tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8782085892390200692024-03-05T11:52:57.814-05:00gotsimchagotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-55266264816369728732022-05-17T19:03:00.004-04:002022-05-18T16:17:21.723-04:00<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSdwFw2DwkL6SGxJcSbOHhtHSrTuDpmx4mCdU83f8rQrqm9Ym0w76FnqSkN_MJNEJFZgyyE00vP5Wg5LjAeup3VLQmr1OUuS1REnxvcdttEI5g1QcUoMZIPP62iDYDAP1ANX4shNtTndowkZF9edmto57_PwCR_t--zrjoZ-ijPZr-uBvzVU_D5Ko/s3932/piano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="3932" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJSdwFw2DwkL6SGxJcSbOHhtHSrTuDpmx4mCdU83f8rQrqm9Ym0w76FnqSkN_MJNEJFZgyyE00vP5Wg5LjAeup3VLQmr1OUuS1REnxvcdttEI5g1QcUoMZIPP62iDYDAP1ANX4shNtTndowkZF9edmto57_PwCR_t--zrjoZ-ijPZr-uBvzVU_D5Ko/w340-h129/piano.jpg" width="340" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: large;">GO KNOW</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Sitting at the dining room table this morning drinking tea, thinking into the few lines of <i>Tanya</i> I’d just read, the piano across the room caught the corner of my mind’s eye. It’s a Baldwin Acrosonic upright, a beautiful golden oak with a nice bright sound. A recent acquisition: it hasn’t been all that long since we finally conquered our sentimental attachment to its untuneable, unrepairable, unplayable predecessor, which had been serving for decades as a huge-footprint pedestal for picture frames and flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><i>Tanya</i> is a 326-page, 200-plus years old philosophical tour-de-force by Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, known affectionately as the <i>Alter Rebbe</i>. Among other profundities it’s about the Kabbalistic model of Creation, the structural dynamics of consciousness, and the all-but-infinite potential promised by its saintly author’s roadmap of human psychology. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">This morning’s chapter addresses various modes and modalities of <i>knowing</i>.<i> (Spoiler alert:)</i> The punchline is a classic and somewhat inscrutable aphorism that explains how God knows: “He is the knowledge, He is the knower, and He is the known.” To come anywhere near even a glimpse of what that might mean, we’ll need to climb a few rungs up the metaphorical ladder of the mind. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">So it gives me pause to wonder: how much do I actually know about that piano?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I learned quite a bit about piano parts when I had to dismantle the old one piece by piece before the local bulk trash folks would pick it up. I know a thing or two about black keys and white keys and chromatic scales and boogie-woogie. Needless to say though, in comparison with all there is to know, well... hahaha. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">But imagine for an utterly absurd moment that I am in fact familiar with and have a working knowledge of the entire piano, every internal nuance and external detail, every relationship and association—including not just its materials and mechanics, but the sound and the soul of all the music it can make. The piano is totally owned, inside and out. Absolute grasp. The penetrating mind knows every interior hook, nook, and cranny, through and through. The wide-angle mind wraps itself around the whole exterior and sees the big picture from every angle all at once.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Fine, says the Alter Rebbe, but there’s something missing from this fantasy. No matter what, I cannot hold </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">in my consciousness </span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">the actual three-dimensional piano that takes up space and weighs many hundreds of pounds. This so-called knowing is strictly conceptual, imaginary, insubstantial. Moreover, the piano and I are and will remain two hopelessly separate entities. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>But Divine knowing is something else entirely. “My thoughts are not like your thoughts,” God tells us. The knower and the known are not two. God’s knowledge of all the pianos, all the pianists, all the people on all the planets is totally for real: it’s all within Him, and He’s embedded within it all. He brings it all into existence. His knowing gives light and life and substance and functionality to the whole world, </span><span>physically as well as metaphysically, </span><span>from the inside out and from the outside in. And from His point of view there’s no distance or difference between the outside and the inside.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">He is the knowledge, He is the knower, and He is the known. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">Can you wrap your brain around that?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The short answer is undoubtedly no, you can’t. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">The medium-size answer is also no, no mortal mind can; but what we <i>can</i> do is meditate on what we cannot know from the perspective of what we can. We can contemplate and cultivate a relationship with the gap—that semi-permeable membrane between the known and the unknowable. God knows it’s worth a try.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span>It could make your day.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span> </span></p>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-28021145271277175292013-12-26T17:32:00.002-05:002013-12-26T18:12:17.470-05:00 Being Here, Getting There <style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }A:link { }</style>
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<b><i>(or: The Call of the
Chauffeur)</i></b></h3>
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<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i>Recent controversy has brought to light the growing popularity of "Call of the Shofar" - a Jewish-oriented weekend workshop for self-actualization - and concern among mainstream Chabad-Lubavitch community leaders that it may be inappropriate for Chassidim to seek resolution of their issues 'outside the fold.' While the conversation continues, there is an emerging consensus that the community can do more to serve the perceived needs. Here are some of my initial thoughts and responses to this issue.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i> </i></span> </div>
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An embodied soul arrives here in this
manifest reality with a mandate, a sense of mission – a hardwired
desire to pursue a purposeful life: a life of service, creativity,
productivity and the betterment of the world. We encounter a
fragmented, competitive, often cruel and seemingly irrational world;
our job is to do all we can to transform this world and render it
whole, harmonious, meaningful, and kind.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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While in essence this mandate is about
serving G-d and doing for others, and “not about me,” since we
are all imperfect the effective pursuit of this purpose also calls
(ironically, some might say) for self-rectification. In order to get
the job done we often have to learn how to get out of our own way.
By the same token, however, healthy selflessness calls for a healthy
sense of one's own personal strengths. The balance of the two helps
us create loving, mutually empowering relationships, among other
components of a meaningful and enjoyable life.<br />
<br />
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In this generation of <i>ikvasa
d'meshicha</i> especially, Chassidus (Chassidic philosophy) tends to emphasize action on
behalf of others rather than self-absorbed attention to
“self-improvement.” Nonetheless the inner work of
self-cultivation (or perhaps better, self-transcendence) is an
important component of the work at hand. This is true both in terms
of the mitzvah of <i>avodah shebelev </i>(the 'service of the heart")<i>, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">for
those who are healthy enough and well-trained enough to effectively
work on themselves with the tools of </span><i>hisbonenus</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and </span><i>tefilah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (meditation and prayer), and in
the sense of self-healing – overcoming internal conflicts,
weaknesses, emotional turmoil or negative habitual patterns – for
those of us who are challenged with a personal sense of
fragmentation.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Chassidus presents a complete model of
both the structure and the dynamics of consciousness. Or, if you
will, the anatomy and physiology of the human soul, mind, heart,
body, and behavior. (Pathology too – which raises the question of
a distinction between spiritual growth and therapy. More about that another time.) In principle, Chassidus offers us unerring guidance toward
our fulfillment of life's mission – an accurate roadmap and wise
advice as to how to get from where we are to where we are destined to
be. In practice, many still struggle and falter along this path,
grow bitter or pessimistic, or even lose sight of the purpose of life
and abandon its pursuit. Still others have yet to discover the path.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">My
wife and I are educators and healers. We've been Chabad program
directors and school administrators, teachers and </span><i>mashpi'im</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (mentors),
nutritional pioneers and health care providers, coaches,
entertainers, and trainers in meditation techniques. After more than
four decades of learning how to walk the walk and reaching out to
others along the way, it is our perception that prevalent methods and
existing institutions still leave much to be desired – and that
people are growing clearer and more articulate about what it is they
really want. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Our
day jobs place us at the threshold of that new direction. Frumma
currently teaches young women in Seminary and High School, travels as
an inspirational speaker, and serves as a Torah Life Coach. I am
currently a licensed practitioner of Acupuncture and Herbal Medicine,
and am researching and writing about the converging sciences of
physical wellness, emotional intelligence, and the refinement of
consciousness. Together we are developing a formal course to train
people in coaching skills. We see our emerging role as contributing
to the development of dynamic new curricula and training programs
that apply core principles of Chassidus to the cultivation of
behavioral, emotional, cognitive and spiritual well-being: a
whole-systems approach to individual coaching and group workshops
that internalizes traditional teachings and puts wisdom to work in
real life.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<span style="font-style: normal;">Collaboration
is our preferred working model, so we encourage anyone of kindred
spirit and aligned intention to be in touch with us and share
insights and goals.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Frumma's
website is at <a href="http://www.frumma.info/">www.frumma.info</a>.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Our
emails are <a href="mailto:gotfrumma@gmail.com">gotfrumma@gmail.com</a>
and <a href="mailto:gotsimcha@gmail.com">gotsimcha@gmail.com</a>,
respectively.</span></div>
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gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-9394543762580125742013-07-25T08:44:00.001-04:002013-07-25T09:11:36.922-04:00On TM and Jewish Meditation<br />
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Our old friend Reb Gutman Locks (once the guru of Central Park, now a dynamic denizen of the Western Wall in Jerusalem) recently wrote a blog post about meditation that put a bug in my brain. His post is <a href="http://www.mpaths.com/2013/07/transcendental-meditation-vs-jewish.html" target="_blank">here</a>; my response is below. There is much more to be written about this... </div>
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Gutman,</div>
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I respectfully beg to differ with both the premises and the conclusions of your blog post on TM and Jewish meditation.</div>
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First of all let me stipulate that you are correct in saying that the teaching of TM as presented by the guru to whom you refer (and with whom I studied extensively more than 40 years ago) was rooted in Hindu/Vedic idolatrous philosophy, and that he was somewhat disingenuous in characterizing the mantras as meaningless. However it's important to draw a distinction between the methodology itself and those teachings. The Lubavitcher Rebbe (with whom I studied in subsequent years, and whose public statements, private letters, and personal guidance inform my perspective on this topic) did precisely that in encouraging medical and mental health professionals to train people in "kosher" forms of meditation, some of which were based on that same methodology. It is a method most clearly explained in Dr. Herbert Benson's seminal book, "The Relaxation Response." A certain prominent Rav and mentor in the Chabad community, when asked for a halachic ruling as to whether this form of meditation was permissible (inasmuch as it had been derived from TM) researched the matter and concluded that for a person in whom the method might evoke an attraction or temptation toward the idolatrous philosophies associated with TM it is forbidden; but for one who either has no such associations or who has demonstrably broken free of such associations, the technique itself is permissible.</div>
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Now to the technique itself, its value, and its relationship with Jewish meditation. I think the categorization of this form of "mantra" meditation as entirely passive, as opposed to the ideal of active Jewish meditation, is erroneous and misleading (with due respect to my old friend and colleague Schneur Zalman Stern, whose <a href="http://www.kabbalaonline.org/kabbalah/article_cdo/aid/380387/jewish/Active-vsPassive-Meditation.htm" target="_blank">article of some years ago</a> first suggested this distinction.) </div>
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(The original Chassidic text of the Alter Rebbe that S.Z. Stern cites in that article does not use the terms "passive" and "active." I don't agree that those terms do justice to the Alter Rebbe's intent. This is not the place for an in-depth discussion of that original text - and I am traveling at the moment and don't have access to my copy - but I do hope to find the time to write more about this before too long.) </div>
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Suffice it to say here that just as there are passive and active aspects of Jewish meditation - and in particular the specific form of Chassidic meditation known as "hisbonenus" (or "hitbonenut") - there are also passive and active aspects of the far simpler meditation technique that was taught as TM, or mantra meditation, or the relaxation response technique. I will try to explain what I mean, by stepping back to gain a broader perspective on the dynamics of the mind.</div>
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Conscious thought emerges in our cognitive experience from a latent, "supra-conscious" source of thought deep within the soul. Some of the Chassidic literature explains this idea through a metaphor: the mind is like a river, or "stream of consciousness," whose rushing waters have their source in hidden wellsprings deep beneath the surface. The purpose of meditation is to open the conscious mind to the connection between the still, calm, powerful source of thought (i.e. the well, the deep) and the actual thoughts we experience (downstream, as it were) in our efforts to perceive and understand the truth and communicate effectively with the world at large.</div>
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Albert Einstein famously said that problems can never be solved on the same level of understanding within which they arise. To solve the problems we face, we have to get to a higher level of awareness, and then bring that deeper insight and clarity to bear in addressing the issues at hand. </div>
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For example, suppose you are stuck in a negative emotional state - say, anger, or anxiety. (It happens to all of us. Or at least most of us.) Emotions tend to have a life and a will of their own; they are resistant to change, and especially resistant to other people's efforts to talk us out of feeling what we're feeling. So how do we change negative emotion to positive feelings?</div>
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Applying Einstein's rule of thumb, we'll need to call upon a higher, more flexible, less stubborn part of ourselves. Intellect would seem a likely candidate; after all, our intellectual faculties are more reasonable. The mind is generally more willing to see things from an alternative point of view than the heart, the liver, and the nervous system, and therefore more open to change. So why not use our intellect to reason with our feelings, and thereby feel better? In other words, solve the problem from a higher level than where the problem arose. Does it work? Sometimes. It depends on two things: first, whether the heart is willing to listen to that higher wisdom. And then, whether the mind is really wise enough to be able to offer the right perspective to the heart, and say it with enough empathy and patience for the heart to hear. The first part is about letting go of the old stuckness and stubbornness, the negativity that doesn't want to quit. The second part is embracing the positive - knowing where to go, what to do, and how to do it once we've come unstuck. The first is passive: letting go. The second is active: getting going.</div>
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That's where meditation comes in, in both its passive and active roles. The passive aspect of meditation consists in training the mind and heart to let go of the way they've been thinking and feeling until now, and let in illumination from a higher source. The active aspect of meditation is about developing that higher light, cultivating an idea, using the rational mind to grasp and understand a higher truth in all its details and ramifications so that we can put it to work out there in the world. The passive part is the art of detachment - not a forsaking of the world, but rather, a release from the bondage of an attitude and mindset that are no longer working. Its purpose is to free us up and empower our active engagement in transforming the world into a better place.</div>
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And here's an important key: so-called "passive" techniques also involve our active intentionality; and "active" meditation practices also require that we be adept in the passive art of detachment. </div>
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In the TM-like meditation method of the relaxation response - generally characterized as a passive technique - the meditator is actually, rather paradoxically, exerting an effort to discover his or her inner effortlessness. One is in a sense exercising one's letting-go muscles, learning how to do without overdoing, try without trying. This skill in turn enables a person to pursue any and all activities (whether they are meditative practices or actual, productive, creative work) freed from the egotistical delusion that "I am" the one who is getting it done. Knowing how to let go to the inner empowerment from a higher power, we become better able to serve as agents of the Al-mighty in all our tasks and challenges.</div>
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Optimally, this double-edged art of passive release and active engagement is integrated into all our pursuits - especially prayer (tefilah), Torah study, and the acts of kindness by which we change the world - so that meditation becomes something that we don't have to self-consciously "do," but rather, the way we live.</div>
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gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-91411219159111593852012-05-16T13:26:00.000-04:002012-05-16T13:26:02.289-04:00Things Akiva Taught Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoQ7UzW729hFKzUYS2HaoMXbr6H8SLGduK2ZCybXJppgnMqvLs4OMNM7rvCWGY1Amh2eFr3BpFpaHxaP7QDF1mMvkI6j8yzCykwRYE0La7Sg8lN1eZ5mdLtJOX_1yn5fosJFjsT-IGes/s1600/akiva+grain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoQ7UzW729hFKzUYS2HaoMXbr6H8SLGduK2ZCybXJppgnMqvLs4OMNM7rvCWGY1Amh2eFr3BpFpaHxaP7QDF1mMvkI6j8yzCykwRYE0La7Sg8lN1eZ5mdLtJOX_1yn5fosJFjsT-IGes/s320/akiva+grain.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>In the summer of 1972 I returned from travels abroad to Binghamton, New York with the intention of studying Torah.<span> </span>I had danced around with Jewish observance for a year or two; now I was prepared to make a commitment. To my great good fortune, Rabbi Baruch Akiva Greenberg was sitting there on the couch in Meir Abehsera's living room when I walked in.<span> </span>He became my first serious teacher and remained an enormous influence in my life (mostly at a distance) over the next four decades.<span> </span>Akiva's soul ascended from this world on Shabbos Parshas Emor 5752 - at this writing, just a few days ago.<span> </span>This is my attempt to deal with the feelings. <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">In those early Binghamton days we had a small, informal, part-time mini-yeshiva that met for a few hours a day at Beth David Synagogue.<span> </span>The core of the curriculum was Akiva's class on Chumash (Parshas Shmos) with Rashi's commentary.<span> </span>There were a half-dozen or so of us, sometimes more when visitors passed through, with Hebrew skills that ranged from mediocre to non-existent.<span> </span>Akiva's method was for each one of us to read and translate aloud every <i>pasuk</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> and every Rashi (in Rashi script, which was a whole other unfamiliar alphabet in itself.)<span> </span>We would not move on to the next verse until everyone had said. <span> </span>It took forever.<span> </span>It tried our patience.<span> </span>Improbably, we loved every minute of it, and we learned how to learn.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before long we came to realize what astute Jewish educators all over the world who knew him know - that Akiva Greenberg was a master teacher. <span> </span>More significantly, we came to see what the thousands of students whose lives he has enriched, and the thousands more who have been touched by those thousands, have seen.<span> </span>That quality, that humanity, is something that cannot be so easily described.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An old friend and former partner of mine once said that when he was around Akiva, he felt he was in the presence of greatness.<span> </span>He had enough sense, of course, not to say that in Akiva's presence - he would not have gotten away with it.<span> </span>Akiva was very adept at disarming anyone's tendency toward sanctimony, whether with a wink or smile that said (without saying) "cut the crap," or with his inimitable way of undercutting his own holiness with humor: "the only problem with going to the mikveh is you can't smoke your pipe in the mikveh…"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One of the earliest and most important pieces of advice he gave me was when I was preparing to marry, and trying to sort out the Torah approach to the sanctity of marital life vis-à-vis my generation's more casual attitudes. The books spoke a lot about <i>kedushah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - holiness.<span> </span>Just what that meant was not so simple, I thought (and still think.)<span> </span>Akiva offered a single sentence that was immediately pragmatic, but that also continues to deepen my understanding to this day.<span> </span>He didn't need to repeat or reinforce what the books were saying; as usual, he saw what else needed to be said.<span> </span>"Relax," he said, "and the </span><i>kedushah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> will take care of itself." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Akiva was always exacting and precise in his singing and in his storytelling.<span> </span>The <i>niggun</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> goes just so, without shortcuts; when a </span><i>fal</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is supposed to be sung twice, you sing it twice before moving on to the next.<span> </span>When a story the Tzemach Tzedek told about the Horadaker was heard from the Vizhnitzer, you say it over in their respective names. <span> </span>He taught us that it matters that we get it right, that the legacy is transmitted without distortion or embellishment.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I even learned from the way he would bang on the table while singing or teaching a niggun.<span> </span>A Modzitzer waltz would inevitably be accompanied by one firm <i>klop</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> of the left fist, followed by two gentle brush strokes of the open right hand.<span> </span>What this conveyed about the appropriate balance of </span><i>chesed</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> and </span><i>gevurah</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, kindness and severity, I cannot begin to explain.<span> </span>I can however say with some certainty that when the Gershwin brothers wrote "I Got Rhythm" this was in large part what they had in mind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Akiva's table was not a table, it was a spacetime transporter.<span> </span><i>Shalosh Seudos</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> would sometimes go hours past sunset and segue seamlessly into </span><i>Melave Malka</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.<span> </span>We danced with the Shpoler Zeide and got beaten up with the Rebbe Reb Zusia and ate soup with the spoon that the Maggid used.<span> </span>And yet, with all the Chassidus and the mystique, his emphasis always returned to the simple, </span><i>halachic</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> nuts and bolts. <span> </span>No matter how arcane the questions, the answers were down to earth.<span> </span>What's the key to redemption?<span> </span>Learn </span><i>Kitzur Shulchan Aruch</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - the Abridged Code of Law - every day.<span> </span>In English, because you need to not fool yourself. What should be my </span><i>kavanah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> in </span><i>Krias Shema</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - the meditative intention in proclaiming G-d's oneness?<span> </span>Be sure to pronounce the verses correctly, with the appropriate spaces between the words.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Though he was not usually given to big philosophical pronouncements, Akiva once let slip a core motivating principle that I find myself remembering nearly every day of my life.<span> </span>The highest purpose one can aspire to, he said, is to be able to relieve another person's suffering.<span> </span>And yet, on other occasions he would quietly remind us of what a delicate thing that can be, how challenging it is to have genuine empathy and not jump the gun with facile, half-baked answers.<span> </span>Matters of the heart, he would say, cannot be dictated.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A few other gems, in no particular order: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Anyone can fast by not eating. The real trick is to be fasting while you're eating."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"It’s better to be in <i>chutz l'aretz</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (the diaspora) wishing you were in Israel than to be in Israel wishing you were in </span><i>chutz l'aretz."</i><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"When I look at that bookshelf, the books scream at me, saying 'when?'"</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Akiva loved old-fashioned comedy – the Marx brothers, Laurel and Hardy – and he availed himself often of the way laughter heals.<span> </span>I don’t recall him ever referring to Woody Allen, but he epitomized one of Woody's famous lines: "90% of success is showing up."<span> </span>Akiva modeled steadiness and consistency, but never preached it.<span> </span>And he did not try to hide his personal pain, or his imperfection; he demonstrated his fortitude in facing it, and in rectifying it.<span> </span>I cannot imagine anyone knowing him and not having gained strength of character.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thinking back to that Chumash class back in the day, and about all the myriad yeshiva and college students in the ensuing decades who have sung his praises as the consummate educator, I ponder what it was that made him so.<span> </span>It seems almost trivial to speak of patience as the key to his expertise as a teacher; but I keep coming back to that.<span> </span>Not patience as a technique or a strategy.<span> </span>Not even patience as a cultivated character trait.<span> </span>It seems to me that Akiva's extraordinary patience as a teacher stemmed from two sources.<span> </span>First, from love.<span> </span>And secondly, from silence - from a quietude of mind rooted in the uppermost reaches of the soul.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Rebbe Rashab, in Hemshech Ayin Beis, explores the transcendent realm of <i>Kesser</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (Crown).<span> </span>He cites the great kabbalist Rabbi Moshe Kordovero's explanation that one meaning (among several) of the word </span><i>Kesser </i><span style="font-style: normal;">is derived from a verse in Job: </span><i>"katar li z'eir"</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - "wait for me a bit".<span> </span>It's an expression of silent, patient waiting for a time when that which is not yet evident will be revealed.<span> </span>It's a crown we wear when we rise above the neediness to know it all now, when we can detach from the details that don’t yet make sense, when we are able to hear the voice from beyond the veil that says, </span><i>shaa</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - this is the way it wants to be, for now.<span> </span>It’s a crown Akiva wore, and not just when he was teaching.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I imagine his patience is beginning to pay off just about now.<span> </span>May he be an effective intercessor on all our behalf.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hamakom yenachem eschem b'soch shaar aveilei Tzion v'Yerushalayim.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">P.S…. Dear Akiva,</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm sorry I didn’t write or visit more often.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm sorry I don't remember exactly how all the <i>niggunim</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> go.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm sorry I didn’t create more opportunities to make you laugh.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm sorry I couldn't heal your illness or take away your pain.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And even though I think I understand how and why you would purposely allow me the leeway to choose for myself how to respond when you'd suggest to me what to do, I'm sorry I didn't always listen. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Simchaleh</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-33793310826641059502011-09-28T16:58:00.003-04:002011-10-03T13:17:58.131-04:00King Me<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">While wishing all cherished family and friends a powerfully sweet successful joyous New Year 5772 and the full manifestation of all our hearts' deepest desires, beyond our wildest blue-sky imaginations yet within our well-grounded grasp... I'm thinking about something I learned the other day that sort of wasn't new, yet in the context of my recent mindset, was - and which blew me away. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Mittler Rebbe writes in his <i>Shaar Hateshuvah (Gate of Return)</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> that the root of our undoing is </span><i>prikat ol</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – throwing off the yoke.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The idea of bearing a yoke is not all that appealing to freethinking American babyboomers like me and my ilk. That it’s 'the yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven' helps – assuming we have some sense of what a King is. Most of us lost that sense somewhere along the way between the Declaration of Independence, the liquidation of the Romanoffs, and the ascendance of poll-driven demagoguery in place of statesmanship. An interesting evolution, or devolution – but I don't want to go there now. Let's assume for the moment that we can appreciate the value of the harness that unites us with the King of the Universe and places our talents at His service. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If so, what gets in our way?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I've been paying a lot of attention lately to the famous kabbalistic principle that <i>it takes one to know one</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Or as the kids say, when you point a finger at me you've got three fingers pointing back at you. Or as the Baal Shem Tov puts it, when you see something intolerable in another, it's actually a projection of, a deflection from, something you can't bear to look at in yourself. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yet another way of seeing it is as a reactive cycle of shame and blame. Who doesn't have some dark place inside where he can't stand himself? We're ashamed, not just of our behavior but even of our thoughts. As <a href="http://www.peterhimmelman.com/discography/fr_thisfath.html">Peter Himmelman</a> sings: "I'm a dirty man – I went and took a drink of dirty water." And the Yom Kippur liturgy: "Before You I am like a vessel filled with shame and disgrace." On Yom Kippur we are at our best. In the presence of unconditional Divine forgiveness we're prepared to own up and face the dark side. But we may not be so straightforward on some turgid Thursday in February. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It happens in the blink of an eye: a sudden impulse of awareness of shame bubbles up from the dark recesses of our shadowy side. It's too painful, too hard to take. So we turn it inside out and find the nearest target to deflect the shame: we blame. That awareness was an opportunity to accept the harness of personal responsibility with dignity, to summon the inner strength to change. Instead, we squander the chance, throw off the yoke, and wreak damage rather than repair.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes it occurs only internally, in the privacy of our own minds. And we may not be so aware – it could be beneath our conscious radar. Next time you look askance at a fellow human being whose very presence irks you no end, step back and trace that feeling to its real source: what is it about him that reminds you of something you don't like about yourself?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It's something all people seem to have in common, from the basically nice guy who can occasionally be a grumpy judgmental curmudgeon, to the sophisticated terrorist who dehumanizes his victims, turning unbearable <a href="http://www.theaugeanstables.com/2011/08/17/islam-modernity-and-honor-shame-dynamics-reflections-in-the-wake-of-breivik/">shame for his own depravity</a> outward to absolve himself. It lies within the black heart of anti-Semitism, the green eye of the envious, and the red clenched fist of the enraged.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The major, dangerous examples may or may not be within range of our efforts to change. But the internal <i>teshuvah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is ours to accomplish. Let's seek those moments where we're tempted to turn away, and turn them around. Those small victories of responsibility over </span><i>prikat ol, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">of acknowledgement and self-correction over shame and blame, will generate the energy that will change the world. Let the King rule and let the good times roll. </span></div>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-3356415138641964942011-09-12T18:24:00.001-04:002011-09-12T18:33:13.243-04:00wading into the stream<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">A friend who saw the video posted below said something like, "cool, but, um, like, huh?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Kinda thought that might happen. Context is everything! To ever-so-briefly explain</span>...<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">THE STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS is an introduction to the practice of</span><a href="http://soulsculptors.com/MEDIA/rainbow%20meditation.m4a" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> "Hisbonenus" meditation - the contemplative path that lies at the heart of the philosophy</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> and psychology of Chabad. There are numerous other forms of meditative practice.</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Some are very simple, others more advanced; some are therapeutic in nature, while others</span><a href="http://soulsculptors.com/MEDIA/rainbow%20meditation.m4a" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> benefit healthy people who wish to advance spiritually and creatively. And just as certain practices are universal</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> or culturally neutral, some forms of meditation and meditative prayer are derived specifically </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">from Torah tradition, as taught by the Chassidic masters and the Sages of antiquity.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The video is based on a metaphor found in the commentary of Rabbi Hillel of Paritsch on "Shaar HaYichud" by Rabbi Dov Ber of Lubavitch (the 'Mittler Rebbe'). This simple yet profound teaching blazes a trail toward a deeper awareness of G-d's presence in our world. As such it's also a key to emotional intelligence and ethical self-development.</span><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><br style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;" /><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We shot the footage at Diamond Notch Falls, Esopus Creek, and Kaaterskill Falls in upstate New York, and at Luray Caverns in western Virginia.</span> <br />
<a href="http://soulsculptors.com/MEDIA/rainbow%20meditation.m4a" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <br />
</a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There is so much more to be said (and done) about all this. G-d willing, we'll get there. In the meantime, for further insight into where we're coming from and headed to, </span><a href="http://soulsculptors.com/articles.html" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">see the recent articles</a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> my wife and I have posted elsewhere on the subject. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">More to come; comments/questions/kvetches always welcome. </span>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-52397779639384849652011-08-19T19:34:00.002-04:002011-08-19T19:34:52.120-04:00The Stream of Consciousness<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/e4EtzXUGl1s?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-17155083415902664712011-08-17T19:50:00.000-04:002011-08-17T19:50:21.482-04:00think well. be well. do well.<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bbu3mNHRdmg?hl=en&fs=1" width="425"></iframe>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-430214712247210402011-08-12T14:42:00.001-04:002011-08-12T14:45:22.772-04:00Nachamu Nachamu<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBS6ySztlMu9LXsNisg24nwzvjlvtUPtHq6CgKaind8YLQ7nuvV80Y_6tuxLhp193dKP55EToOeNtyQhtF3b9x3EOBfJNVHRHa4utSVo9MRtSF3oIEwave-avlWkZyqYsKPLfW8M4gx0/s1600/IMG_0530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBS6ySztlMu9LXsNisg24nwzvjlvtUPtHq6CgKaind8YLQ7nuvV80Y_6tuxLhp193dKP55EToOeNtyQhtF3b9x3EOBfJNVHRHa4utSVo9MRtSF3oIEwave-avlWkZyqYsKPLfW8M4gx0/s320/IMG_0530.JPG" width="235" /></a></div>There could hardly have been a more deliciously apropos moment for the advent of a brand-new granddaughter than <i>Erev Shabbat Nachamu</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> - the eve of the Sabbath of double-dip consolation. Relief, and rectification: corporeal comfort, here among us in flesh and blood, yet resonating with the transcendent source of solace in the realm of ascendant souls. One is tempted to say <i>"v'dai l'mayvin"</i> – let that suffice for those who know the back-story. But the inner story of this double </span><i>nechamah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is just too rich to let slip without an attempt to bring its esoteric underpinnings down to earth.</span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Briefly (there's soup on the stove that needs stirring,) the double expression <i>"nachamu nachamu" </i><span style="font-style: normal;">signifies a final, complete redemption that, unlike all prior reprieves, will never fade or fail or revert to chaos. How could that be possible, in an imperfect world where the only certainty is uncertainty, where pleasure inevitably gives way to pain, where the only apparent constant is change?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It's been said that had Moses led us into the Promised Land instead of Joshua, his right-hand man, there'd have been no subsequent exile. Moses was in touch with the immutability of G-d's grace. He was unshakeable, invincible; he could weather the vicissitudes like a flame in a windless place. But people tend to get the leaders they deserve. We did not merit to be led by a Moses to the civilized side of the river. Joshua brought us home, but eventually we blew it - and the winds of change blew us<i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">away. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thirty some-odd centuries down the pike, we may have learned a thing or two. The Chassidic masters, our latter-day Moseses, have shown us how the miraculous and the mundane are one – how we can live within the confines of time, where we need to be on time, yet taste changeless eternity. We can be consoled in this world, and partake of a headspace where there's no consolation required.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That's the way it felt at 3:15 this morning when we stood in the hallway of Mount Sinai (the hospital, not the holy mountain - though they're not all that dissimilar) and heard that first cry of our new-born daughter and granddaughter. My son-in-law and I, after being allowed back in the delivery room and taking the requisite photos and video clips, stepped outside into the night to bless the moon. It's a monthly ritual, performed while the moon is waxing full, that imbues the cyclical fickleness of the lesser luminary with something of the non-stop steadiness of the sun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The moon and the sun are sharing their double dose of consolation and redoubling it in us. I'm inclined to say that it doesn't get any better than this, except that I'm quite confident it will.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mazal tov, mazal tov, and Shabbat Shalom.</div>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-6670764417332421212011-05-09T14:35:00.001-04:002011-05-09T22:50:11.406-04:00Mothers' Day<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix"><div>I woke up this past Sunday morning from one of the stranger, more vivid dreams in my recent memory to an equally uncharacteristic thought: this was the fortieth Mother's Day I had experienced since my mother left this mortal coil and moved on to those greener pastures (the ones the G-d she wasn't sure she believed in had always told her He'd maketh her lie down in.) I've always considered Mother's Day and Father's Day to be commercial contrivances without much meaning - perhaps a step up from Valentine's Day, but still. Hallmark holidays have always aroused in me more cynicism than genuine sentiment. And I know I'm not alone; I've observed that mothers on Mothers' Day, like fathers on Fathers' Day, frequently accept the cards and gifts and obligatory accolades with both a broad smile and a sharp eye out for some sign as to whether or not the honor will last past the day.<br />
<br />
And yet…<br />
<br />
Maybe it's Facebook, and all the friends who posted photos of their Moms. Or maybe I've actually matured, evolved beyond the wry, sly negativity and the faux-rugged-individualism with which I've long masked my abandonment issues. They do say it takes forty years to really learn a lesson. Whatever the dynamic that brought me to this unprecedented point in time, I posted a Mothers' Day note on Facebook yesterday that I meant, from the heart, and that I hope I'll go on meaning - whether or not it suffices to make amends for my slightly scrooge-ish performance in prior years. One of my friends thanked me for it, and in the same breath she inquired as to what's up with my blog, which I've been neglecting in recent months. I took the hint (thanks, CE) and am therefore reiterating those thoughts here, where they're perhaps more likely to hold me to them in days to come.<br />
<br />
On this particular Mothers' Day, I wrote, it's <i>appreciation</i> that I feel compelled to express - simple, uncluttered, uncomplicated appreciation. Thank you, Ma. And thank you, all you other mothers, grandmothers, mothers-in-law, stepmothers, mothers-to-be, wanna-be mothers, and mothers of invention. I'm grateful to the long-gone ancestry of mothers of mothers of mothers. Though my own mother-memory extends just a couple of generations back, and scantly at that, this is one of those precious moments when the heart feels warmly what the mind finds unknowable. I'm grateful to the mother of my children, and to my children, some of whom are already mothers, and some of whom will be mothers before long, and all of whom have been blessed with the ability to see and feel and bring to fruition what it means to make room within oneself for another's gestation, birth, and growth. And that includes the boys - because fatherhood would not be fatherhood if it did not embrace within itself some smattering of motherhood. And vice versa.</div></div>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-23379295228461504452010-07-05T18:55:00.006-04:002010-07-05T19:54:55.658-04:00Green Pastures and the Color of Abundance<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
My mother was neither a Bible reader nor a particularly devout woman. Questions of ethics, aesthetics, and social justice often came up in our home; Judaism, or for that matter the notion of the existence of God, did not. The music-box menorah that played “Rock of Ages” on Chanukah was more a sentimental cultural artifact than a religious symbol – not all that different, or so it seemed, from the kitschily decorated evergreen that occasionally showed up in our living room around the same time of year. However she loved the twenty-third Psalm. Whether she experienced it as literature or prophecy or consolation or nostalgia, I have no way of knowing, but my acutely selective memory still echoes with her incantation: <i>“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...”</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> By the time Psalms became meaningful to me she was long gone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>In a private audience in 1973, the Lubavitcher Rebbe suggested that I say a chapter of Psalms early each morning as an aid to concentration in daily practice. I naturally gravitated to Psalm 23, musical versions of which already figured prominently in the repertoire of my fellow seekers of Chassidic wisdom. It’s also one of the shorter ones, and therefore easily memorized in the original Hebrew. The connection to my mother was icing on the cake. I couldn’t even begin to count how many thousands of times I must have said or sung or muttered those six verses over the years since then. Some of that has been, inevitably, rote recitation – one of the pitfalls of regular ritual. Nonetheless the Psalm has continued to be a deepening, resonant source of inspiration and an effective medium for the cultivation of mindfulness.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Imagine my delight, therefore, upon discovering a <i>ma’amar</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the Rebbe delivered some 44 years ago based on the opening verses of Psalm 23 – a discourse whose core teaching addresses one of my lifelong concerns: financial security. Overcoming an inbred sense of scarcity and an expectation of poverty (not to mention the ennobling of poverty) has been a major challenge for me, as it has for so many other lower-middle-class red-diaper baby boomers. Developing trust and optimism and a sense of abundance has loomed large on my personal self-improvement agenda. Every opportunity to offer a charitable donation (such opportunities arise about every eighteen minutes in the Jewish community) triggers a confrontation between the generosity to which I aspire and the anxieties embedded in my nervous system from formative years. As the Rebbe explains it, this Psalm turns out to be David’s self-help bestseller, a quick course in miracles for the chronically impecunious. It applies directly to that most down-to-earth of preoccupations, the earning of a livelihood.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>“The Lord is my shepherd…” </i><span style="font-style: normal;">A shepherd, of course, protects and feeds his flock faithfully and unfailingly. Therefore </span><i>I shall not want </i><span style="font-style: normal;">– I’m safe, assured of sustenance no matter what. A midrashic gloss on this verse envisions God’s non-stop, unmitigated benevolence, flowing forth from the most sublime dimension of the universe, bestowing </span><i>parnassah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – material abundance – upon all “creatures.” The choice of that term indicates even those with no merit other than the fact that they’ve been created. He is an infinite source of blessing, a magnanimous force that no bear market or economic downturn can deny.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Rounded MT Bold"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>OF WAR AND PEACE<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The cynic in me resists. The Rebbe gets that; he acknowledges that this easy abundance might seem counterintuitive to some, and goes on to say that there are actually two modes of pursuing one’s purpose in this world. One is the way of war, of struggle. We hack our way with machetes through thorny underbrush; we grapple with competitors, cross deserts, slay dragons, dodge bullets, sail seas, do battle against all odds to bring home those scattered scraps we need to survive, perchance to thrive. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other is the way of peace, tranquility. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">David insists that we have a choice, and that the latter is the preferred m.o. <i>He lays me down in green pastures; he guides me beside the still waters.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Take it easy. Trust Me. Chill. Still waters: </span><i>mei menuchot, </i><span style="font-style: normal;">in Hebrew. What exactly is </span><i>menuchah</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? Rest? Peace? Serenity? Satisfaction? Deep relaxation? All of the above, and more. The Rebbe extrapolates from various Scriptural occurrences of the word and concludes that </span><i>menuchah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is a quality associated with the indwelling of the </span><i>Shechinah</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the Divine presence in the world. Specifically, in a once golden age, this was manifest in the </span><i>Beis HaMikdash</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, where the Divine presence rested between the staves of the Ark in the Holy of Holies. The Ark was the vortex, the serene energy center of a turbulent universe, and it was therefore the galvanic attractor of all the wealth in the world. Spiritual wealth, to be sure; but also, by extension, material wealth. They are, after all is said and done, one. (No wonder the fictional Indiana Jones went to such lengths to retrieve the Ark from the clutches of the </span><i>other side</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Before the Ark was lost, before Jerusalem fell, while King Solomon reigned and the Temple he built was <i>the</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> major theme-park attraction of the then-civilized world, wealth flowed easily to Israel. The Queen of Sheba herself came to pay lavish tribute, as did emissaries of all the nations, attracted to the vortex like swirling sparks around a blazing bonfire. The esoteric truth behind this historical phenomenon explains how the manifest presence of omnipotent Divinity trumps both the limiting laws of nature and the necessity of struggle. More simply put, we learn from this that back in that glorious moment in the arc of our story, we did not want for anything. </span><i>Menuchah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> ruled. The all-powerful shepherd had us covered – and not just collectively, but each individual according to his needs and abilities. Or disabilities, as the case may be. A truly faithful shepherd (as epitomized by Moshe, the Midrash says) knows which of his sheep need to graze in the tender grass, and which can handle the rougher terrain. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlHw9c5Wt_YXkmfk40nJAdPFYmBsTXq1jUuV5C4mg9F3-_oArFNbKhh7azi4aIPDGCfn7SEtYEp9ZFL3lHUZbtec-5H0jPzNx8xep9oR24Rup63_D-QSsz6BVLEP9tEKa7oQ_nvZbhzc/s1600/pasture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZlHw9c5Wt_YXkmfk40nJAdPFYmBsTXq1jUuV5C4mg9F3-_oArFNbKhh7azi4aIPDGCfn7SEtYEp9ZFL3lHUZbtec-5H0jPzNx8xep9oR24Rup63_D-QSsz6BVLEP9tEKa7oQ_nvZbhzc/s320/pasture.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The Rebbe continues: what’s the deal with the <i>green pastures</i><span style="font-style: normal;">? (This </span><i>ma’amar</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, by the way, was said during one of his rare trips out of New York City, on a visit upstate to a children’s summer camp nestled in mountain meadows.) Turns out there are two kinds of pastures, too. There are </span><i>wilderness pastures</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> that require a lot of work before they’re fit for grazing, and the </span><i>green pastures</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> which are ready-made for providing the good life. Kabbalistic sources associate the </span><i>green pastures</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> with the quality of </span><i>tiferet</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – beauty and balance; a harmonious blend of all the qualities and all the colors of the spectrum of life; perfectly centered, and therefore channeling abundance from the uppermost, innermost source of Divine benevolence that is so powerful it can reach everyone, everywhere, yet so pure it cannot be usurped or stolen or misdirected toward selfish ends.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That ought to cover the bills.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Can this be made real? Are those green pastures and still waters accessible to the likes of us? What now, since the Temple is in ruins and the Divine presence is in exile here with us? Are we then doomed to struggle for our livelihood on hardscrabble landscapes amidst these turgid, polluted waters so far downstream? A glance at the news and the leading economic indicators (not to mention the value of our homes or portfolios or 401K’s – or unemployment benefits) would seem to indicate that’s the case.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Shlomo HaMelech, King Solomon, who knew a thing or two and who presided over that aforementioned golden age, tells us in Ecclesiastes (3:8) that there’s “<i>a time for war, and a time for peace.”</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> (Some of us heard it first from the Byrds.) In this </span><i>ma’amar</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, the Rebbe does not dismiss the reality of struggle. In fact, less than two weeks later he said another </span><i>ma’amar</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> about the path of spiritual battle against internalized patterns of negativity – </span><i>a.k.a.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> prayer. But here he emphasizes the way of peace. Clearly there is a degree to which we can make the Lord our shepherd, luxuriate in green pastures, and gratefully allow abundance to be delivered our doors. And we needn’t wait until all the world’s swords have been beaten into plowshares. We’ve got plowshares of our own.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Rebbe gives both explicit instruction and clues, embedded in the discourse. In general, while the Zohar tells us prayer is war (in one sense, doing battle against our bad habits and erroneous perspectives) the study of Torah is the path of peace. In the trenches, good and evil vie for market share and we grope myopically through minefields of moral relativity. In the greener pastures of Torah there are fewer booby traps. In particular it is the inner dimension of Torah that offers a foretaste of the serpent-free, incorruptible Tree of Life. Those gardens are watered by a peaceful, pure, unstoppable stream that flows from Eden. Chassidus nourishes inner wisdom, and puts that wisdom to work. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial Rounded MT Bold"; font-size: 10pt;"><i>NEURAL TRAILBLAZING<o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The nature of that inner work is hinted at in an incisive section of the <i>ma’amar </i><span style="font-style: normal;">where the Rebbe is discussing how it could be possible for infinite, utterly unbounded Divinity to dwell within the confines of space and time. There are two opinions (aren’t there always?) – two metaphors that attempt to describe how the </span><i>Shechinah</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> rests between the staves of the Ark in the Temple’s Holy of Holies. One says it’s like fingers writing down an idea. The fingers don’t really understand the idea; but they are uniquely suited (more than the toes, for example) for conveying the idea in written words. Applying the metaphor, this means that the Divine presence is sort of </span><i>passing through</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the space in which it rests. The finite space doesn’t embody the infinite any more than the fingers understand the idea. According to another point of view, however, it’s more like an idea contained in a brain, and by extension in the heart. The brain and heart are more sophisticated than fingers; they are organs that can understand and feel. The ideas they embrace become one with the containers. In fact according to both the Kabbalistic literature and newly emerging evidence in the science of neuroplasticity, the physical organs are actually changed, materially transformed, by the activity and the effort of thinking deeply into an idea. The technical term Chassidus gives this deep internalization is </span><i>hitlabshut</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – like wearing a perfectly fitted garment. (Other sources liken it to the relationship between the transcendent soul and the conscious mind.) Shifting again from the metaphor back to its analogue, from this perspective the non-physical Divine presence can, paradoxically, be unified with the physical place in which it is revealed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s abundant food for thought in all this, but for the moment I’ll attempt to bumper-sticker it. When an insight or inspiration comes along, when we encounter a potentially life-transforming idea, are we “just passing through” – or do we make the effort to truly wear it well, to unify with it in mind and heart, in a meaningful and sustainable way?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we’re told, for instance, that Psalm 23 is intended as a meditation to lift us up beyond the struggle for a livelihood and connect our consciousness with an all-powerful, faithful shepherd, what do we do with that information? Does it genuinely alter our attitudes and expectations? The mind tends to travel in well-worn ruts; the Zohar calls them <i>r’hitei mocha</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> – brain troughs. We think, feel, speak, and dance to the tune of obsolete memes, mind-habits we acquired unwittingly, which have probably outlived their usefulness if indeed they ever served us well. </span><i>I’m not worthy. It’s too hard. Get real, get practical, don’t be a dreamer. Life’s a struggle and then it’s over.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Having internalized messages like that, it takes some rather rigorous work to learn how to lie down in green pastures and meander by the babbling brook of certainty, serenity, and security. We might as well get to it, though. Every disempowering thought can be replaced with a nourishing truth. We can take the time to remind ourselves on a daily basis that the Shepherd is alive and well, and He’s not just passing through.<o:p></o:p></div>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-5644302168394332802010-07-01T13:12:00.000-04:002010-07-01T13:12:58.678-04:00a fragment from this morning's pagesI love<br />
I say I love<br />
I want to love<br />
I want love to garb itself in me<br />
I enter the love<br />
I accept the love<br />
I surrender to the love<br />
I allow the love<br />
I relinquish the love<br />
I rectify the love<br />
I love the love<br />
I release the love<br />
I see the love<br />
I hear the love<br />
I feel the love<br />
I return the love<br />
I create the love<br />
I channel the love<br />
I give the love<br />
I am the love<br />
I lovegotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-31800555350192288902010-06-22T11:22:00.004-04:002010-06-28T15:02:55.931-04:00Mightier than the (S)word?The other day at a Shabbos morning <i>kiddush</i> I met an 82-year-old newlywed - how cool is that? - who regaled us with tales of his youth. Seems after a rough start as a street punk he became a prizefighter, proudly wearing the star of David on his trunks. In fact his name was David. In 1946 he found himself in the ring up against a blonde, blue-eyed German opponent who had the misfortune of representing, in my new friend's eyes, the unspeakable evil from which the world had only recently been delivered. As they shook hands prior to the first round, the swaggering, swarthy Jewish fighter launched a torrent of verbal threats that struck fear into the German's heart. They returned to their corners; the bell rang; David then proceeded to chase the German around the ring, cursing him mercilessly but never laying a hand on him, though not for want of trying. When the bell rang to start the second round the terrified German refused to leave his corner. I told David that his was the quintessential Jewish victory: the hands are hands of Esau, but <i>"hakol kol Yaakov"</i> - the voice is the voice of Jacob.<br />
<br />
As it happens, the current Torah portion, <a href="http://www.chabad.org/parshah/torahreading.asp?aid=45614&v=ds&p=3"><i>Balak</i></a>, addresses this very contrast between brawn and brain. It's nearing the end of the 40-year spiritual sojourn in the wilderness and the children of Israel are preparing to enter the promised land. Some of the locals are none too pleased. Even though the Israelites have no intention of attacking Moab, the weak but devious Moabite King Balak schemes to stop them in their tracks. Informed that the miraculous military might of the Jews derives more from the power of prayer than from their skill with the sword, he decides to hoist them with their own petard, as it were, and hires a sorcerer named Bila'am to curse them with magical incantations. Turns out to be a poor choice of tools; and in a dazzling display of irony the Holy One Blessed Be He foils Bila'am's and Balak's dastardly plan - first with a talking donkey (<i>ha! so you think </i>you've <i>got the gift of gab?</i>) then with a warrior-angel brandishing a sword (<i>you guys tried to usurp the Jews' best weapon - now watch us come back atcha with yours!</i>) and, finally, taking total control of Bila'am's voice and transforming his curses into blessings, giving voice to the highest and brightest of messianic prophecies. (And later, in a most apropos epilogue, Bila'am dies by the sword.)<br />
<br />
Word.<br />
<br />
What drives all this turnabout is, essentially, character. Bila'am tips us off as to his lack thereof, not just with his seething Jew-hatred and self-aggrandizing greed, but with <a href="http://www.come-and-hear.com/zarah/zarah_4.html">a telling little exchange</a> with Balak's boys. When they ask him how come such a hotshot is riding on a donkey instead of a horse, he responds disingenuously: <i>Oh, I usually ride horses, but the horses are out to pasture at the moment. </i>It reads sort of like the Biblical equivalent of a bumper sticker on a beat-up 15-year-old Oldsmobile: "My other car is a Ferrari." The donkey speaks up and blows his cover, testifying not only that Bila'am rides him all the time, but that he also takes other liberties with his animal which decency precludes repeating here.<br />
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The power of our words is a function of our integrity. Whether communing with a friend or negotiating with a foe, it's when mind and heart and mouth are all lined up that we harness our higher power to the task at hand. The rite of prayer, in fact, is among other things an exercise in harmonizing our speech with our innermost intent - otherwise it's at risk of becoming lip service. But while our inner work is performed in private, the proof of the pudding is in public. Victory calls for congruency in thought, speech, and deed.<br />
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We are on our way to the fulfillment of those prophetic promises, but the deal is not done. Balak and Bila'am reside incarnate in those who would destroy, defame, and delegitimize us, not necessarily in that order, with their big lies and fake flotillas and incantations to numb the multitudes. At times it appears they've become consummate masters of the very arts of communication (read: propaganda) at which we're purported to excel - and we're too often forced to man the ramparts and resort to the sword. I have no doubt that their <a href="http://frontpagemag.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/War_Against_Jews.pdf">donkeys and other enablers</a> will stumble before too long, but from our side it behooves us to remember that the voice is the voice of Jacob. Perhaps if we train ourselves finally to speak truth with the unmitigated confidence of youth we'll win by a TKO before having to fight another round.gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-878208589239020069.post-53335977006085324312010-06-21T12:20:00.000-04:002010-06-21T17:00:05.180-04:00On the Right to Write<span style="font-family: arial;">Artists and poets and composers of all stripes are wont to protest that "it only comes through me." True enough, to an extent; but on the other hand we also originate. What distinguishes humans from less complicated creatures is not just the ability to communicate with words and symbols, but personal responsibility for what we say. For those of us who are of the shy or self-effacing persuasion, that can be intimidating. But lately it occurs to me that we might be held equally responsible for what we </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-style: italic;">don't</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> say.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
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Hence this blog. </span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
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Though I've been a jack of many trades, for a number of years I made a living largely as a writer for hire, selling words more or less by the pound. As a copywriter or ghostwriter or editor or amanuensis I would give voice to the various agendas of those who engaged my services - provided of course that I could find some alignment with their intentions, that their products or purposes did not conflict with </span><span style="font-family: arial;">values I hold dear. I'd write my own stuff from time to time; an <a href="http://soulsculptors.com/Anatomy%20of%20the%20Soul.html">article</a> here or there, an insight, an occasional song or poem, a fragment of a story or an outline for some as-yet-unwritten masterpiece. But for the most part the more I wrote for others, the less juice I had left with which to water my own garden. At one point I realized that if I were ever to come unblocked and really speak my mind, I'd have to find another profession first. That was one of my motivations for returning to graduate school in my late forties and turning a lifelong avocational love of Chinese medicine into a new career. "Live by the work of your hands," sings the Psalmist, "and you'll be happy." So I became an <a href="http://soulsculptors.com/simchagottliebmsap.html">acupuncturist</a>.</span> <span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
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As the mind ripens, introspection seeks expression. The advent of the blog as a literary medium has some distinct advantages. Not unlike 'journaling' as a therapeutic exercise or the practice of writing morning pages (as popularized by </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/?ie=UTF8&tag=soulsculptors-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&search-alias=aps&field-keywords=Julia%20Cameron" target="_blank">Julia Cameron</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=soulsculptors-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />), a blog invites spontaneity and immediacy, does not necessarily demand rigorous scholarship, and tends to disarm that pesky left-brain editor. It also invites comment and feedback. I'll refrain from discussing its disadvantages just now - I don't want to talk myself out of this enterprise before it lifts off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial;">So we'll see where this leads. Often during prayer or meditation, or while studying and ruminating on some seminal text, a seed of thought will flash past my field of vision that cries to be fleshed out in full-blown form. That that rarely happens - life's to-do lists come fast and furious, do they not? - has been no small source of frustration. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Excuses-Begone-Lifelong-Self-Defeating-Thinking/dp/1401921736?ie=UTF8&tag=soulsculptors-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Excuses begone</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=soulsculptors-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1401921736" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />: it's my intention to make this space a place where such flashes of lightning become not just thunder, but rain that falls on fertile earth.</span>gotsimchahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13472668312938917324noreply@blogger.com2