My dear friend and colleague, Rabbi Barbara Penzner, sent me a gift today: a wonderful column she wrote for her shul's website about why we need to look after our souls AND our bodies at this season, and how these two are so intimately intertwined. Toward the end of the piece she writes:

I find special joy in the words of the Shaharit (morning) service: "The limbs you gave us, the spirit you breathed into our nostrils, and the tongue you placed in our mouths-surely they shall acknowledge and bless, praise and glorify, exalt, venerate, sanctify and crown your Name....." As Rabbi Art Green explains, "It is the whole self that calls out the praises of God, not just the lips or the mind. The act of prayer is one that calls upon the entire person." To pray is to dance; to exercise is to pray.

Like so many people, I live largely in my head. There's a lot of sitting in my line of work. Exercise opportunities need to be planned; they aren't automatically built into my daily life. But this time of year, the physical demands increase for rabbis (and cantors).

There is the stress as we prepare (often involving too little sleep or unhealthful food.) And this pressure takes its toll physically. Then there are the High Holidays themselves. We stand for hours on end during services (or stand and sit, stand and sit); we prostrate ourselves; we orchestrate the experience for the congregation even as our back muscles tighten and our feet start to ache. On Yom Kippur, we fast along with the congregation, but we also sing and stand and speak all during Kol Nidrei night and throughout the long day which follows.

I'm not complaining, mind you. In many ways, I look forward to these Days of Awe, and to the joyous holiday of Sukkot which follows. And I know that my Muslim friends, who are even now observing the holy month of Ramadan, fast each day this month from sunup to sundown, and are accustomed to falling on their faces in prayer five times a day, all year round. My own High Holiday physical challenges no doubt pale in comparison.

But challenges they are. Many of my colleagues describe both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as "marathons." Often, that's exactly what they feel like. I usually survive just fine. But I will admit that, when I touch my forehead to the floor at certain dramatic moments in the High Holiday liturgy, I do sometimes pray I'll be able to get up again (without too much help). And, at those moments, I vow that I'll be in better shape the following year.

Not simply in order to avoid publicly embarrassing myself (though the threat of humiliation is a great motivator for me), and not just so it will be easier for me to make it through the "marathon." But mainly because, as my friend Barbara points out: "Our bodies are are a gift and we are meant to use them."

All I can say is: Amen.