The holiday of Shavuot, commemorating the revelation of Torah at Mount Sinai, begins this year Sunday night, June 1. It is striking that despite the cacophonous scene of revelation described in the Torah in Exodus 19, there is a stream within Jewish tradition that emphasizes silence as the context for intimate encounter with the Divine.

Rabbinic tradition offers an interpretation that at Mount Sinai, the people heard only the first two of the Ten Commandments: “I am YHVH your God” and “you shall have no other gods beside Me.” A Hasidic tradition asserts that at Sinai the people “heard” only the first letter of the first word—that is, the silent letter aleph.¹

We can understand the experience of revelation at Sinai as consisting of “hearing” only Divine “silence,” the sound of the letter aleph – a concept we find as well in rabbinic literature:

Rabbi Abahu taught in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: When God gave the Torah, no bird twittered, nor fowl flew, no ox lowed, none of the ofanim stirred a wing, the seraphim did not say, ‘Holy, Holy’, the sea did did not roar, no creature spoke; the whole world was hushed into breathless silence and the voice went forth:, ‘I am YHVH your God.’²

The Bible (I Kings 19) relates that the prophet Elijah has a similar experience of revelation when he flees from Queen Jezebel and finds refuge at Mt. Sinai. There, like Moses at the burning bush and the Israelites at Sinai, Elijah “hears God” in the kol d’mama dakah, the “still, small voice”—the sound of silence.

While many of us claim to yearn for more quiet in our lives, in mindfulness practice we often notice how silence can render us uncomfortable and desiring distraction. As we attempt to settle into stillness, we may observe an inclination to “stir things up,” to “entertain” our minds and avoid what we perceive as “boring” or threatening.

As we notice these aversions, we do not judge them or seek to repress them. Rather, we accept them with compassion as part of what it means to be human—as instincts to protect our vulnerable selves—and we allow them to pass. Moment by moment, we let down our guard, slowly surrender distractions, and settle into silence. We become more present, “flush” with our experience in the moment. In such a moment, it is as if we too are standing at Sinai.

In silence, we become acquainted with our more authentic self. The writer Dinty Moore offers this helpful analogy:

The mind is like a bowl of water… sloshing back and forth, spilling out the sides. Most of us have lives like earthquakes, so the water is in constant motion. Add to this the fact that we are always grabbing at the water, struggling to make sense of our brain messages, yet all the grabbing just further churns the liquid. Two things have to happen for the bowl of water to come to rest. First, you have to turn off the faucet, stop all that input. Second, you have to quit grabbing. What happens finally, if you are successful, is that the water settles and… the still water of the mind then becomes a mirror in which you can find yourself.³

In Jewish mindfulness practice, we seek to quiet the inner conversation, to “let the water settle,” and see ourselves as whole human beings, part of the Unity that is God. Harpu u-d’u ki anochi elohim, says the Psalmist [46:11], “be still, and know that I am God.” In stillness, we can discern that Anochi, the “I,” our self, offers a path to deeper wisdom.

As a practice for Shavuot in our incessantly noisy world, we might dedicate time and space to immerse in silence. We might pay particular attention to moments when we seek to avoid stillness or silence, such as by playing the radio or a podcast. Experiment each day with turning off anything that produces sound in such situations; explore, without judgment, habitual reactions of mind and emotion when encountering silence.

You might also practice by inserting a bit more silence into life, seeking out a quiet space or time each day, imagining ourselves as “standing at Sinai,” listening for the kol demamah dakah, the “still, small Voice.”.

Finally, we might practice silence even in the midst of conversation, while listening to someone else, by noticing and releasing the inclination to formulate a response rather than fully attending to the other, instead listening as fully as possible.

At any moment, we can access the inner stillness which brings us back to the foot of the holy mountain, and open ourselves to receive the wisdom being revealed. At any moment, we can be present at Sinai.

¹ Gershom Scholem, the great scholar of Jewish mysticism, comments on the teaching of Rabbi Mendel of Rimanov (d. 1814) in On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism (Schocken: 1965), p. 65: “To hear the aleph is to hear next to nothing; it is the preparation for all audible language, but in itself conveys no determinate, specific meaning. Thus, with his daring statement that the actual revelation to Israel consisted only of the aleph, Rabbi Mendel transformed the revelation on Mount Sinai into a mystical revelation, pregnant with infinite meaning, but without specific meaning.”

² Exodus Rabbah 29:9

³ Dinty Moore, The Accidental Buddhist: Mindfulness, Enlightenment, and Sitting Still (Algonquin Books: 1997), p. 187.

Our core spiritual practice throughout Elul, the final month of the Jewish year, is attending to the call of the shofar.  As we anticipate the upcoming holidays, the anniversary of the October 7 attacks, and the American presidential election, our tradition offers a powerful tool for supporting ourselves and responding wisely to this unsettling time: the shofar, an instrument that helps us realign our inner lives with the underlying rhythm of Being.

We might think of the shofar as a spiritual tuning fork, inviting us to notice its vibrations resonating with the oscillations of our soul, with the kol demamah dakah, the “still small voice” of wisdom implanted within each of us.  The Talmud says that one fulfills the mitzvah of attending to the shofar only im kivein libo, only if one direct’s one’s heart, if one listens with kavannah/intention [Babylonian Talmud Rosh Hashanah 27b].  In attending to the call of the shofar, our intention is to allow its vibrations blasts penetrate our brains, permeate our bodies, and touch =the deepest level of human knowing, beyond intellect and feeling

In our Shofar Project 5784 this month, we will support each other in the practice of attuning to the call of the shofar, grounding our practice in each successive week of Elul in one of four key themes of the shofar:

• • • Awakening the Heart: we will attune to the shofar as a loving tap on our hearts, inviting us to awaken and see the world and our lives with greater clarity and wisdom.
    • Attuning to the Pain of the World: we will attune to the shofar as a lament expressing the inexpressible grief so many of us feel. 
    • Returning to Compassion: we will attune to the shofar as an invitation to practice compassion for ourselves and others. 
    • Transforming into an Instrument of Justice: we will attune to the shofar as a call to manifest hope in the face of despair, resilience in the pursuit of justice and peace.

We can lay the foundation for our Elul practice right now with a simple practice:

Simply pause and be still for a moment.
Breath and bring attention to sensation in the body.
Ground your feet on the planet. 

Notice the inner kol demamah dakah, the still small voice of the soul, ever-present in 

• • • the inner, silent vibrations in our bodies,
    • the pulsations of the blood and the breath, 
    • the ebb and flow of emotions, 
    • the firing of the synapses in the brain, and 
    • the flow of thoughts in the fountain of the mind. 

Our bodies, emotions, and thoughts manifest our spirit or soul – our own personal spiritual instrument, waiting to be enlivened and tuned up for the New Year.  As we move into Elul, join us as we support each other in growing more aware of how the vibrations of the shofar meld with those of our own soul,  awakening us, opening us, softening us – and, we pray, transforming us.

Especially in this deeply fraught and challenging year, Pesach – and the seven week period leading to Shavuot – offers all a precious opportunity for a “spiritual reset.”

This part of the Jewish yearly cycle resonates powerfully with our mindfulness practice, which invites us to explore our inner life with curiosity, growing in awareness of our reactive, fear-based habits. Attending with curious, nonjudgmental attention to the truth of each moment (hitlamdut), we witness more clearly the energy of this “shadow” in our mind, emotions, and body.

And approaching this inner Mitzrayim (constriction) or frightened ego with compassion rather than harsh judgment, we experience greater spaciousness—greater freedom to shift that energy in a more wholesome or holy direction. We move with greater ease through the mouth of the Sea, into the midbar, the open wilderness. We are free.

In particular, Pesach invites us to cultivate greater awareness of the truthfulness in our thoughts and speech, to expand our freedom to direct the sacred gift of language to promoting Emet/Truth in the world.

The Hebrew word Pesach can be parsed into two distinct words—peh sach, or “speaking mouth.” According to a Hasidic understanding, Passover represents the liberation of speech. As slaves, the Israelites could only utter a raw, anguished cry (Exodus 2:23); in freedom, they could sing exultantly the “Song of the Sea” (Exodus 15:1-19).

In the swirling, powerful emotions of our times, even those of us who profess outrage at daily distortions of language and disregard for facts may discover ourselves “bending the truth” to suit our own preconceptions and biases. Mindfulness can help us catch ourselves more often when fear generates rationalizing thoughts or tendencies to fudge the truth. We may notice constrictions leading us to avoid “inconvenient” truths that challenge our preferred version of reality. Instead of harshly criticizing such inclinations, we can honor our fear, practice self-compassion, and notice options to promote truthfulness.

As a specific practice leading up to Pesach, consider the teaching of the prophet Zechariah, who urges us to “speak the truth with your neighbor; judge with truth, justice, and peace in your gates” (Zechariah 8:16). Think of the “gates” as the place within us from which thoughts, emotions, and sensations arise to consciousness. Notice reactions arising, and the speech these reactions might generate. Pause and practice sh’tikah, silence. Consider these questions: Do I really need to say these words? Are they true? Are they just? Do they lead to shalom, to wholeness or wholesomeness?

As we approach Pesach, the liberation of speech, may we be freed from inner constrictions distorting our view of reality. May we pause before speaking, texting, writing or posting, and discern whether to remain silent or to express ourselves through words reflecting our highest and truest selves May Emet, the Divine quality of truth, flow freely through us, and fill the cracks of this fractured world.

Originally published on Times of Israel on March 27, 2024

These are fearful times that try our souls. Our nervous systems are overwhelmed by the ongoing trauma of October 7, the devastation of the Israel-Gaza war, surging antisemitism, political turmoil, and more. Threatened on so many fronts, our default inclination as human beings is to speak and act reactively, or remain frozen in silence.

Our fear-based reactivity may feel good in the short term. Anger may temporarily dull our pain, grief, and anxiety, and create a short-term sense of safety. But over time our habitual reactions inevitably are revealed as clumsy and unwise, often destructive of others and ourselves. In such heated times, we often behave as our own worst enemy – even while feeling powerless to stop and change course.

It’s hard to act wisely when we are pummeled by waves of strong emotion. We struggle to hit the pause button – to stop, collect ourselves, notice other options, and choose the wise course. The eye of the hurricane, a place of calm and clarity in the midst of turbulence–a place we all need so much right now–eludes us.

Where can we find that place of calm and clarity? Jewish tradition teaches us that that calm place begins in our own minds and hearts–that it is always available to us, if we can access it.

“Between stimulus and response, there is a space,” wrote the Holocaust survivor and psychotherapist Viktor Frankl. “In that space is our power to choose. In our response lies our growth and freedom.” Whenever we act or speak immediately in reaction to external stimuli, without that much-needed space, we act from habit, a form of enslavement. There is no freedom, no choice, and no growth.

Jewish tradition and practice provides an antidote to reactivity
Shabbat provides us with an experience of stillness and quiet that is always available to us. Shabbat allows us to be rather than act. The fog of our mind can clear; our emotions can be fully felt, honored, and allowed to move through us. We can see more clearly and discern more wisely.

But Shabbat doesn’t only happen every seven days. We can bring Shabbat consciousness into our lives all the time, in every moment. Regardless of our level of traditional observance, we each can “keep Shabbat” by expanding the space between stimulus and response, pausing to breathe and suspend judgment – even for a moment. Some might describe this very Jewish practice in contemporary terms as mindfulness practice.

Judaism has a spiritual practice ideal for times like these: tikkun middot, a Jewish practice for developing character traits and aligning actions with our values. Tikkun middot practice integrates basic principles of Jewish mindfulness or “Shabbat awareness” with close attention to essential soul/ethical traits like loving connection, setting wise boundaries, humility, courage, and gratitude. Based on Judaism’s core principle that every human being is created in the Divine image, we come “factory-equipped” with these soul/ethical qualities.

Tikkun middot practice helps us insert and expand the space between stimulus and response. From within that space, we can more easily access our sacred traits so that rather than reacting instinctively from fear, we can freely choose a wise, sacred response representing our authentic selves, more aligned with our sacred values.

An ongoing Jewish spiritual practice can help us keep our balance – and tikkun middot is the ideal practice for trying times such as these. It can help us avoid falling prey to our baser instincts. It can help us maintain connection to sacred values and be true to who we are even when we are under duress.

The Omer: A Time for Tikkun Middot
The seven-week period linking Passover and Shavuot is known in Jewish tradition as the Omer, a time devoted to spiritual growth and ethical maturation. On Passover, we leave the enslavements of reactive habits. Over seven weeks, we shed these manifestations of slavery, growing daily in our capacity to make free choices more aligned with our essential self. On Shavuot, we arrive at Mount Sinai prepared to act freely from the moral wisdom with which we are imbued.

This spring, the Institute for Jewish Spirituality will offer a wonderful opportunity for engaging in just this process of spiritual and ethical growth – Awareness in Action: Cultivating Character through Mindfulness and Middot, a synchronous, online program in tikkun middot practice. Participants will join a supportive community of practice which helps them more consistently align their inner values with how they show up in the world.

Awareness in Action participants learn how to “practice Shabbat” in their daily lives by developing the capacity to hit the pause button before speaking or acting reactively and unwisely. Each week, they immerse in supported practice of a middah drawn from the theme of the respective week of the Omer: (1) Chesed, loving connection; (2) Gevurah, setting wise boundaries; (3) Anavah, balancing self and others; (4) Zerizut, acting promptly and persistently; (5) Hodayah, gratitude for life as it is; (6) Tzedek, seeking out and manifest what is fair, just, and right; and (7) Sh’mirat HaDibbur, wise communication. The program includes an additional post-Shavuot week of practice for fostering the middah of Emunah, faithfulness or steadfastness.

All materials are provided on a convenient online platform and supported by weekly live practice sessions I will host, and which will be led by guest faculty Rabbi Tamara Cohen, Kohenet Keshira haLev Fife, and Rabbi Aaron Weininger.

As Jews have throughout our history, we need now to draw upon the wisdom of our tradition and practices to buoy us and help us steer wisely through the storms of our individual and collective lives, to bring us and future generations to a better time and place. The approaching Passover, fraught with emotion, affords us all a precious opportunity to free ourselves from the enslavement of reactivity, to remember and return to who we truly are, and to choose wise pathways aligned with the divinity within us.

“Darkness is your candle,” wrote the great Sufi poet Rumi. “You must have shadow and light source both.”  

Jewish tradition understands darkness as an inherent and necessary aspect of life; our spiritual task is to extract sparks of holy light concealed within the shadows of life. In this season of encroaching darkness, this practice takes on special import.

According to tradition, the sacred light of the first day of Creation extended to the end of the universe; the Talmud questions how this could be so, since the heavenly luminaries were not created until day four.  Rabbi Elazar answers that the light created on day one

was not that of the sun, but a different kind of light, through which humans could observe from one end of the world to the other. But when the Holy One of Blessing looked upon the generation of the Flood and the generation of the Dispersion and saw that their ways were corrupt and that they might misuse this light for evil, God arose and concealed it from them, as it is stated: “And from the wicked their light is withheld”(Job 38:15).

This light is concealed from human beings when we fall from consciousness and act “sinfully” or unwisely.  After Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden tree, God granted them only an additional 36 hours of this light (from Friday midday through the first Shabbat), after which fell to them and future human beings to reveal the now concealed light through our own initiative. 

We are charged with the task of perceiving and testifying to the continued existence of the or haganuz, the “hidden light,” and revealing it through sacred study and righteous deeds. The or haganuz is said to be revealed only to 36 tzadikim, 36 anonymous righteous people (the lamed-vavnikim) in each generation. This number corresponds as well to the total of 36 lights we kindle on a single hanukiah over the eight nights of Chanukah. 

Because we do not know the identities of the 36 individuals by whose righteousness the earth is sustained, each of us must act as if we may be a lamed-vavnik.  By bringing mindful intention to each of our words and actions, we can reveal the or haganuz, the light of sacred awareness which, while often concealed from view, is nevertheless present in each and every moment and experience.