Jew in the Lotus Part 13

In her Meetings with Remarkable Women Meetings with Remarkable Women, an account of Buddhist teachers in America, Lenore Friedman concludes that, "At best, then, Buddhism historically encompa.s.ses a grand ambivalence toward women. The dharma itself is beyond ambivalence, resting nowhere, shattering concepts. The teaching teaching of the dharma is another matter, since it arises from minds and from language conditioned by history and personal experience. This is true of all religions-how could it be otherwise? The more they become 'solid,' the more they betray their original transcendent inspiration or mystical core.... For many women practicing today, one of the greatest obstacles remains the absence of clear female role models and foremothers in Buddhist literature and scripture. It is still a truism that all major teachers, lineage holders, and masters down the ages have been men." of the dharma is another matter, since it arises from minds and from language conditioned by history and personal experience. This is true of all religions-how could it be otherwise? The more they become 'solid,' the more they betray their original transcendent inspiration or mystical core.... For many women practicing today, one of the greatest obstacles remains the absence of clear female role models and foremothers in Buddhist literature and scripture. It is still a truism that all major teachers, lineage holders, and masters down the ages have been men."

In Western Buddhism the solution to this discrimination seems to be coming about in part by women pract.i.tioners insisting on changes in language and teaching styles. There is also an active effort at rediscovering Buddhist "foremothers"-as well as honoring Buddhist women teachers today.

Something similar has been happening in Judaism. One chief complaint, which cropped up among us in Dharamsala, has been the separation of men and women in prayer. Egalitarian prayer is commonplace in the liberal branches of Judaism and is gaining in popularity in conservative circles. Moreover, Marcia Falk and other Jewish scholars have pioneered in revising the language of prayer to avoid strictly masculine formulations of G.o.d, or to include feminine ones, all the while making use of traditional sources.

Yet much of the focus has been on the more formal exoteric factors, such as the movement in the more liberal branches of Judaism to ordain women rabbis and cantors. Some emphasis has been given to creating new life cycle rituals, such as the bat mitzvah and naming ceremonies for baby girls, to correspond to the traditional bar mitzvah and bris. These are all welcome developments in mainstream Judaism, and they show a creative appropriation of traditional practices. But such gestures sometimes seem merely subst.i.tutive, without truly acknowledging the uniqueness of women. They are in effect "disembodied"; what's missing is a deeper acknowledgment of the body, and also of the body of literature in Judaism that might deepen the change.

This is why an opening to the esoteric could be very important in correcting the impression that Judaism is strictly patriarchal, or that its imagery of G.o.d is strictly masculine. For the door closed by mainstream Judaism on the esoteric is also a door closed to the body, and to the feminine. For instance, it's interesting to read the Zoharic commentary on the verse in Genesis, "male and female He created them." In Daniel Matt's translation, "From here we learn: Any image that does not embrace male and female is not a high and true image.... Come and see: The Blessed Holy One does not place His abode in any place where male and female are not found together. Blessings are found only in a place where male and female are found, as it is written: He blessed them and called their name Adam on the day they were created. It is not written: He blessed him and called his name Adam. A human being is only called Adam when male and female are as one."

On paper, at least, there are very fine things in kabbalah emphasizing the importance of women, the recognition of the feminine aspect of G.o.d, the spiritual importance of s.e.xuality in the context of marriage, the recognition of women's needs. But the problem for most Jewish women today is that all of this is very theoretical. On the fringes, in the Jewish renewal movement, there is a strong recognition of the power of the Shekhinah Shekhinah, and even an acknowledgment of what Zalman Schachter calls "prepatriarchal Judaism"-that is, the G.o.ddess worship of the Canaanites. But as a whole, Jews are very far from coming to terms with a feminine G.o.d, or its thoroughgoing implications.

Yet just below the surface are hints of new directions. Before reading the Torah, Jews pray to "Av Harakhamim," the "Merciful Father." The root of rakhamim rakhamim, or mercy, is rekhem rekhem-womb. Av Harakhamim could be translated, our Wombly Father, our Motherly Father.

That phrase came back to me when to my surprise, I saw a thangka thangka depicting a depicting a dakini dakini, or G.o.ddess, dancing next to a large Jewish star. In tantric Buddhism, the six-pointed star is a symbol of the cervix. This is a coincidence worth meditating on. In Judaism, the star is proudly displayed on the flag of Israel. It represents the magen david magen david, the shield of King David. A shield is the outermost layer of protection, what one thrusts out to the world as a mark of ident.i.ty and a sign of G.o.d's protection. A cervix is in a sense an esoteric part of the body, hidden within, a mystery, the neck of the womb, the channel through which all life emerges. It is purely and uniquely feminine.

In part, this coincidence shows once again that Jewish and Tibetan culture have common historical influences. The six-pointed star originated in ancient Mesopotamia as a symbol of fertility. It did not become a specifically Jewish symbol until the late Middle Ages. The same symbol came into India with the Aryans, where it represented Shakti, the Mother. It entered Tibet along with the teachings of the Hindu tantric tradition.

The shield of David was not always a symbol of Judaism, nor was it always Jewish, nor is it solely Jewish now. Perhaps Judaism can put down its defensive shield and reflect more on its inner mysteries. There, at the heart of revelation, one finds female images of G.o.d. That indeed is what the Zohar Zohar makes explicit in its commentary on the revelation at Sinai. "It was the makes explicit in its commentary on the revelation at Sinai. "It was the Shekhinah Shekhinah who manifested Herself at the giving of the Law." who manifested Herself at the giving of the Law."

The conversation Blu Greenberg had with the Dalai Lama did not touch on these esoteric matters, but she did show the importance of women in preserving Jewish values through family life. The Dalai Lama thanked her for her presentation. He had some questions of his own-actually very familiar questions that Jews often hear from those who know just a little bit about us-flattering questions, though stereotyped. He understood better now how synagogue and the family helped Jews to survive in exile in different countries where there were many obstacles to religious practice. But Jews have done more than merely survive, they have thrived, competed, and excelled. Why, he wanted to know, are Jews leaders in "economy, education, scientific research, and other fields?"

Several answers were offered to this familiar question, though the religious one-that G.o.d had blessed the Jewish people-was omitted. Moshe Waldoks stressed that Jews lived on the edge and were risk takers. Zalman Schachter answered with genetics. "The people who are studying and practicing are also marrying and having children." He added pointedly-and I saw Yitz turn red-that "where the best people of the society don't get married, then the factors that contribute to excellence don't get transmitted genetically."

Blu Greenberg thought Jews have excelled in the Diaspora because they are intelligent, a quality she also found among the Tibetans. "All the people we have met this week have such an extremely high level of intelligence and forethought that I kept having this feeling during every conversation, these are just like Jews."

Robert Thurman also commented. "If I can make a suggestion as a Gentile," he said, "there is something very famous in America-the Jewish Mother." Alex Berzin, swept up in a burst of Jewish pride, added that "in Judaism there is great deal of emphasis on the creativity of life and the joy of life. This gives a great inspiration to people to be creative-in education and upbringing, everyone is encouraged to come up with new ideas."

Yitz Greenberg added a footnote, which continued the conversation we'd had after seeing the kuten kuten, about the spectra of the two religions. He said one reason for the appeal of modernity at the expense of traditional religions was "that it affirmed life and improved the conditions of life. To the extent that traditional Judaism resisted this, it lost ground."

Therefore, the challenge for modern Judaism is to stress something already in the Torah-the religious significance of daily life-while making sure this emphasis doesn't become a materialism for its own sake. Jews have achieved because they consider secular achievement a religious excellence. Rabbi Greenberg turned the question back to the Dalai Lama. "How would you propose to deal with this? Because in some ways Buddhism, even more than Judaism, has tried to move people beyond their daily lives to a higher plane. But then how do we manage to give religious purpose and achievement to daily life?"

The Dalai Lama found Yitz's question complicated. I suspect this is because we were in an area where the spectra of the two religions did not match up very well. The Torah, with its admixture of homely narrative and specific law, is deeply rooted in daily life, and the Talmud even more so. Because the Jewish covenant was made through a family and a nation, Jewish religion is Jewish culture is Jewish family is Jewish history. In contrast, the Dalai Lama continually stressed a separation between culture and religion, between religion and nationalism, and between religion and daily life.

He mentioned some individuals who concentrate solely on individual practice. "For example, a few pract.i.tioners on these mountains," he gestured out the window, "are almost like hermits, completely withdrawn." They spend most of their time on meditation. In that case, he felt that this was one time Chairman Mao Zedong had a point when he compared religion to opium, because if Buddhist faith is utilized in the wrong way, sometimes it could become a hindrance to the development of people.

Therefore, he advises the general Tibetan public to be "half half"; that is, "They should spend only 50 percent of their time on religious practice, and 50 percent on their own life. Because this is concerned with national survival. If every Tibetan went to the mountain [like the hermits], we would starve."

The Buddhist leader made a distinction between long-term and temporary benefits. He said religious practice is necessary for achieving the long-term benefit of nirvana. But to achieve the temporary benefit of worldly life pleasure, it is equally necessary to work. With this distinction in benefits kept in mind, there is no reason to be negative toward worldly progress or development.

"So," Yitz concluded, "you are able to give religious meaning and responsibility to worldly work?"

"Yes," the Dalai Lama answered and explained through Laktor that although usually in presenting religious discourses it was stressed "that in order to be a successful pract.i.tioner you have to renounce life, there were other teachings, which lay emphasis on the possibility of combining practice with practical involvement."

Returning us to the original topic, Blu Greenberg wanted to know if there might be a different level of practice for the Tibetan Buddhist family in exile, as opposed to previously?

He thought a moment and said, "I don't know." The Dalai Lama felt it was too soon to tell. He commented that the Tibetans were holding on to their practices because of the Chinese persecution. "The Chinese activities are so negative. So it makes a tremendous reaction."

The Jewish experience was a.n.a.logous. Yitz Greenberg pointed out that persecution makes a stronger Jew, to which Moshe Waldoks added, "It's a terrible way to be strong."

Rabbi Greenberg rejoined that modern cultures are more difficult to resist, because they are so kind and accepting. "Because of persecution you get stubborn, but when you are kissed and hugged, you relax."

This recalled to Nathan Katz the situation of the Jews in China. "That community went out of existence because the Chinese never practiced discrimination against the Jewish people. The Jewish people would take examinations and enter into the service of the emperor. As a result they vanished."

To which the Dalai Lama, laughing, commented, "That is ancient ancient China. Not this." China. Not this."

Robert Thurman made clear that the "Tibetans have not accepted that they will be for long outside of Tibet. So the thought is not how to settle down and survive for, say, five hundred years in exile. They expect to return."

Instead, most of the Dalai Lama's creative thinking has to do with how to change things in Tibet. "He has adopted democracy and a const.i.tution. He told me once he had a very clever, devilish idea-to have monks in monasteries in Tibet learn to make electronic things, to do some kind of skillful production. I can see thousands of monks sitting there making computers in His Holiness' Monastic Computer Factory."

However, if exile would be of a longer duration, the Tibetans would turn their attention to family and then-addressing Blu-"your kind of strategies would be very valuable." Thurman imagined the Dalai Lama composing a poem of grace for lay families to say at meals, or that a book of ceremonies might be published in Dharamsala for families to use in India or Switzerland. "Don't you think?" he asked, turning to the Dalai Lama.

"Yes," he said, and through Laktor added that "for example, His Holiness has composed a prayer called the Word of the Truth, on the fate of the Tibetans, the need for the development of the Tibetan situation, the progress of the dharma."

"When the geshes geshes were with us Friday night, they recited this prayer," Zalman noted. Clearly, the Dalai Lama's hope for a brighter day is very strong. He is inspired by Jewish persistence in the face of an unimaginably long exile-nearly two thousand years-but for his own part, he hopes to see the Tibetans return in his lifetime. were with us Friday night, they recited this prayer," Zalman noted. Clearly, the Dalai Lama's hope for a brighter day is very strong. He is inspired by Jewish persistence in the face of an unimaginably long exile-nearly two thousand years-but for his own part, he hopes to see the Tibetans return in his lifetime.

Blu had raised the issue of the family very directly, but it was clear from the response that not a great deal of thought had yet gone into it on the Tibetan side. The issues of simple survival are still too pressing.

But at least, through Joy and Blu, the Jews had broached the subject and communicated the importance of family and children to Jewish survival. In the last minutes of our encounter, we also asked for and received a secret of survival from the Dalai Lama. It was a dramatic moment of the exchange.

18.

One Last Question.

Ever since Sat.u.r.day night, Nathan Katz had come down with a serious case of the JUBU blues. Despite Zalman's comforting vision of a dancing circle of Jews and JUBUs and Buddhists, Katz still felt troubled. His intense dialogue with Chodron and his respect for her and Alex Berzin made him feel acutely the quality of loss to the Jewish community they represented. He consulted with Yitz and Blu Greenberg. They encouraged him to address his concerns to the Dalai Lama. When Nathan Katz spoke, it was heartfelt, direct, and sincere-a dramatic moment of the dialogue.

In reconnecting with dharma people, Katz was encountering the road not taken. Like Alex Berzin, whom he'd met fifteen years earlier, Nathan had been seriously attracted to Buddhism as an academic and personal path. He had partic.i.p.ated in the latest chapter of the fitful history of Buddhism in the West, one in which Jews have played a significant and disproportionate role.

When I started asking why this was so, I heard a lot of stereotypes at first. In Dharamsala, for instance, both Tibetans and Jewish Buddhists a.s.sured me that Jews are a highly intelligent group who, therefore, could learn and appreciate the teachings of Buddhism. This struck me as self-serving flattery. Another explanation: Jews tend to be affluent and "dharma is a rich man's game." A third is that Jews are "spiritually minded people." These stereotypes don't run very deep. After all, there are plenty of intelligent, affluent, and spiritually minded goyim goyim running around. running around.

I offered myself the consolation that in raw numbers, at least, the loss to the Jewish people is not great. But then again, since fewer than 5 percent of American Jews define themselves at all religiously, Jewish Buddhists do represent an abnormally large percentage of a precious pool of energetic, talented, and spiritually committed Jews.

To Moshe Waldoks, the loss is very real. He told me, "People who have a good experience from a meditative life or the life of insight have a lot to offer to the Jewish community. We have done so little to develop that side of life. It's a double loss. Not only are these people not part of the Jewish community, but all they've learned they're not giving back."

But though Nathan Katz had come back to Judaism, he knew most other Jewish Buddhists wouldn't. So when he turned to face the Dalai Lama, after Blu's presentation on Jewish family, this loss was on his mind.

"Your Holiness," he began, "this is not an easy point to raise. But in this dialogue, which we take so much to heart, we must be totally frank about our feelings. There is one issue, in terms of relations between our peoples, that for some of us causes pain.

"You see our sense of family. We are connected to each other in very deep ways. And when someone might leave our family, we feel pain. I can see very clearly that Jewish people who adopt the Tibetan path benefit greatly as individuals. Their practices, their peace, their intellect, are elevated greatly.

"But we suffer something of a brain drain. Because, as Rabbi OmerMan was saying, our mystical esoteric teachings are not so accessible-and that's our fault-many of our finest people are leaving our family.

"I have no question. I have no request. But this issue is in the heart of everyone in the delegation. I know it's in my heart, and with the encouragement of my co-religionists, I felt compelled to put this issue before you."

The Dalai Lama listened quite intently and paused to reflect. The room grew quiet-I could hear the magpies whistling outside.

"According to the Buddhist tradition," he began, "there is no sort of conversion or missionary work. It is not good to ask someone to follow a different faith. Yet, because there are so many different mental dispositions, one religion simply cannot serve, cannot satisfy all people.

"Religion knows no national boundary. For example, among Tibetans, the majority are Buddhist, but n.o.body says, 'Since you are Tibetan, you should be Buddhist.'

"Likewise, among the millions and millions of Westerners, a few find Buddhist teachings more suitable" than Judaism or Christianity. "So when someone comes to us to learn Tibetan Buddhism, then we consider it our responsibility to explain-that's our basic att.i.tude.... Since Tibetan culture and Buddhism are two separate things, I feel also that some Jewish people remain mainly attached to Jewish culture, heritage, while their personal religion could be Buddhism or some other religion.

"Since you told me we are family," he said, looking to Nathan, who nodded in agreement "the response should be very frank, no?" The Jewish delegates agreed.

The Dalai Lama felt he understood from Paul Mendes-Flohr's presentation on secular Jews that it is possible to keep the Jewish tradition as a culture without necessarily being a believer. "So, among the Jewish community there are several millions. If some of them are attracted to Buddhism, we cannot stop it. Among Tibetans, also, some are taking an interest in new religions. We cannot stop it. No use in stopping it."

Though expressed in necessarily simple diction, I thought the Dalai Lama was offering us a very sophisticated, and very Buddhist, take on the problem. In the long run, tolerance and maintaining contacts are more likely to keep Jews connected to other Jews than rejection or guiltmongering. I wondered, though, if many rabbis or committed Jews would be able to restrain themselves and follow this helpful advice.

Rabbi Greenberg, for one, thought that the Dalai Lama's response made a lot of sense. But he also suggested that when a Jewish student comes seeking, "Say to them that their first search should be to discover the depth or significance of their birth religion-and that even this spiritual discipline you open up for them might well be found in their own tradition." This is the traditional Jewish att.i.tude toward converts-to refuse them at first and only respond if the request is repeated.

The Dalai Lama answered, "I do like that. In my public teaching I always tell people who are interested that changing religions is not an easy task. So therefore it's better not to change, better to follow one's own traditional religion, since basically the same message, the same potential is there." Further, after a conversion, "there is no point in looking negatively toward your previous religion." As for a nonbeliever or "extreme atheist" -the Dalai Lama said he uses that term because "sometimes people call Buddhism also a kind of atheism" -for such people, "taking a new religion doesn't matter."

Michael Sautman, who had up to now mainly served as an MC, felt the urge to speak.

"Your Holiness," Michael said, glancing quickly at his parents, "as someone who this issue might be directed to, let me just say, and maybe Alex Berzin might agree, that although the fruit of our religious activities might lie within the Buddha dharma, the roots of our tradition and heritage will always lie with the Jewish people. So in that way I don't think there is any worry."

Robert Thurman agreed. Raised a secularist Protestant, he felt that if his Buddhist teachers had told him go back to his church first and ask them three times how to meditate, "I would have been just annoyed." But through years of studying Buddhism, "I finally found a way to appreciate Christianity, and His Holiness is actually my best Christian teacher-though I didn't convert back." Thurman felt that "it may be impossible to lose someone. If they convert to being a good human being through whatever process, you haven't lost them in the real sense that counts."

Marc Lieberman spoke up next. He summarized the results of the dialogue as raising the level of Jewish awareness about Tibetans. He promised action on plans for an academic exchange, so that Tibetans could learn about Judaism formally, and on bringing Tibetan observers to Jewish summer camps. He saw the meetings with Jewish Buddhists as "a challenge to prepare the ground in the Jewish community so that spirituality will be recognized and appreciated." He hoped "some of these wonderful Western Buddhists will take the bodhisattva vow very specifically and help their co-religionists learn new spiritual pathways in the Jewish path so that spiritual renewal can go on from both directions." Then he thanked the Dalai Lama for being a gracious host.

But the Dalai Lama was still thinking about Nathan's question. "I have something more to say." He explained that among those who follow various different religions, there are two types, or two levels. The first follows mainly with faith, "not much is questioned. They say, my family background is in such and such religious faith, so I take this faith without much question." The second, skeptical type asks more questions and carries out research and experiment. He or she will do the meditations or try the prayers, or observe whatever rules the religion requires. But the skeptic will only accept the faith if that person finds some benefit from its practices. If in the course of study or experiment such skeptics do not find the religion satisfying in their lives, then they will reject that religion.

The Dalai Lama explained that from the Buddhist viewpoint, unquestioning faith is not very profound. "The second is much better. So generally the Buddhist approach is first to be skeptical and examine and find some meaning, some answer to your own life, your own problems." Only then is it worthwhile to accept a religion.

In other words, try it, and only stick with it if you like it. I found this empirical approach very attractive. It harmonizes well with the scientific spirit. Also, Buddhism offers portions of its practices and teachings for a person to experiment with. You do not have to believe in Buddha or Buddhism to meditate on the breath-you merely have to give it a try. This is the charm of Buddhism's open door.

Now the Dalai Lama offered the Jews advice. Open the doors and open them wide. In learning about Jewish mystical teachings, he confessed that he had "developed more respect toward Judaism because I found much sophistication there." He thought that what he had learned about the four levels of interpretation and Jewish meditation is very important and should be made available for everyone, especially to the sharp-minded. He gave a parallel from Buddhist history. Like kabbalah, traditionally Buddhist tantra as taught in India had been very secretive, very confidential, and given only very selectively to very few students. "Public teaching never happened." But if there is too much secrecy, sometimes there is a danger that the tradition will discontinue and that many qualified persons will miss the teaching and the practice.

Therefore, when Buddhist tantra later came to Tibet, the teaching became more flexible and available. He advised the Jewish group to adopt the same flexible att.i.tude and avoid too much secrecy about esoteric teachings.

"As I mentioned earlier, during Rabbi Omer-Man's presentation, I found many similarities between kabbalah and tantra. If that is the case, then why would your people want Buddhist tantra?" He smiled at Zalman, teasing him, "You yourself say you have your own tantra!"

"Then a second thing," he said. "I myself have tried to openly accept that all different religions have some value. At the same time, I always think that other people also should be open." He did not think it good to force someone to follow a religion. "Although your motivation may be sincere, the result may not be positive if you limit the right to choose and explore." Again, referring now to Zalman Schachter's presentation, "Provide them all the material of the four spiritual realms. If despite that, someone is still attracted to a different religion, then they are right. This is my experience."

Now he turned to address Yitz Greenberg. "Previously we referred to more traditional, more conservative ways. And you said modernity creates new problems. Due to that, if we try to isolate ourselves from modernity, this is self-destruction. You have to face reality. If you have reason, sufficient reason to practice a religion, sufficient value in that religion, there is no need to fear. If you have no sufficient reason, no value-then there's no need to hold on to it. Really. I feel that." He added that if a faith cannot provide satisfaction for someone, to insist on that person holding on to it is foolish.

"So you see, the time is changing. n.o.body can stop it. Whether G.o.d created it-or nature is behind it, n.o.body knows. It is fact, it is reality. So we have to follow the time, and live according to reality. What we need, ourselves, as religious leaders, is to do more research, find more practices to make tradition something more beneficial in today's life" and more open to people. "Then they will choose which is more valuable, more useful." Either the modernity of the secular world or else traditional teachings.

The session ended with Rabbi Levitt leading us in a traditional prayer for "our teachers and their students"-with one phrase amended to "for those who study Torah Dharma." The Dalai Lama and his fellow monks offered a brief dedication. Then we waited in line as he received each of us individually for a last farewell. I was just br.i.m.m.i.n.g with emotion.

I'd come to Dharamsala as one of the skeptics the Dalai Lama referred to: a cultural Jew, a Jew by birth, though very fierce about it, even angry. As I found in the Frankfurt airport, nervous was my religion, nervous and defensive.

In Dharamsala I encountered a holy community that lived in horror of the expression of anger. Formerly, I would have a.s.sociated this with emasculation. I would have considered such people to be lobotomized zombies with fake smiles. In my thinking, anger was an essential part of a natural person. It was, as Blu had put it, realistic.

But the monks I met were witty, had a sense of humor-and an enormous clarity. Laktor, who'd spent some time in Israel, joked around with me and, because of the Indiana Jones hat I wore, called me "cowboy." My parting gift to him was a red yarmulke that matched his monk's robe perfectly. I also valued Karma Gelek's wry and very dry sense of humor, his patience and calm when we were confused and worried.

The lamas I spoke to on Friday night were shining-the sweet, wise old men in robes one dreams about, but never imagines meeting. I especially remember Geshe Sonam's dignity and warmth. The Western Buddhists, such as Alex Berzin or Thubten Chodron, were impressive in their own right. Despite my initial prejudices, I saw they had not lost their strength or personality through Buddhist practice. I found them to be very creative, intelligent, engaged human beings with distinctive personalities. The loss of anger had not meant loss of personality, but liberation and clear thinking.

As the Dalai Lama suggested, to a skeptic, results speak for themselves. I had in the past encountered enthusiasts in various cults and selfhelp groups and had come away from the encounter with my initial skepticism undimmed. But these encounters in Dharamsala were different. I knew nothing about techniques of meditation. But I could see that this stuff worked. These people and the community they shared had succeeded, largely, in overcoming a demon I had struggled with in vain. They did not make anger, or any other emotion, the boss of their lives. As the late Geshe Khenrab, a lama from Montreal whom I met later, once told me, "You doubt everything else. Why not doubt anger?" That is a beautiful challenge that expresses in brief the Buddhist perspective.

The Dalai Lama is leading his people through their most difficult period in history, in a situation where anger is a very predictable response. So how he handles anger is not just a personal, but a political challenge. After being driven into exile along with 115,000 of his countrymen, after years of reports of torture and destruction in his homeland, after fruitless and frustrating negotiations with the perpetrators, after being relentlessly hounded all over the world by the Chinese government, that he could still refer to the Chinese as his "so-called enemy" and "the external factor" is a rare and inspiring example of a religious perspective carried over into the political world of conflict and violence. My only prayer is that somehow, against all odds, with this stance he will succeed in freeing Tibet.

At the personal level, I had said that in observing the Dalai Lama, I went in the spirit of the Hasidic student who wanted to see how the master tied his shoes. At the end, I knew I had. His presence from moment to moment was a constant teaching. His ready humor, his wit, his engagement with ideas, his deep receptivity-his simple ability to stop for a moment and take things in-were all elements of his power.

I learned that humility can be powerful, that receptivity can be dominating, and that kindness can be challenging. I learned the power of what the Buddhists call "a quiet mind."

For Tibetan Buddhists, the Dalai Lama is an aspect of the Bodhisattva of Compa.s.sion, a being with extraordinary knowledge and power, who can see you not only in this life but in your previous ones. Though I do not believe this personally, I still felt a power in his glance.

So often we say about someone, he's not worth a glance. This was the opposite-a benevolent feeling that each individual is worth a very deep regard. It was kindness, but almost a scientific kindness, like a doctor's light shining into your eyes. So strong, that at the first session, when I saw him face to face, I turned away. This time, I promised myself I would meet his eyes. As my turn approached, I heard him laughing. He was shaking a Purim grager grager Paul Mendes-Flohr had given him. He was completely open, eager for any new experience. Charlie Halpern, from the Nathan c.u.mmings Foundation, was next ahead of me. He bowed slightly to the Dalai Lama and smiled-very suave and New York in his demeanor. But not me. I stooped down to look into the Dalai Lama's eyes and to have his eyes search mine. Paul Mendes-Flohr had given him. He was completely open, eager for any new experience. Charlie Halpern, from the Nathan c.u.mmings Foundation, was next ahead of me. He bowed slightly to the Dalai Lama and smiled-very suave and New York in his demeanor. But not me. I stooped down to look into the Dalai Lama's eyes and to have his eyes search mine.

There is a beautiful Hasidic teaching, that before every human being comes a retinue of angels, announcing, "Make way for an image of the Holy One, Blessed be He." How rarely do we listen for those angels when we encounter another human being. How rarely do we see in another human being's eyes an image of everything we hold most dear.

For the Tibetans perhaps, and for many Western Buddhists, the Dalai Lama's powers are magical and other-worldly, but I found they were even more beautiful for being so human and closer at hand.

The Dalai Lama laughed and grabbed me by the shoulder. In that brief moment, he'd understood what I was after-a deeper human contact-and he had given it. But he had given that to each of us.

Especially, in response to Nathan Katz's question, the Dalai Lama had offered Jews extraordinary advice-and a challenge. Could we make Judaism more beneficial-instead of just asking Jews to hold on out of guilt?

For some it reinforced the work they were already doing, such as Rabbi Greenberg's efforts to promote Jewish unity through dialogue, Zalman Schachter's work for Jewish renewal, and Rabbi Omer-Man's school of Jewish meditation. For others, such as Rabbi Levitt, it was a challenge to rethink the role of spirituality and the esoteric in the synagogue and Jewish community. Paul Mendes-Flohr came away with an increased awareness of the roots of group anger in individual consciousness.

As for Professor Katz, he was thrilled by the Dalai Lama's response. To Nathan, "Being Jewish means to struggle against either enemies who threaten you with gentleness or harshness, with persecution or a.s.similation. Unless you feel you're called to be Jewish, or that karma works and you're supposed to be Jewish, unless you feel that deeply, the system doesn't work very well.

"I can very well understand people who say I'd rather cash in my chips, drop my Jewishness, and a.s.similate with society at large. The danger is, if we don't transmit to people the utter joy and transcendence the tradition offers, if we transmit to them only that you should be on guard all the time, then we are going to lose them. The danger is failing to transmit the beauty, the joy, the profundity. If we fail to do that, that's what the Dalai Lama told us, then we're not going to survive."

"Then that was the secret he gave back to us?" I asked him.

"Yes. To me that was the moment. If you have nothing to offer them, there's no sense holding on to them. And if you have something to offer them, there's no reason for them to leave. Boy, does every Jew in the world need to hear that."

19.

A Buddhist Jew -The Allen Ginsberg Story.

The dialogue with the Dalai Lama gave me a glimpse of what Judaism might be, but my conversation with JUBUs in America after my return told me about the Judaism they'd encountered. They weren't very happy about it, and Allen Ginsberg especially.

As the main spokesperson of the Beat generation, Ginsberg had been an early herald of the whole opening up of consciousness that led many Jews in the 1960s and 1970s to explore Eastern religions. So I asked the poet to tell the story of his own personal spiritual quest and how it led him ultimately to Tibetan Buddhism. On the surface, his turn to Buddhism might be seen as a surprising development. After all, when Ginsberg emerged into public attention in 1956, he was widely seen as a Jewish poet. His great energetic poem "Howl" burst on the scene as an outrageous, angry, and powerful social statement, in the mode of the Hebrew prophets.

And in his next major work, "Kaddish," Ginsberg sought explicitly Jewish language for his deepest emotional experiences. There is a poignant anecdote told about his searching for a synagogue to say kaddish for his mother upon learning of her death. It says a lot to me that this was his primary impulse at that time-and it's certainly not uncommon for highly secular Jews, undergoing bereavement, to turn back to religious forms and observances they otherwise have rejected.