Jew in the Lotus Part 16

The intended target was David Radin, the roshi, or head, of the Zen Center in Ithaca.

"We had what he called a dharma war. We walked up and down this country road asking each other questions. I wanted him to come to a yeshiva and showed him there was quite high stuff in Judaism, very much on the level of Zen. He in turn showed me that Zen was very, very high. He also showed that through meditation one could attain these experiences.

"He started coming up with things. His father was a rabbi, and he'd studied kabbalah before he'd gotten into Zen. He said, 'I don't usually think about Torah, but since you've been coming here giving me all these Torah ideas, in the middle of my meditation I thought, on the verse Shema yisrael adonai elohenu adonai ekhod Shema yisrael adonai elohenu adonai ekhod-why does it say adonai adonai twice, you know?' Then he said, 'Because it's the lower level and the upper level....' twice, you know?' Then he said, 'Because it's the lower level and the upper level....'

"I said, 'I just read that in Schneur Zalman's work written in 1812. Did you learn that?' He said, 'No, I never learned that. I wasn't aware that in Judaism they had such stuff. If I were aware, maybe I never would have left.' So I said, 'Well, it's in Judaism, Schneur Zalman, 1812.'

"The next day, he brought me the pusek pusek that says: On that day the Lord shall be One and His name shall be One. 'What does it mean- that says: On that day the Lord shall be One and His name shall be One. 'What does it mean-ushmo ekhod-His name is One? He's one, his name is one, what does it mean?' And he gave his drash drash on it. on it.

"I said, 'I think Azusha was reported as having said something similar in the 1700s. Have you read these works?' 'No, again,' he said, 'I wasn't aware of there being anything like this in Judaism.'

"'Well, you should,' I said, 'Azusha wrote them in 1799.'

"This was the last time we had together. So finally I said to him, 'You see-it's all in Judaism. You can find it there. Doesn't it make sense for you to come and learn what else is in Judaism?' Which I thought was a terrific argument. But he wiped me out by saying, 'I'm getting it from my Zen meditation. I really haven't studied these works; I'm getting these insights from meditation alone.'"

Radin challenged David Blank to study Zen, saying, "Doesn't it make sense for you, who know what Azusha and Schneur Zalman and all these guys say say, to come and learn how to get this out of your own experience? That's how I'm getting it. You're just reporting this from other people."

That's how the roper-in was roped in himself. David Blank told me that his marriage broke up at about the same time that he declared himself a Zen Buddhist. He had grown disenchanted with the atmosphere in Crown Heights, the emphasis on spreading the word to large numbers of people. "I needed intensity of spirituality. I saw it in Zen."

"I went to sit in the Zen Center in meditation for a year. And it got progressively more and more serious." A j.a.panese teacher was brought in. But Blank encountered a reservation.

"I didn't want to sit in the temple because they have a Buddha they all bow to and I thought it was pretty primitive. I told the roshi that and he said, 'Come with me,' and we went into the Zendo.

"He said, 'Do you think we really bow to this thing?'

"'Well,' I told him, 'It looks bad. How do I know you don't?' He took it by the head, turned it upside down, and opened the storage room, and flung it, very disrespectfully, bounced it into the wood storage room and slammed the door. He said, 'If we were going to bow to it, do you think I would do that?'

"People came in and saw there was no Buddha and they bowed to the emptiness. So I had no trouble after that, sitting in the Zendo where the Zen teacher could do that."

But after a year, "I started pulling away from it, asking questions: When did this idea come up? At what age did these ideas develop? The roshi said, 'Those are very rabbinic questions. Before you know it you'll be a scholar, that is not what Zen is about.' My intellect was starting up again because my heart was dropping out.

"So my Zen teacher said, 'It would probably be more of a Zen thing for you to leave the temple and hitchhike around America because you are hiding here like you were in the yeshiva because they taught you the goyim are going to kill you with pitchforks as soon as you expose yourself to them. So I suggest that perhaps you go hitchhiking around America, preferably don't take any money with you, throw yourself on the mercy of the are going to kill you with pitchforks as soon as you expose yourself to them. So I suggest that perhaps you go hitchhiking around America, preferably don't take any money with you, throw yourself on the mercy of the goyim goyim and see what happens. If you die, you die.' and see what happens. If you die, you die.'

"And I did quite well. The goyim goyim were very nice to me, and it was a big change. I hitchhiked out to California eventually. I walked into a Shavuous done by the Aquarian Minyan, they were very warm, light, loving, and affectionate. They were influenced by Zalman Schachter. It was a way of reconnecting to Judaism with tai chi in it and meditation and expanded consciousness. I thought I could bring the Zen and the Hasidism together-they were both accepted in this place." were very nice to me, and it was a big change. I hitchhiked out to California eventually. I walked into a Shavuous done by the Aquarian Minyan, they were very warm, light, loving, and affectionate. They were influenced by Zalman Schachter. It was a way of reconnecting to Judaism with tai chi in it and meditation and expanded consciousness. I thought I could bring the Zen and the Hasidism together-they were both accepted in this place."

Such stories make Nathan Katz's notion of previous contact between Judaism and Buddhism far more plausible to the imagination. They suggest how such exchanges might have occurred on the personal level. There have always been Sarmads and Ram Da.s.ses, Alex Berzins and Chodrons, Marc Liebermans and David Blanks, pa.s.sing through other traditions and sometimes coming back. A Jewish student with a Buddhist teacher, a Buddhist student with a Jewish teacher, a Jewish Buddhist, a Buddhist Jew-it could have happened in the ancient world as it is happening today. We know that in the third century B.C. B.C., the Indian emperor Ashoka, a committed Buddhist, made a determined missionary effort. He sent emissaries to Syria and Egypt to teach dharma. Is it possible that these Buddhist teachers brought with them the whole idea of monasticism? The monastic idea never gained a strong foothold in Judaism, but it did flourish beginning in the second century B.C.E. B.C.E. in both Israel and Egypt among the Essenes and the Therapeutae. Where did the pattern come from? It's conceivable that Jewish and Christian monasteries owe their origin to Buddhism. in both Israel and Egypt among the Essenes and the Therapeutae. Where did the pattern come from? It's conceivable that Jewish and Christian monasteries owe their origin to Buddhism.

Other scholars have speculated that Buddhist concepts infiltrated Jewish Gnostic circles in the first century. Alexandria is a possible locale for such interactions. This highly cosmopolitan port had separate quarters for Greeks, Jews, Egyptians, and a settlement of resident Hindus. There was a constant stream of merchants from western India-and Buddhists were merchants par excellence. Moreover, the city was full of philosophers who wrote books and lectured in lecture halls. It is not hard to imagine Buddhist and Jewish merchants, sitting around a table in cosmopolitan first-century Alexandria, at the time of Philo, exchanging merchandise, but also ideas and religious concepts, such as rebirth. Jewish Gnosticism is one acknowledged source for the later developments of kabbalah.

All of this is highly speculative, but thanks to the dialogue, I have a vivid sense of how it might have been. For instance, one afternoon at Kashmir Cottage I noticed Chodron and Jonathan Omer-Man sitting quietly together. "Jonathan had asked someone to come and teach him meditation," Chodron told me. "So I met with him on a few occasions, not as teacher and student, but as spiritual friends.

"I started explaining breathing meditation and he was saying he does that same thing, saying the name of G.o.d as you breathe in and out, trying to calm the mind down. It was very similar to what we do in Buddhism."

Jonathan learned from the experience that "the Buddhist approach to meditation is much more disciplined and structured than ours is. Nevertheless, there is a wonderful parallel, and even almost identical techniques. She gave me a very powerful meditation, a moment of wonderful joy and recognition and laughter."

Marc Lieberman offered a biological metaphor for such exchanges. "I don't know how Judaism a.s.similated stuff from other cultures, how, for instance, Aristotelian thought so thoroughly infiltrated the Jewish mind in the Middle Ages that rabbis since then have been obsessed with logic. Or how the gnostic experience in the Second Temple era was so profound that Judaism could no longer be a sacrificial religion, because Jews realized there were universal principles of cosmic wisdom. I don't know how the interface of Judaism and the world around it works. But it's like a cell wall. It's not simple diffusion. There are active pumps deciding whether this stuff is toxic or not.

"Some part of me says that this interface with Buddhism, dharma, meditation, maybe there's some very profound osmotic gradient, reminding lots of Jewish people that our picture of Judaism is just that, one picture in time. There are other materials to work with if we are spiritually hungry, the warehouse is a lot bigger than the room we are playing in."

Similarly, to Rabbi David Blank "Judaism is like a big archaeological heap of shofars and Torahs and good ideas. It's up to us to forge a coherency in the spiritual path so it does speak in one voice to us at the layer that we are on and we can choose whatever we want from the heap of treasures and half broken things that we don't understand.

"It's important for us to do that, and I don't think the work has been done yet. We need a coherent spiritual path in Judaism. There is none. We are in between right now. We need a great teacher to come to show us a new way to do it."

For now, there are only hints of what this coherent spiritual path would look like. Certainly Zalman Schachter and the tiny Jewish renewal movement represent part of the change. But whether they will be able to significantly influence the mainstream of Judaism remains to be seen. The cell wall of Judaism that Dr. Lieberman describes can get quite rigid when it comes to a.s.similating new ideas. Indeed, some in Jewish renewal, such as Rabbi Omer-Man, retain a certain caution. He explained, "One can find a commonality with other traditions and the commonality is extremely valuable. Yet in every esoteric tradition that I know of, there is an insistence that you must come through the exoteric, Sufis through Islam, Christians through Christianity, Jews through Judaism, to reach the esoteric."

Still, the common ground we discovered between the Jewish and Buddhist esoteric left me fascinated. At the 1991 P'nai Or Kallah, I asked Zalman Schachter what he felt when we saw so many points of likeness with Buddhism, such as doctrines of rebirth and systems of meditation.

"That's what I see as the no frills stuff," he answered. "It's the generic religion behind the whole business. You know..."-he closed his eyes to come up with the phrase, and a big smile lit up his face-"those are the ACTIVE INGREDIENTS ACTIVE INGREDIENTS. The rest of it is food coloring, packaging. The active ingredients is what works, you know?"

I knew. I had felt what works in Judaism many times during our trip to India, and never more so than during our last moments together in Judah Hyam Synagogue. Certainly, as I remember Ram Da.s.s there, and Marc Lieberman behind him, and Joy and Blu and Yitz davening, and Isaac Malecar and his daughter, it seems that for a moment, all the elements of our journey had come together in one place, and all the Jewish secrets of survival we'd brought to the Dalai Lama were represented. Ironically, while Rabbi Greenberg felt obliged to stand apart when Joy Levitt led the davening in Dharamsala, in Delhi he had an Orthodox minyan minyan, with Ram Da.s.s the tenth Jew. That was something to contemplate. My midrash: to be complete, Jews need to be more inclusive.

That evening in Delhi, a Jewish Hindu and a Hindu Jew joined the entire circle of those who have stayed within Judaism, and all those who might return if, as Rabbi David Blank put it, the right teacher-and the coherent teaching-can be found.

We were one already, at least in voice. Even after the formal service, we kept singing, really into the spirit of the thing, knowing these were our last moments together, not wanting to let go. As we sang "Etz Chayim," a tree of life, Paul Mendes-Flohr filled gla.s.ses of wine on a silver tray.

Then with Isaac Malecar's coaching, his daughter launched into a very hearty "Shalom Aleikhem," the traditional welcome to the angels who accompany worshipers home to the Shabbat table. I remembered again the Angel of Tibet and the Angel of the Jews.

Isaac asked his daughter to sing one more song. I couldn't help but think of my own daughters, to hear the familiar melody so far away from home, quavering in the air, tenuous and fragile, like Jewish survival, which always rests, as Blu had told the Dalai Lama, with our children.

"Lekha Dodi" was one last secret of Jewish survival. I heard in the song her father's pride and his efforts to sustain the last notes of a tradition in India that goes back thousands of years. I heard tradition and joy, family and the feminine, the lore of the Shekhinah and a hint of the esoteric, the legacy of Safed. Was I hearing the voice of an angel? I listened as a young girl welcomed the Shabbat Bride to the last shul in Delhi.

23.

In a Pool of Nectar.

Two years later, one effect of Jewish dialogue with the Dalai Lama has become clear. He now consistently describes the Tibetan tragedy as "cultural genocide" and a "Buddhist Holocaust."

Affirming his connection to Jewish history, on Yom Hashoah Yom Hashoah 1993, Holocaust Memorial Day (April 26), he became the first official visitor to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, entering it moments before the doors were thrown open to the general public. According to one account, he moved through three floors of exhibits, "his monk's robes lightly touching the floor, his head occasionally shaking in what appeared to be dismay. In the Hall of Remembrance, a chamber reserved for solace, he stood for four minutes in silence, his hands clasped to his chin in meditation." I wonder if he recalled there Rabbi Greenberg's lesson, "Always remind." In Dharamsala, Rabbi Greenberg had urged him to combine Buddhism with a more "this-worldly" consciousness. And at a tribute to Tibet that followed his visit to the Holocaust Museum, Elie Wiesel-his fellow n.o.bel Peace Prize winner-was even more blunt than Yitz had been. Wiesel said he respected Tibet as a place that "believes in prayer. But now Tibetans better learn the facts of life that the twentieth century has taught us: Prayers alone are not sufficient." 1993, Holocaust Memorial Day (April 26), he became the first official visitor to the Holocaust Museum in Washington, entering it moments before the doors were thrown open to the general public. According to one account, he moved through three floors of exhibits, "his monk's robes lightly touching the floor, his head occasionally shaking in what appeared to be dismay. In the Hall of Remembrance, a chamber reserved for solace, he stood for four minutes in silence, his hands clasped to his chin in meditation." I wonder if he recalled there Rabbi Greenberg's lesson, "Always remind." In Dharamsala, Rabbi Greenberg had urged him to combine Buddhism with a more "this-worldly" consciousness. And at a tribute to Tibet that followed his visit to the Holocaust Museum, Elie Wiesel-his fellow n.o.bel Peace Prize winner-was even more blunt than Yitz had been. Wiesel said he respected Tibet as a place that "believes in prayer. But now Tibetans better learn the facts of life that the twentieth century has taught us: Prayers alone are not sufficient."

There is evidence that this very vigorous Jewish message has struck home. This is a real change. In Dharamsala, the religious leadership distinguished saving Tibet from saving Buddhism. Karma Gelek told us, "Because of the success of establishing monasteries, we don't worry about the disappearance of our culture from the surface of the earth."

Today the Dalai Lama does worry about it. This is clear from his statement to American Buddhists at the Tibetan Buddhist Learning Center later distributed in the spring of 1993. Although he noted with satisfaction the present spread of Tibetan Buddhism in the West, with "some one thousand centers around the world with over two hundred fifty in the United States alone," he argued against a "fatalism" among Western Buddhists "about the history and problem of Tibet; 'Well, it had to happen that way-otherwise Tibetans would not have come out of isolation into the world.'"

Instead, "in the midst of what can accurately be called 'the Buddhist holocaust' of the twentieth century," the Dalai Lama suggested that "as Buddhist pract.i.tioners, you should understand the necessity of preserving Tibetan Buddhism. For this the land, the physical country of Tibet, is crucial. It is very unlikely that [the sacred land of Tibet] can survive as a cultural and spiritual ent.i.ty if its physical reality is smothered under Chinese occupation. Clearly, in this light, active support for the Tibetan cause is not just a matter of politics. It is the work of dharma." He seems to have become a dharma Zionist-with Tibet as the spiritual homeland of dharma.

Some other practical results followed our dialogue. Several major Jewish organizations have now gone on record in support of the Tibetan people in their struggle for freedom. In the summer of 1992, a promise was kept when Blu Greenberg arranged for two princ.i.p.als from Tibetan schools in India, Phuntsok Namgyal and Tenzin Sangpo, to visit Jewish day camps in the Catskills, Berkshires, and Dutchess County.

The Jewish-Buddhist dialogue also continues at the religious level. In the summer of 1992, the Naropa Inst.i.tute sponsored a course taught by a rabbi and a JUBU Zen Buddhist abbot, Bernard Gla.s.sman. (Gla.s.sman had observed the first Jewish-Buddhist dialogue in New Jersey.) Elat Chayim, a Jewish spiritual camp affiliated with Zalman Schachter's group, P'nai Or, held a session on Torah dharma with Ram Da.s.s. Later that fall, the Barre Center for Buddhist Studies sponsored a weekend retreat on Jewish Buddhist issues, led by Joseph Goldstein, with partic.i.p.ation by Marc Lieberman and Moshe Waldoks. In the summer of 1993, similar programs were offered at Elat Chayim and once again at Naropa.

Rabbi Omer-Man's school of Jewish meditation in Los Angeles has taken the name Metivta. It has proven remarkably popular and has already served more than six hundred students. Marc Lieberman and Nancy Garfield are working on establishing a Buddhist vihara in San Francisco, and in fall 1992 Marc's son was bar mitzvahed. Blu Greenberg has been rallying women's groups in support of Tibetan women who are being sterilized by the Chinese. Rabbi Greenberg was roundly criticized by the Orthodox rabbinical a.s.sembly and almost expelled, but he continues his tireless efforts on behalf of clal yisrael clal yisrael, the community of Israel. Nathan Katz has edited an issue of the Tibet Journal Tibet Journal on TibetanJewish dialogue and published a book on Jews in India. Rabbi Zalman Schachter's group, P'nai Or, has reorganized itself as ALEPH, an alliance for Jewish renewal with a network of groups across the country. He also continues dialogue and teaching with a number of Buddhists, both Tibetans and Westerners. on TibetanJewish dialogue and published a book on Jews in India. Rabbi Zalman Schachter's group, P'nai Or, has reorganized itself as ALEPH, an alliance for Jewish renewal with a network of groups across the country. He also continues dialogue and teaching with a number of Buddhists, both Tibetans and Westerners.

Every partic.i.p.ant from the Jewish side felt transformed by the dialogue experience. Rabbi Omer-Man, for instance, described the encounter with Tibetan Buddhism as the most important spiritual experience of his life, one that has empowered him in his Jewish work ever since.

My image of the encounter goes back to the moment we first saw the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala, at Tsuglakhang, the main temple. We were sitting in a row on metal folding chairs. I overheard Richard Gere explaining to Zalman Schachter some of the many thangkas thangkas hung about the temple, painted on silk in the bright primary colors Tibetans delight in. One behind the Dalai Lama depicted a layer cake of Buddhas, rising up in rows. hung about the temple, painted on silk in the bright primary colors Tibetans delight in. One behind the Dalai Lama depicted a layer cake of Buddhas, rising up in rows.

Zalman asked about the pool of water where they meditated. "Actually," Richard Gere said, "that pool of water is really a pool of nectar."

I couldn't have described our encounter with the Dalai Lama any better. He provided us a pool of nectar to look into, sweeter than a mirror, so that we Jews could see ourselves, not necessarily as we are, but as we might be.

This is what I saw: Judaism, stripped away of all its historical baggage, the long history of anti-Semitism and the defenses it has aroused. Judaism with its own joys and sweetness, and its own deep wisdom. The Dalai Lama gave each of us a glimpse of that, a glimpse so powerful it changed every one of us who experienced it.

Seeing Judaism in the light of Tibetan Buddhism, I realized that the religion of my birth is not just an ethnicity or an ident.i.ty, but a way of life, and a spiritual path, as profound as any other. That path has three parts: prayer, study, and acts of loving-kindness.

I learned too that Jewish prayer in depth has more in common with Eastern meditation than I had realized. From my own experience at Beth Kangra-our outdoor synagogue in Dharamsala-I felt that davening is not just empty recital but can be a way of attunement, of becoming aware of relations between body, feelings, mind, and spirit. I learned too the power of "blessing," of finding the words to fit the occasion, seeking to make blessings and thereby making worldly experience holy.

As for study, I learned that Torah is not just a historical record, but truly a tree of life to those who hold fast to it. It is a source of wisdom that can comment on our lives, that can and must continually be made new. Our task as Jews is not simply to take it as it is, but to renew it through our study, through the creativity of our own commentary, our own midrash.

Finally, for deeds of loving-kindness: I have always known that Judaism demands we take action and enhance life. When I see Jews reaching out to the Tibetans, I know that aspect of our spiritual life continues to create blessings.

There is no reason for Jews to feel superior to any other people, nor must we separate ourselves to avoid contamination. We live in a pluralistic society and I think we are ready to take our place in it, as Jews. Our being Jewish is not an inheritance to waste, nor can we rest on our laurels. We have a constant challenge to live up to our ideals and traditions, and to let our actions speak louder than our words.

Altogether then, I came away with a deeper picture of Judaism and a message of Jewish renewal. As Rabbi Joy Levitt said, there's plenty of wisdom in the Jewish tradition, but what we need is a way to teach Doors need to be opened for the many Jews who do not have access to the richness of Jewish spiritual wisdom.

What are the possibilities for Jewish renewal? First we need to understand clearly our religious history in America, how we got where we are today.

When Rabbi Greenberg presented the Dalai Lama with the power of Jewish memory, he was speaking from an Orthodox position. He was certainly correct about the modalities of Jewish life, the prayers and customs that keep Jewish memory alive-but only as once lived in Europe and by the Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox in America. One could make a counterargument: that the thousands of Jews who fled religion in the old country and a.s.similated in America also greatly ensured Jewish survival-and that their slogan, far from being "always remind," was really "always forget."

Though the Jews who came here in ma.s.sive numbers around the turn of the century were nominally Orthodox, their degree of observance was never as great as Yitz described. For instance, in the 1960s it was estimated that fewer than 4 percent of all who considered themselves Orthodox Jews actually observed the Shabbat.

This trend also applies to the earlier wave of German Jewish immigration. The first rabbi of my own hometown synagogue, Baltimore Hebrew, was Abraham Rice. He was also the first yeshiva-trained Orthodox rabbi in America. His tenure met with despair and failure. His congregants refused to observe the Sabbath and very quickly fired him when he tried to keep Shabbas breakers from having aliyot aliyot, that is, reading publicly from the Torah. In a sad letter home, Rabbi Abraham Rice described the Jews in America as Moses described the dancers around the golden calf, as "a people broken loose."

The whole history of Judaism in America has been a jettisoning of most of Jewish memory. And the criterion for what to discard has been social, not spiritual. American Jews dropped whatever would distinguish them greatly from their Gentile neighbors or would keep them from competing in the secular world. This included keeping kosher and observing Shabbat.

In a stunning, if gently phrased challenge, the Dalai Lama asked Yitz Greenberg if our diaspora observances have changed as a result of now having a state of Israel. Our general laughter was telling. The Buddhist leader was posing the core choice most American Jews now face: give up our Diaspora traditions as irrelevant, or make aliyah. Most American Jews know they will do neither. Instead, we have created, de facto, the s.p.a.ce for a third possibility, if only by our refusal to choose the other two.

The result has been a highly exoteric religion, conditioned by political causes such as support for Israel, and social and familial pressures. The pressing issues in American Jewish life today-intermarriage, Israel, anti-Semitism-are either social or political.

The Jews who are turned off to all spirituality, and the JUBUs and other Jews who have left the burnt house of Judaism for other traditions, are responding, then, to a real crisis. The materialism of much of Jewish life today, the lack of spirituality in our synagogue life, and the failure to communicate Judaism as a spiritual path have led, and will lead, many Jews to look elsewhere.

The house of Judaism in North America has not been satisfactorily built-it does not have a spiritual dimension for many Jews. Too many Jews are like me: our Jewishness has been an inchoate mixture of nostalgia, family feeling, group identification, a smattering of Hebrew, concern for Israel, and so forth. Yet we feel we are Jews, very strongly, and sense that somehow none of the current denominations really speak to our needs. As the state of Israel develops its own very different culture, it's clear that America will increasingly be on its own, as the Jewish historian Arthur Hertzberg argues convincingly. The vicarious relationship to Israel as a cause will not sustain Jewish affiliation in the long term-any more than devotion to other Jewish causes, such as civil rights, social equality, and combating anti-Semitism. There just isn't enough juice cheerleading for Israel to sustain Jews as a people in America, much less as a religion. Nor under current conditions, and despite the deep fund of world anti-Semitism, can we Jews derive our Jewishness solely by reacting to those who hate us.

Is there any hope for North American Judaism to emerge as a distinctly Jewish religion? Or will American Jews continue on the current path of staying loyal to a tradition that is not answering their needs? That is the question the Dalai Lama left us with-warning that if a tradition does not benefit people, in the long run they will not adhere to If only Jews could see themselves as sweetly as the Dalai Lama saw us. Then we would see Judaism renewed. We need to work past the divisions among denominations to recognize what we have in common as Jews, promoting more tolerance among ourselves and greater selfrespect. The terrible split between Orthodoxy and other Jews has damaged both sides. Most American Jews who are not Orthodox tend to feel that the Orthodox are the real Jews. In effect such Jews condemn themselves as inauthentic. This schizophrenia is unhealthy.

Creative Judaisms have emerged again and again in Diaspora-from Babylon to Spain to medieval Germany. I'd like to argue that we American Jews have always considered our situation different from the start, even if we didn't fully articulate it. Movements like Reform Judaism, Conservative Judaism, Reconstructionism, Modern Orthodoxy, and now the chavurah chavurah and Jewish renewal movements have all tried to come to grips with the unique opportunities and difficulties of American Jewish life. and Jewish renewal movements have all tried to come to grips with the unique opportunities and difficulties of American Jewish life.

The chavurah chavurah movement in which Zalman Schachter and Moshe Waldoks have been active is now twenty-five years old and its members are mostly middle-aged. New movement in which Zalman Schachter and Moshe Waldoks have been active is now twenty-five years old and its members are mostly middle-aged. New chavurot chavurot are being formed, and there are perhaps fifteen hundred families in are being formed, and there are perhaps fifteen hundred families in chavurot chavurot nationwide. It remains to be seen whether a new generation will continue the movement or whether it was a response to the unique situation in the 1960s. nationwide. It remains to be seen whether a new generation will continue the movement or whether it was a response to the unique situation in the 1960s.

Nevertheless, certain thinkers and theologians have been conceptualizing what serious Jewish renewal might mean. Arthur Waskow moved from radical politics in the late 1960s to Jewish renewal. Since then, he's explored creative midrash in G.o.dwrestling G.o.dwrestling and the Jewish holiday cycle in and the Jewish holiday cycle in Seasons of Our Joy Seasons of Our Joy. Judith Plaskow is a theologian who has carefully formulated the groundwork for a feminist Judaism in her book Standing Again at Sinai Standing Again at Sinai. Another important figure is Rabbi Arthur Green, who partic.i.p.ated in the first encounter with the Dalai Lama in Washington, New Jersey. He founded the pioneer chavurah chavurah, Chavurat Shalom, and is a scholar of Jewish mysticism who until recently headed the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. Rabbi Green has articulated a Jewish renewal theology in many articles and books, most recently in Seek My Face, Speak My Name Seek My Face, Speak My Name. Speaking at a Jewish Buddhist conference in Barre, Ma.s.sachusetts, in October 1993, he said, "As a Jewish theologian I've been told, 'You know you're really a Buddhist.' There's a little bit of truth in that. But my path has been entirely Jewish. I've felt that the spiritual life calls me to simplicity, calls me to sameness, a regular discipline. I'm a Jew for whom prayer is the central act."

Later, a partic.i.p.ant at the conference echoed Ram Da.s.s's insight that Jews know how to come together as a community. He said, "Jews have their sangha sangha down." Green replied that "Judaism's dharma is less accessible than its down." Green replied that "Judaism's dharma is less accessible than its sangha sangha because Judaism's language is a hard language. Our dharma is harder to get to, takes a lot of patience to work on." because Judaism's language is a hard language. Our dharma is harder to get to, takes a lot of patience to work on."

He told an anecdote of a "Holy Man Jam" in which he partic.i.p.ated with Bro. David Stendl-Rast, a Catholic monk. He and Bro. David patiently explained the role of holy days in their respective traditions. By contrast, the Hindu priest who followed simply chanted and the Buddhist monk led a silent meditation. Afterwards, Green asked Bro. David, "Why couldn't we do that? Why did our practice have to be teaching our symbolic language, which is the way the West guards its spiritual treasures?"

In fact, Green argues, "Mysticism doesn't have to be esoteric, doesn't have to be a secret, and yet Judaism kept it a secret." He speculates about the reason for this. Perhaps it is because if everything is G.o.d (as Chabad mysticism teaches), then "what's the difference between Jews and goyim goyim-why [eat] lambs and not pigs? If everything is G.o.d, then all the drama of distinction is hard to defend. And this threatens sanity, it threatens the order of life."

Perhaps, too, one could argue that insofar as European Jews perceived themselves as under threat of destruction from the other-from goyim goyim-the need to keep such distinctions was an element of survival.

For Rabbi Green, the trauma of the Holocaust cut off the possibility of what he sees as a "natural progression from Hasidism to the modern world." For instance, within a circle of Jewish mystics in prewar Poland there was a generation of Hasidic thinkers coming to terms with modernity. "But then three-fourths of the teachers were killed and the rest were freaked out of their minds, running away from the universal, saying, We were wrong to trust the goyim goyim. The Holocaust deeply poisoned Judaism in a xenophobic way."

But today, Green feels, Jews must get beyond the Holocaust poisoning and pick up the thread of that more universal Judaism suggested by Hasidic thought. Jews face the problem of creating a spiritual life. He thinks it is necessary to "be the spiritual Jew you are in a public and accessible way, to create a study group or minyan minyan that's open and accessible to people. Make the spiritual reality of the tradition available. The only salvation for the Jewish that's open and accessible to people. Make the spiritual reality of the tradition available. The only salvation for the Jewish sangha sangha will be a spiritual path." will be a spiritual path."

At the organizational level, there is currently a network of thirty Jewish renewal chavurot chavurot connected with P'nai Or as well as a large national network of connected with P'nai Or as well as a large national network of chavurot chavurot under the National Havurah Committee based in Philadelphia. Since many partic.i.p.ants also belong to synagogues, Jewish renewal att.i.tudes are influencing many of the established denominations and will continue to do so. So it is also possible that some form of Jewish renewal will emerge from within the denominations. It will be interesting to see what happens as a generation of Jews raised in Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox settings in America confront the contemporary world. If separation continues to work for them, they will stay within the fold. But if it doesn't, they may contribute to the development of Jewish renewal as they seek new forms of expressing Jewish life in America today. under the National Havurah Committee based in Philadelphia. Since many partic.i.p.ants also belong to synagogues, Jewish renewal att.i.tudes are influencing many of the established denominations and will continue to do so. So it is also possible that some form of Jewish renewal will emerge from within the denominations. It will be interesting to see what happens as a generation of Jews raised in Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox settings in America confront the contemporary world. If separation continues to work for them, they will stay within the fold. But if it doesn't, they may contribute to the development of Jewish renewal as they seek new forms of expressing Jewish life in America today.

I cannot predict the future or know how-or even if-Jewish renewal will take place. But I have some notions of what it might look like if it does. Jewish renewal will recognize the power of what is holy in our lives today. Just as Rabbi Greenberg could see the call to pluralism as part of G.o.d's will, so Jewish renewal can recognize the power in the movement toward full equality for women, in granting full dignity to gays and lesbians, and in the search for a livable environment.

At the same time, Jewish renewal will be much more respectful of tradition than Reform Judaism historically has been, seeking, in Zalman Schachter's words, "a maximum of Jewish expression." Intense davening, mikvehs mikvehs, or ritual baths, and other customs and expressions a.s.sociated with Orthodox Judaism will also be found in renewal. Orthodox rites formerly practiced only by men will also be practiced by women, who will infuse old traditions with new energy and joy.

Jewish renewal will be pluralistic, open to dialogue with other Jews and with other religions. Just as Jews tried to be a blessing for Tibetans, so Jews in America have proven already to be a model of a successful religious minority. In that sense we can relate to burgeoning minorities of American Muslims and Asian Buddhists. Very soon, in the U.S., practicing Muslims will outnumber Jews, and they are increasingly reaching out to us. The day may well come when Muslims, Jews, and Buddhists will share a similar agenda-in America.

Here again, the pluralism in American Jewish life gives Jews a safe context to appreciate our own history more richly and variously. This contrasts with the more defended Orthodox separatism. A Judaism that is pluralistic and respectful of the wisdom of other groups will be highly consonant with American life.

A renewed Judaism will be more porous-more willing to acknowledge that Judaism has borrowed from other cultures in the past, and more willing to borrow techniques and practices from other religions today, rea.s.similating them into a Jewish context. Sufi dhikr dhikr and Buddhist meditation on the breath are influences from the Eastern prayer mode that can be easily absorbed by Jews. and Buddhist meditation on the breath are influences from the Eastern prayer mode that can be easily absorbed by Jews.

A renewed Judaism will certainly be more aware of its own mystical tradition, seeking through specific practices of prayer and meditation to increase kavvanah kavvanah, and to realize in everyday life the spiritual values of the Hasidim.

This brings me to practice, and none of these changes will be meaningful without a deepening of Jewish practice. But that deepening can no longer be seen as an all-or-nothing proposition. We Jews must become more flexible and welcoming to those who are sincere about exploring our spiritual richness. We could again learn from Buddhist teaching-and the Lubavitchers-by offering a few practices at a time.

Just as Shabbat and keeping kosher were the first practices to be discarded by many American Jews in their quest for a.s.similation, so they may be the place to begin again. Interestingly, as increasing numbers of Americans become vegetarians, keeping kosher via keeping vegetarian will no longer separate Jews from others. It will therefore be easier to commit to vegetarian kosher as a matter of health, environmentalism, and spiritual practice. As for Shabbat, it is essential that Jews learn to taste the sweetness of this core secret of Jewish life.

It's interesting to observe in the nontraditional Western Buddhist community, how its pract.i.tioners are grappling with the same problem Jews faced in coming to America: how to combine spiritual practice with daily life. Since most Buddhist pract.i.tioners hold jobs and many have families, the monastic model is not an option. Instead they have opted for a temporary monasticism in the form of weekend, weeklong, and monthlong retreats to Buddhist meditation centers. They move in and out of the spiritual and material world, and the big question they are facing is how to handle the transitions, how to move between the purity of a meditative life to the demands of the samsaric world.

Obviously, since most American Jews have dumped the Sabbath, it's difficult to say that it's a real model for Western Buddhists. But Shabbat, when done right, does create a very carefully planned retreat from the world in the context of family life.

What Jews might learn from Buddhists is how to deepen Shabbat, heighten its meditative content. A rabbi once declared to me her experience of a Buddhist monastery, "It's Shabbat all the time!" What Buddhists might learn from Jews are the forms or sh.e.l.l of the Shabbat, the rituals such as the mikveh mikveh, the candle lighting, and the blessings, which enable Jews to make a transition from a worldly to a spiritual realm and back again.

Deepening the prayer experience is essential to Jewish renewal. When the Jewish spirit was renewed in eighteenth-century Eastern Europe, the Hasidim turned away from an emphasis on studying Talmud, because the community in the small towns and shtetls shtetls of Podolia was poor and poorly educated. Instead, the Hasidic masters opened wide the door of prayer. I'd like to suggest that an emphasis on prayer would also be the best door for Jewish renewal in America today. Because we too are poor-in spirit-and poorly educated, in Jewish techniques of inner transformation. of Podolia was poor and poorly educated. Instead, the Hasidic masters opened wide the door of prayer. I'd like to suggest that an emphasis on prayer would also be the best door for Jewish renewal in America today. Because we too are poor-in spirit-and poorly educated, in Jewish techniques of inner transformation.

In effect, I'm calling for a kind of neo-Hasidism, because without an infusion of Jewish spiritual fervor in prayer and blessings and observances, the reason to stay Jewish, the juice, will be lost.

I can only offer this brief sketch of Jewish renewal. Others have been working hard to fill in the outlines-theologians, activists, rabbis, and leaders, and of course the Jewish women and men in chavurot chavurot and Jewish renewal communities. Even if their numbers are relatively small, their work is important. If, as Yitz Greenberg a.s.serted, Judaism is now facing a crisis as great as the first century, then, too, like the first-century rabbis, we must renew to preserve. and Jewish renewal communities. Even if their numbers are relatively small, their work is important. If, as Yitz Greenberg a.s.serted, Judaism is now facing a crisis as great as the first century, then, too, like the first-century rabbis, we must renew to preserve.

The dialogue with Tibetans has heightened my awareness of the precious value and fragility of all of our world's ancient spiritual traditions.

The Chinese attack on Tibet's religion is a particularly virulent example of the global destruction of the religious ecosystem by materialists who uproot religious environments along with natural ones in their quest for productivity and profits. It is an attack predicated on scientism-the belief that the objectivity of the laboratory is the only model for knowing truth.

I confess that before I encountered the spirituality of Buddhism-and Judaism-in Dharamsala, I was more inclined to the scientific, if not scientistic, viewpoint. I was a materialist and a skeptic, at least when it came to defining reality. The transformation in my own life tells me that the subtlety of consciousness-the quiet mind-that a Dalai Lama develops cannot be denied. It is as real as anything-it is as real as any thing thing. And far more precious.

Our ancient sources of wisdom call on human beings to rise to their highest capacity and behave in extraordinarily open and generous ways to one another, under difficult circ.u.mstances to transcend differences and create understanding across all barriers of convention and fear. This wisdom is fragile as our environment is fragile, threatened by an overwhelming material culture. I believe in a spiritual ecology. In today's world, Judaism and Tibetan Buddhism and other wisdom traditions are endangered species.

Like the Dalai Lama and Rabbi Greenberg, I worry in particular that Tibetan Buddhism will not survive. Not just for the Tibetans' sake, but for the world's sake. As the Dalai Lama has stated, "Tibetan culture belongs to all humanity, and its extinction would not just affect Tibetans, but all humanity."

I worry too about my own people. I am grateful we have an Israel and that some remnants of the great Talmudic and Hasidic traditions have survived the Holocaust and propagate themselves in America. Perhaps it is true that the only Judaism to survive in the long run will be among these separationists, these preservationists. Or perhaps in the future there will only be two types of Jews: totally a.s.similated and Israelis. I am hoping for a third alternative. I am hoping Judaism will survive and renew itself, because it has something vital to offer the world.