Executive Director’s Blog – Notes from Lisa’s Desk
The morning I wrote this greeting, I woke up very early. We had just concluded the final retreat for our second Clergy Leadership Program cohort and I was heading to the airport to return home for Shabbat. In the eastern sky there was the tiniest sliver of the crescent moon, just rising, heart-breakingly beautiful. It was just a few days before the month of Av began, with that same crescent moon setting in the west.
We are heading towards the end of the Three Weeks, the period between the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av, the season of loss and horror in our mythic history. It is the season of siege, deprivation, enormous suffering, terrible destruction and there are many traditional customs of mourning that mark this season.
In fact, the one thing during this period that continues to be a beacon of joy is Shabbat. It is worth asking, if the world is burning around us, how can we celebrate Shabbat? Shouldn’t we be dedicating ourselves towards fixing this world that is experiencing so much horror? How can we take the time to dedicate to spiritual practice?
One answer to this question comes from a Netivot Shalom teaching about Noah’s Ark that we studied at our retreat. The metaphor is different, but the question is the same: When the flood waters rise up around us, threatening to drown us, how do we survive? What do we do?
The Netivot Shalom suggests that Noah’s ark, that temporary shelter, is actually a hint towards the practice of Shabbat. Shabbat, he teaches, is nothing less than the connection between the heavenly realms and the earthly realms; it is God’s dwelling place on earth. It is a pinah tehorah, a pure little place, where we can take refuge.
I think this offers three insights that are especially important during times of destruction, remembered or present. If Shabbat is the connection between heaven and earth, taking refuge in Shabbat is not about closing ourselves off from the world, but rather about gaining a greater perspective. It is often true that suffering causes our perspective to narrow, which makes it more difficult to make wise decisions. If our practice on Shabbat can help us open back up to the larger picture, we might know how to respond better when we return to facing the world.
Also, when we are closed up in the ark, buffeted by wind and rain, temporarily safe from the destruction around us, we realize that there is a limit to how well we can steer the boat. Parker Palmer teaches that “functional atheism,” acting as if everything depends on us, is a shadow side to leadership. Shabbat reminds us that yes, when havdalah is over, we must go back to acting. But the world depends on more than just our own efforts. Shabbat helps us cultivate this deeper trust.
And finally, Shabbat offers us the inspiration to go back out into the world once the flood waters subside, having experienced a glimpse of that pure little place that the world can be. By rooting us in joy and peace, community and spaciousness, we remind ourselves what we are working towards.
Wishing you a Shabbat shalom, a beacon of joy during this dark time in our spiritual calendar.
Early this spring, I traveled to California to celebrate my father’s 90th birthday. Members of my extended family from as far away as Fiji and New Zealand came to gather, and I was amazed by the connections I saw between cousins who so rarely have the opportunity to meet in person, the instant bonds of love that we offered—even though we live such different lives!
One of my favorite interactions I witnessed that day was between my father, , and a visiting cousin, who just turned seven. This young boy was telling my father all about the planets and the solar system, which he was learning about in school, and found exciting and fascinating. My father, an astronomer who has been studying the planets since the 1960s, could certainly—in today’s “I know more than you!” world—have brushed this little cousin off. Did he need a little boy to tell him about the retrograde rotation of Venus, or the rings of Saturn, things he himself had discovered? Of course not!
But he did. He listened to this little cousin, as if the way he saw the planets and the stars was the most interesting thing in the whole world to him. And only when he knew that learning from him would bring this cousin even more joy and excitement did he begin to tell him about his own ground-breaking work.
The Psalmist teaches us that the world will be built through chesed (Psalm 89). But what, as we ask in our Tikkun Middot course, is so great about the middah of chesed that it, among all others, will build the worlds?
Chesed is one of the few mitzvot in the Mishnah with no minimum requirement for it to “count.” Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe writes, “A nice word, a smile – these can give new life to someone who has given up on himself! A word of encouragement can bring joy. These are such small things [yet so significant!]”
To build our daily worlds through a lens of lovingkindness is to approach each act we do with a perspective of love. Not to ask: how might I make this moment better? But to ask: How might I relate to this moment—as it already is—with love?
How might I hold myself with love?
I hope the practices enclosed in this month’s letter give you some space to find your own way to build your own world with love.
The truth is that telling the truth is not so easy. The sages of the midrash wryly told that when God decided to create human beings, the ministering angels broke into factions. Justice and Lovingkindness were in favor of this new creation, saying that people would do acts of tzedek and chesed. Peace objected that they would engage in war and Truth protested that humans would be filled with deceit. God’s response was to hurl Truth down to the earth, but the other angels rushed to its defense. “Is not Truth Your seal?” they said. And quoting Psalm 85, they added, “Let truth spring up from the earth!”
In this rabbinic take on human nature, Truth, of course, tells the truth that human beings have a hard time living truthfully. But I find the end of the midrash ambiguous. Did Truth return to the heavenly abode? Or did it remain among us to instruct and inspire us? What makes it so difficult to tell the truth?
I consider times I have knowingly lied and most of them arose from an attempt to save face. The greater damage to others, however, came from the times I lied almost unknowingly because I had not told the truth to myself. In those cases, the truth was too painful for me to face. I remember certain situations in which the truth sprang up in me as a clear voice, but I didn’t want to hear it and I looked away. I pretended I did not know and somehow I did not know. The lies I told then were the most harmful because I believed them myself.
How can we get better at telling the truth? One practice emerges from the mystical tradition, in which truth is the balancing point between the endless flow of loving kindness and the firm rigor of judgement. Truth is not the opposite of kindness; instead, it can be found by holding kindness and judgment at the same time. Sometimes an insight, an unpleasant judgment arises. If I am cultivating the habit of bringing loving kindness towards my experience, I have more space to notice: Oh, here is fear. Here is aversion. Here is the unbearable. And yes, here is truth, the truth I did not want to welcome, but which has come nevertheless.
What is true in our personal lives is also true on larger scales. In our national life, truth is under attack from many sides and yet, there are also some truths about our country that have come to the surface that have long been too uncomfortable for many of us to face. I hope that the practices in this newsletter can help us turn towards these truths with courage and compassion.
Perhaps the author Paul Auster said it the most succinctly: “It occurred to me that the inner and the outer could not be separated except by doing great damage to the truth.”
One of the most radical intuitions that can emerge from contemplative spiritual practice is how profoundly everything is interconnected. There are so many ways we can talk about this experience. Jewish mystical texts discuss how waking up in the lower worlds causes waking up in the upper worlds. The sephirot map Divine qualities out there onto the human body right here. Nachman of Breslov piles metaphor upon metaphor (bechinot) in his teachings to show how seemingly unrelated things are surprisingly aspects of each other. Art Green and others help move vertical symbols into horizontal ones, encouraging us to connect the inside and the outside as one whole, all of which can be an abode for Divine light.
This is particularly important during times like ours. We are seeing clearly what we glimpse in our practice: namely, that the inner life is not actually separate from our outer lives. The conditions and conditioning of our hearts and minds shape our relationships and contribute to shaping our societies. And the opposite is also true. What happens on a national and international scale is not separate from us; we feel their influence in our relationships and in our souls. There is one thing happening on all the levels.
Wherever you are on the political spectrum, we might agree that these are remarkable times. We at the Institute would like to suggest that now more than ever is the time for the wisdom and insights born of spiritual practice.
Over the coming months, in each e-newsletter we will highlight a practice, a middah (way of being in the world), a teaching that we hope will serve as a resource in cultivating a grounded and resilient inner life that helps act us wisely and lovingly in ways that are most aligned with our core values. We will also offer a webinar to further explore the practice or teaching. All these resources will be available on our website.
Please contact me with feedback and suggestions. And may we learn to be more and more connected.
There have been so many beautiful and helpful responses to the aftermath of the election. I would like to offer something a little different:
In my practice recently, I have become aware of certain universal human experiences that seem to function like fields of energy. The experiences can be love and trust, anger and fear. When these “fields” manifest in our lives, they take on a garb, the particular color and expression of our distinct, individual experience and context. But the underlying field of the experience is not our personal invention and is not unique to us.
Suffering is one of these fields. It is a universal experience that manifests in each of our lives in unique and concrete way. We can know it in personal and systemic garb, through illness or addiction, through poverty or discrimination and any other number of ways. Each garb has its set of strategies and reactions that come with it as we struggle to find the best way to address that particular kind of suffering.
But the thing about suffering is that it often tends to confuse us into thinking that our experience is separate from all others’ experiences. We focus on the garb, not the universality. As Tolstoy famously said, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” Furthermore, we know from our practice that this very sense of isolation and separation is itself at the root of so much suffering. So it becomes a vicious cycle: suffering, separateness, alienation, more suffering and so it begins again.
Ironically, suffering is something that people on both sides of the political divide have in common, although the explanations and strategies concerning it vary widely. But if we can experiment with experiencing suffering as a universal field, we have a chance to open to mochin degadlut, a wider perspective. You might want to try this:
Take a seat of dignity and sense into your body.
Where is sensation arising?
What does the sensation help you notice about the climate of your heart/mind right now? Stay with whatever emotion arises in the body.
Now imagine that emotion as a huge, broad energy field that comes up from the ground and fills you, taking your shape as it does. What does it feel like?
Now imagine that this same energy field is also taking shape within others, those you agree with and those you don’t.
Return to the sensation in the body and see if you can soften a little around it. Breathe and soften. If you choose, try imagining the energy field again, in yourself and in others.
Perhaps it is possible to sense in our bones the potential of relief and the possibility of more connection, maybe even love. Perhaps that will help us discern with wisdom and generosity how we can best move forward now – for ourselves, our communities and our country.
Rabbi Lisa Goldstein