was about bringing G-d closer into daily life.Not through mystical contortions or spiritual cosplay, but through logistics.

Blessings before food. After food. After the toilet. Washing hands. Standing. Sitting. Existing with intention.One hundred brachot a day.

A very lot, as my niece once put it, back when numbers were still emotional.

There was a particular emphasis on the first three words of almost every prayer:Baruch Atah Hashem.

Blessed are You, G-d.

And that’s where the whole thing gets strange. And very Jewish.

Because we don’t talk like that.

We don’t address our parents that way. We don’t address teachers, judges, bosses, heads of state, or anyone with actual authority as “you” in that tone. We don’t walk up to someone powerful and say, “You,” casually and familiarly.

Certainly not followed by a request.

Yet with G-d, the Almighty, King of the Universe, Creator of… everything?We do exactly that.

Not “He.” Not “The Divine.” Not “One might humbly acknowledge.”You.

Hey You.Thanks for the wine.Thanks for the bread.Thanks for the functioning plumbing.Please heal. Please help. Please stay close.

There is no theological distancing here. No formal third-person reverence. No “who am I to ask?” paralysis.

And this, I think, is the most misunderstood part of the so-called “Chosen” relationship.

Being chosen doesn’t mean being elevated above others. It doesn’t mean moral superiority or divine favouritism. It means being spoken to. And expected to speak back.

One hundred times a day, ideally.

Judaism doesn’t place G-d on a velvet rope. It places G-d in the kitchen, the bathroom, the morning rush, the small indignities and the small gratitudes. You bless before you eat. After you eat. After you survive the miracle of a public restroom.

You don’t wait to be worthy. You don’t wait to feel holy. You speak first.

And you speak directly.

There is something almost impudent about it. Something emotionally intimate to the point of discomfort. Jews don’t approach G-d like subjects. We approach like children who know the rules but also know the relationship can take it.

We argue. We complain. We thank. We demand. We show up half-asleep, mumbling, and still say “You.”

That’s the power of those first three words.

Not reverence through distance, but reverence through closeness.Not fear, but familiarity.Not perfection, but persistence.

One hundred daily reminders that G-d is not somewhere else. G-d is addressed. Spoken to. Invited in.

Even when we’re grumpy.Even when we’re unfiltered.Even when we’re just grateful the coffee worked.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)