Jew in the Lotus Part 7

So I understood Rav Kook very well-the contemptuous att.i.tudes I had toward Gentile spirituality had blocked me from ever looking for spirituality in Judaism. They were the mountains I had to climb over to reach G.o.d.

Yet I don't think a dialogue with Christians could have led me to this place. I had too many resistances there-I was too aware of how many times in the past Christians had killed Jews in the name of their savior. The beauty of dialogue with Buddhists, as several of us had noted, was they had no baggage with Jews. Tolerance is a very strong Buddhist tradition.

In ancient times, strangers meeting along the Chinese Tibetan border would greet each other, "Sir, to which sublime tradition do you belong?" That was the spirit in which the Dalai Lama approached Jews. And that was the key to the success of the dialogue so far. He had asked us for our "secret." It was good that he asked, but that he thought that we had such a secret was sweetest of all. He had reflected Jews back to themselves with an uncommon generosity of spirit, with no hostility, grievance, anger, certainly no contention. In that reflection, Judaism was revealed more fully and beautifully.

Yitz Greenberg found that a great bonus of every dialogue he had ever been in over the past twenty years was seeing a new constellation of yourself and your fellow Jews. Part of that new constellation for me was Yitz Greenberg's emphasis on the power of interfaith dialogue. And another new star was the Jewish esoteric that Zalman Schachter had introduced.

I thanked Yitz for his comments and, as we parted, saw Zalman, who characteristically had gotten out ahead of the rest of us. A crowd of monks on the temple porch caught the last sunlight on their broad faces and maroon robes, while below them this tall rabbi with a white beard in a fur streimel streimel and a white turtleneck, half beatnik and half Hasid, was raising his arms. It looked like a serious discussion, and I saw Marc Lieberman listening in. But I just had time to take a photo of Zalman and the monks before the whole tantric debate school poured out of the temple. The Jewish visitors took seats to the back while the monks a.s.sembled to demonstrate the ancient art of Buddhist dialectics. and a white turtleneck, half beatnik and half Hasid, was raising his arms. It looked like a serious discussion, and I saw Marc Lieberman listening in. But I just had time to take a photo of Zalman and the monks before the whole tantric debate school poured out of the temple. The Jewish visitors took seats to the back while the monks a.s.sembled to demonstrate the ancient art of Buddhist dialectics.

They faced each other in long rows on the porch, chanting. The deep sound ringing in the courtyard cleared the air of any lingering fatigue from the hours we'd spent indoors. The debate master, a senior monk, posed a question to two young contenders. The first made his case, rattling off an argument in great bursts of syllables. As punctuation, he wound up his right arm like a baseball pitcher and slapped his palm down hard on his extended left hand, smiling in triumph. (Symbolically he was raising up wisdom with the right hand, crushing wrong views with the left.) Then the young monks urged him on with a cheer, one long Wooooooo, peaking in pitch like a pa.s.sing train and sharply punctured by three shouts and claps of the hand.

It was very animated and medieval, metaphysics as football. The debaters pushed and shoved or grabbed each other's robes to take the floor. One monk pulled his mala mala beads slowly back over his forearm, stretching his bow and releasing an arrow of argument. Then several monks jumped into the fray, all gesturing and arguing heatedly at once, lifting their arms into the air and pointing in ten directions. I had no idea how the judges could sort this out. beads slowly back over his forearm, stretching his bow and releasing an arrow of argument. Then several monks jumped into the fray, all gesturing and arguing heatedly at once, lifting their arms into the air and pointing in ten directions. I had no idea how the judges could sort this out.

Zalman Schachter grabbed Moshe Waldoks's sleeve. "Give me the two reasons why you have to kosher meat with salt!" he cried. "Tell me the two authorities and what do they say!" Then he slapped his hands and these two ex-yeshiva buchers buchers broke into laughter. broke into laughter.

Karma Gelek offered us a more solemn play-by-play. The monks were debating a commentary on a Buddhist root text, the Pramanavartikkam Pramanavartikkam (Valid cognition commentary), written by the Mahayanist, Dharmakirti. "At the moment, their topic is how to establish through logical reasoning, the cause of the future life." Their rough verbal jousting over sublime metaphysics showed both sides of the Tibetan character, fierce nomads subdued by a gentle religion. According to their myth, the first Tibetan was the son of a bodhisattva and a monkey demoness. (Valid cognition commentary), written by the Mahayanist, Dharmakirti. "At the moment, their topic is how to establish through logical reasoning, the cause of the future life." Their rough verbal jousting over sublime metaphysics showed both sides of the Tibetan character, fierce nomads subdued by a gentle religion. According to their myth, the first Tibetan was the son of a bodhisattva and a monkey demoness.

A few minutes later I found myself riding back with two more firm believers in a future life. Though happy the first dialogue session had gone so well, Michael Sautman had picked up an implicit challenge from Zalman: Why be a Hindu? Why be a Buddhist? We have everything we need in Judaism.

Marc Lieberman responded with a joke. "Since Zalman includes in Judaism all the religions on the face of the earth he's right." Their discussion took off from there as our car twisted down switchbacks from McLeod Ganj to the lower part of town.

Sautman: I don't know anything about kabbalah or Jewish mysticism. I don't know anything about kabbalah or Jewish mysticism.

Lieberman: Well, I certainly can't compete with him on the level of his rabbinic knowledge, he's a scholar and I'm not. Well, I certainly can't compete with him on the level of his rabbinic knowledge, he's a scholar and I'm not.

Sautman: That's right. That's right.

Lieberman: But I can tell you also that he's eclectic and imaginative and doesn't draw distinctions between his own experiences, be they induced by trance, meditation, inspiration... But I can tell you also that he's eclectic and imaginative and doesn't draw distinctions between his own experiences, be they induced by trance, meditation, inspiration...

Sautman: Oh, I see (chuckling)... Oh, I see (chuckling)...

Lieberman:...or whatever, and the traditions of the past. I think he feels it's one continuum of experience and that any symbols or signs or traditions that can help express that experience go along with his energy, which is that of constant creation. He's like a Hindu G.o.d.

Sautman: But if in fact there was a lost tradition of Jewish mysticism, meditation, reincarnation, it's great that Zalman is here to recreate that. But if in fact there was a lost tradition of Jewish mysticism, meditation, reincarnation, it's great that Zalman is here to recreate that.

Lieberman: No one else has the courage to talk about it other than to quote it as a scholar, and he's quoting it to you as someone who actually believes that this stuff could be real. No one else has the courage to talk about it other than to quote it as a scholar, and he's quoting it to you as someone who actually believes that this stuff could be real.

According to Lieberman, when Zalman spoke to the debating monks, one said, "How do you believe in reincarnation?" He said, "Well, I know it's there." The monk just smiled at him without missing a beat. "That's not a logical answer, why do you believe in it?"

He thought this ill.u.s.trated the weakness of Rabbi Schachter's approach. "Zalman says: 'The truth is, I may not believe it tomorrow. Every day I believe something different.'" To Marc, that really summed up a lot.

The JUBUs' critique of Zalman hit home. Because, in the days ahead as I talked to Jewish Buddhists, I came to realize that the key problem for them with the Jewish esoteric was its inaccessibility. In effect, Marc and Michael were saying that Judaism may have this great stuff in its attic. But Buddhism has it here and now.

For all the talk among the Jewish delegates about authenticity, and being representative of Jews back home-the JUBUs were sensing a major gap between theory and practice. Certainly this was true of Zalman's presentation. As he himself had made clear, very few Jews know much about the deep way, the hidden way, of kabbalah.

But the same critique could apply as well to Yitz's more traditional teaching. The fact is, the vast majority of American Jews do not celebrate Shabbat the way Yitz had depicted so beautifully. Nor has the survival of Jews in America, by and large, rested on their always remembering the Promised Land. Throughout our history, most American Jews have dumped both Shabbat and kashrut kashrut as fast as you can say a.s.similate. as fast as you can say a.s.similate.

What gave Rabbi Greenberg's presentation a firm footing was that he spoke with great integrity of the Judaism that he lived and that represented a solid community of Jews back home.

Zalman's case was different. I felt he was representing a Judaism that once was, and that yet might be. For that reason, I didn't care that he interpreted the tradition as flowing into his own experience, his imagination, his dreams, his everyday life. He was agenting for change, for Jewish renewal. To me, renewal seemed exactly what was called for today in all traditions. What good was the rich storehouse of the esoteric in Judaism if it was only available in freeze-dried scholarly packages?

As Yitz Greenberg knew well, true dialogue goes both ways. If the Jews had come as missionaries of the secret of survival, that mission was now being transformed. The Dalai Lama's presence-his "holiness"-was a living affirmation of the power of Buddhist teachings. That was unsettling because up until that point, despite a certain lip service to the concept of dialogue, the Jews had largely conceived of themselves as bringing their Torah to Dharamsala.

But Zalman Schachter was not surprised at what was unfolding. He told me that evening over dinner, "I didn't come just to sell, but also to buy."

10.

Shabbat Shalom and Tashe Delek.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 26, DHARAMSALA.

Friday morning after prayers, Yitz and Blu Greenberg, Paul MendesFlohr, Joy Levitt, Marc Lieberman, and Moshe Waldoks returned to Tsuglakhang, the main temple in Thekchen Choeling, for the All Himalayan Conference on the "five traditional sciences."

This would be another historic first: a formal address by Jews to a group of Buddhist religious leaders from all parts of Asia. But as we were settling into our seats, a debate broke out over our presence. Some monks argued that Buddhists should not a.s.sociate with alien sanghas sanghas, to avoid contact with negative people and negative thoughts. Ironically, the negative person who was the subject of the discussion was that champion of dialogue, Rabbi Greenberg, who was scheduled to address the group.

We were seeing firsthand that the Dalai Lama's brilliant tolerance was not practiced universally in his community. In fact, it has been said that were he not the Dalai Lama, he would be considered a heretic. Faced with the immense task of preserving Tibetan religion in exile, some monastics have become ultraconservative restorationists. They seek to preserve tradition by rebuilding Tibet in India. They are the counterparts of ultra-Orthodox Jews such as those settled in enclaves like Mea Shearim in Jerusalem. Moving to a modern-and hot-Mediterranean country, they nevertheless replicate an eighteenth-century Jewish ghetto, down to black clothing and fur hats!

The restorationist impulse is strong among a people facing the shock of losing their home, whether they are Jews after the Holocaust or Tibetans fleeing the Chinese invasion. More than two hundred monasteries have been reestablished since 1959, many taking the names of old destroyed monasteries in Tibet. According to what the chair of the conference, Tashi Paljor, had told us at the opening session on Wednesday, "keeping the dharma tradition alive is their most important task."

But in contradistinction, the Dalai Lama at the same session had stressed that preservation meant more than buildings. It meant a cultivation of inner resources. "When you have faith you should have understanding, otherwise you have blind faith. So a beautiful monastery is not enough. Understanding is important, understanding the essence of Buddhist thought, and keeping it alive in inner thought."

For this reason, the Buddhist leader liked to enrich himself with different kinds of learnings and thus invited scholars and lamas to teach him different traditions. That is why he had invited the Jews to Dharamsala. He emphasized that "this is a personal practice." But clearly he valued it because to the Dalai Lama, "religious life should be a mixture of faith and a.n.a.lysis." Tradition cannot be conserved with a closed mind. Now, as the monks argued, I looked at Rabbi Greenberg and wondered what would happen if a Buddhist monk came to address a yeshiva. Fortunately, a young Nepalese monk brought the debate to an end. He said it isn't what you are but how you act that makes you negative or positive.

Rabbi Greenberg is tall and thin. He has a haunted look-and striking blue eyes. For a movie, I would have cast him as Sren Kierkegaard, not a New York rabbi. He towered over the Buddhists who sat at his feet on mats. His task was not easy, explaining Judaism in fifteen minutes. Like Zalman, he spoke in terms of view, path, and goal, but he presented a more mainstream approach, quoting the Talmud, that "the world stands on three foundations-Torah, prayer, and deeds of loving-kindness." The Jewish path is study, prayer, and good deeds; the goal, to serve G.o.d.

Once again, he briefly related the history of the Jews, the parallels to Tibetan exile. Geshe Lobsang, the stocky abbot of Sera Je monastery, whom I'd seen bowing with such deep humility the day before, responded graciously now. He thanked the Jews for giving the Tibetans an example to follow. "Your speech reminds us of our responsibility and encourages us in our future action. We use different terminologies. When it comes to practices, we are doing exactly the same thing."

One highlight was that Paul Mendes-Flohr also gave a brief address, the first ever to such a group from an Israeli. This was a good contact in India, a country with one of the world's largest Muslim populations. Paul spoke on behalf of Israel and for freedom for Tibet.

Meanwhile, Nathan Katz and Zalman Schachter were playing hooky in McLeod Ganj, shmoozing with George Chernoff, a Chicago native and Buddhist monk studying in Dharamsala. George asked Zalman what a kabbalist does for a living. Zalman replied, "The same thing everyone else does, only with extra windows opened." When George asked what that meant, Zalman put one hand on each side of his head and said, "Windows here-open to other realities."

Zalman also shared with George and Nathan what he called "an interactive meditation practice" being developed by kabbalists. One suspected, knowing Zalman, that the kabbalist was himself and the development was taking place on the spot in the streets of McLeod Ganj. Zalman would start a sentence with "In the world to come..." and the others had to complete the thought. Reb Zalman explained that "This is a kind of meditation to make you into Hashem Hashem's messengers." (Hashem, or "the name," is an Orthodox way of referring to G.o.d.) Later that afternoon, the angels-in-training and the other delegates caught up with one another at a meeting with senior Tibetan abbots and geshes geshes.

In a dimly lit study in the Tibetan library, we sat around a long wooden table. The Jewish delegates had lots of questions, but the abbots seemed very reserved. They deferred to their oldest colleague, who carefully traced his lineage, in mind-numbing detail. In a somewhat stuffy room, the pace of the past few days caught up with more than a few of the Jewish delegates. It was hard, frankly, to keep eyes open.

The discussion picked up when we got into methods of training young tulkus tulkus, those recognized at an early age to be the reincarnation of a highly realized master. Of the more than four thousand tulkus tulkus in preinvasion Tibet, only a few hundred escaped. When such a child is recognized-most all in preinvasion Tibet, only a few hundred escaped. When such a child is recognized-most all tulkus tulkus are male-he is taken into a monastery and trained to a.s.sume his position. are male-he is taken into a monastery and trained to a.s.sume his position.

The Dalai Lama himself was the greatest advertis.e.m.e.nt for the tulku tulku idea, for in the current situation one could hardly imagine a better Dalai Lama. idea, for in the current situation one could hardly imagine a better Dalai Lama.

But the system must have its flaws, for when Marc Lieberman asked, "What happens when a tulku tulku turns out to be a dud?" even the most ceremonious of the abbots laughed. turns out to be a dud?" even the most ceremonious of the abbots laughed.

He and I took a pre-Shabbat stroll back to Kashmir Cottage, pa.s.sing through the back streets of town. The Tibetan refugees live under difficult conditions, whole families crammed into a single room. We came upon an Indian traveling musician, sitting on a dirty poured concrete porch, his crutch propped against the step. Two puppets danced on a small crate while he played the mandolin. The Tibetan children, all three and four years old, were gorgeous. They squatted, giggling, but hid their smiles behind folded hands, shy beauties.

I was thinking of my own kids when I saw Blu Greenberg at Kashmir Cottage setting candlesticks on the Shabbat table. It felt as if we Jews had come together, like a family, that we were inviting guests home for Friday night. When the senior lamas and abbots arrived, joined by a few Western Buddhists, Moshe Waldoks began the davening. Jews usually pray facing east toward Jerusalem, but we faced the setting sun. Two abbots were having an animated discussion with Laktor. They thought they had learned the true secret of Judaism-we were sun worshipers.

The davening was getting intense and Zalman exclaimed, "I feel the saints of both of our lineages are dancing around us." When that was translated, the abbots laughed out loud. Zalman added, "Most of the time we speak of G.o.d as more male than female. But in Shabbas the divine presence comes like a queen, so we sing and dance to greet her." Then we sang "Lekha Dodi," to welcome the Shabbat bride. We sang it with the words, and then in Hasidic scat: Yi di di di di...The monks, by the terms of their vows, do not sing or dance except to their own liturgy but allowed themselves to clap their hands to the tune. Zalman explained that "we call an additional soul into ourselves when we chant."

Moshe Waldoks chanted the barkhu barkhu, the traditional call to prayer. He explained that in ancient Jerusalem, the priests would stand on the parapets of the Temple and call the barkhu barkhu down to the crowd gathered below, to proclaim the evening sacrifice. "Blessed are you, G.o.d the most blessed." The people would answer back, "Blessed is the Lord for ever and ever." Moshe added, "But the replacement of sacrifice by prayer has been for many Jews considered an improvement." Karma Gelek translated and the monks laughed. down to the crowd gathered below, to proclaim the evening sacrifice. "Blessed are you, G.o.d the most blessed." The people would answer back, "Blessed is the Lord for ever and ever." Moshe added, "But the replacement of sacrifice by prayer has been for many Jews considered an improvement." Karma Gelek translated and the monks laughed.

As darkness fell, Moshe read the prayers by flashlight. In the chilly mountain air, some of us retrieved blankets from the cottage and wrapped them over the bare arms of the elderly lamas. They were fascinated as Moshe, our prayer leader, threw his tallis tallis over his head during the silent meditation, rocking gently side to side. over his head during the silent meditation, rocking gently side to side.

As the service concluded, we greeted the Tibetans one by one with "Shabbat shalom." Very quickly they learned to reply back with the same words. Then, spontaneously, they recited their own dedication prayer, The Word of Truth, "composed," Laktor told us, "by His Holiness the Dalai Lama for regaining Tibetan freedom." Zalman Schachter stood with his palms pressed together Tibetan style, a broad smile on his face.

He was noticing that just as the Jewish group had their interpersonal dances so did the Tibetans. "You could almost get the sense of one person saying, 'I told you so,' and the other one saying, 'No, it doesn't count.' They also have some arguments about, Is there truth in other ways?"

We walked up to the porch for the candle lighting, lamas and Jews alternating, Jewish Buddhists and Buddhist Jews, making a circle around the table. Blu Greenberg, in her gray scarf, recited the blessing over the Shabbas candles and Moshe chanted kiddush over a cup of grape juice. Buddhist monks don't drink alcohol. When we recited shehekheyanu shehekheyanu, Moshe explained it "was a special prayer because this is the first time we've ever celebrated Shabbat like this in Dharamsala." The monks raised their cups and added another word to their quickly growing Hebrew vocabulary, "l'chaim."

Instead of challah, Blu Greenberg used matzahs. The bread of affliction expressed solidarity with the Tibetans in their exile-and was the closest we would get to a Buddhist seder.

We scattered through Kashmir Cottage to eat. It was a wonderful opportunity to meet more informally with these men who collectively represented the exiled wisdom of Tibet.

I found myself sharing bread and wine-a meal-but also wisdom, with Geshe Sonam Rinchen and his student Ruth Sonam, a longtime translator at the Library of Tibetan Works and Archives.

Geshe Sonam was in his early sixties, tall and rather handsome. When he leaned toward Ruth there seemed to be a special communication between them, and as Ruth translated, they even looked a little like father and daughter.

I asked Geshe Sonam a question that had already come up several times in the Jewish group. Is it possible to practice Buddhism and Judaism together?

He thought so. He found many things that "would harmonize very well. For example, the practice of generosity and ethical discipline." There were differences in philosophical view, "but when it comes to practice, there's so much common ground." He thought though that in some cases "we use similar terminology, like love and compa.s.sion, but we mean something different. When we understand the deeper meaning clearly, then we will find much common ground."

I turned to specifics. What was the Buddhist explanation of the Holocaust?

He answered, that "from the point of view of the Buddhists, the Holocaust itself is a result of past karma. Those people were not necessarily Jews in their past lives when they created the actions that they reaped in that form. But when your karma ripens there is nothing that can protect you."

A young Israeli visitor joined in and asked if the geshe geshe viewed the Holocaust as a national karma, like the exile from Tibet. viewed the Holocaust as a national karma, like the exile from Tibet.

"This is a common karma. If you purify actions before their ripening, before their fruition occurs, then one doesn't have to experience the results. On the other hand, once the results have ripened to manifest, then it's too late, there's nothing that can extenuate, you have to experience them, that's the only way to get rid of that negative momentum."

I was taken aback by the geshe geshe's explanation of the Holocaust, because it sounded like blaming the victim. The issue would come up again in my conversations with Jewish Buddhists. It bundled several points of contrast between the two religions. How does one respond to evil? What is essential for survival of a people? What is the meaning of terrible group suffering?

Exile was another karma both peoples shared. So I was touched when I overheard Zalman's midrash on the week's Torah portion.

"Now the Lord said unto Abram, Lekh Lekha Lekh Lekha-remove yourself out of your country, your birthplace, and your father's house to the land which I will guide you." After Zalman read, Ruth Sonam translated for the Tibetans.

"So the commentators asked a question. The order doesn't seem to be right: country, birthplace, father's house. The order should be go out from your father's house, from your birthplace, and then go out from your country.

"So you have the question. So when we study this, we go, Woo." He clapped his hand like the debating monks, which the geshes geshes enjoyed very much. enjoyed very much.

"I give you now the short answer, coming from one of the teachers of our tradition. The word 'from your country' also means from your earth-bondedness, from your involvement in the earth. So the first thing we have to clean up is that which we got from our regular earth life, that is the body.

"And since people are made because the father and mother beget them, in the act of begetting they bring something into life, and that is the second stage of purification they have to deal with. So that is how they interpret birthplace.

"The father also means desire. So the house of your father can mean, the source of your desire. So it says, after you've cleaned up your earthness, and your birthness, you can go to clean up the source of your desire. Then you come to the golden land, the promised land which G.o.d shows you."

It was great to hear Zalman teaching this particular midrash to these Tibetan holy men. The idea of cleaning up the source of your desire sounded like the Buddha's second n.o.ble truth, that the cause of suffering is desire. At the opening of the All Himalayan Conference, the Dalai Lama suggested finding new ideas in Buddhism, by interpreting "words not fitting with reality." Zalman was demonstrating the Jewish method. Through the midrash, Abram's leaving his homeland became a paradigm for every spiritual journey. This was a deep thing he and the Tibetans had in common, this Lekh Lekha Lekh Lekha, this "going forth." Their task was the same: to transform exile from a physical to a spiritual journey.

Perhaps, as the Dalai Lama had suggested to Nathan Katz, "some such exchanges between Buddhists and Jews had taken place" in the ancient world. Now they were taking place before my eyes.

And there were remarkable similarities in the theology of exile. Nathan Katz told me once about a time he was staying in the Drepung monastery in southern India. "It's out of the way and they don't have so many foreigners as in Dharamsala. A monk said to me spontaneously-he didn't know I was Jewish-'We have the same idea as the Jews had. They had all this exile, but they know G.o.d was leading them into exile, and we know that because of this exile the whole world is learning dharma from us. If it weren't for what the Chinese did to us, we wouldn't be spreading dharma, which is more important than our suffering.'"

The geshe geshes and Zalman got down to a serious exchange over techniques of meditation and visualization. Rabbi Schachter was interested in the phenomenology of the experience. He asked them, "What happens in vipa.s.sana vipa.s.sana [insight meditation]? Should you let the mind go along with the dream that it gets into or should you let go of the idea?" They told him, "The answer is, in [insight meditation]? Should you let the mind go along with the dream that it gets into or should you let go of the idea?" They told him, "The answer is, in vipa.s.sana vipa.s.sana, gently bring the mind back to the subject, which is the mindless s.p.a.ce...."

Vipa.s.sana is a term that belongs, strictly speaking, to Theravadan Buddhism, which is the older form of Buddhism practiced princ.i.p.ally today in Sri Lanka, Thailand, and Burma. is a term that belongs, strictly speaking, to Theravadan Buddhism, which is the older form of Buddhism practiced princ.i.p.ally today in Sri Lanka, Thailand, and Burma. Vipa.s.sana Vipa.s.sana is an advanced form of meditation that involves becoming aware of the processes of the mind through careful observation. It is also known as is an advanced form of meditation that involves becoming aware of the processes of the mind through careful observation. It is also known as insight meditation insight meditation.

Later Zalman told me, "We got into a discussion of sitting, and watching the breath, and seeing the bodhisattva looking at you, and I raised the question, does the bodhisattva come off the yantra yantra [the image], does he really breathe and look at you, do you make that kind of a mind form, or is he more like an icon? And he said, no he's living, breathing, he's really there." [the image], does he really breathe and look at you, do you make that kind of a mind form, or is he more like an icon? And he said, no he's living, breathing, he's really there."

So Zalman shared with them a visualization practice from the Hasidic tradition, as taught by Rabbi Elimelech of Lizensk.

He explained that you visualize "a great and awesome fire burning in front of you," and you, for the sake of sanctifying the name of G.o.d, "overcome your lower nature and throw yourself into the fire as a martyr."

As a young man Zalman had been trained in this visualization to the point that "there's this person staring at you, looking at you, scrutinizing your behavior and each time shouting out at you. You hear the voice. They're building in the voice of the rebbe...."

The geshe geshes described their own training, the rote learning, the twenty years of sutra reading, the one hundred thousand prostrations, as Zalman put it, "all kinds of austerities people have to do to get into it." For instance, the young monks at the Inst.i.tute of Dialectics spend five to ten hours a day for twenty years memorizing, studying, and debating basic Buddhist texts.

Zalman told them in response, "First of all, I'm the last of the Mohicans from our end. I still have some memories from before the Holocaust of what spirituality was about and you guys are the last from yours. And you're looking ahead, you're getting old, so the urgency to hand over what you have received, without change, to make sure it is authentically absorbed, I can understand in full.

"But the other side is it still takes too long. Because our technology outstrips our spiritual and moral development, we need to hurry it up. We can't take twenty years to do the sutras. We have to break it out for people." So Zalman, with characteristic chutzpah, suggested that his fellow teachers do some research and development by exploring the relationship of their practices to contemporary thought, especially to transpersonal psychology and planetary consciousness.

At that point, Zalman's translator told him, "We don't need this stuff. Buddhist practice doesn't have to be psychological or ecological." But Zalman, who'd taught psychology of religion at Temple University, disagreed. The role of the contemporary teacher was to help students find their way to the riches of tradition.

He told the geshe geshes a story about how he once took a group of people to the Lubavitcher rebbe. One of them asked the rebbe, "What are you good for?" And he said, "I'm not talking about myself, I'm talking about what my master was for me. He was for me the geologist of the soul. There are great treasures in the soul: there's faith, there's love, there's awe, there's wisdom, all these treasures you can dig-but if you don't know where to dig, you dig up mud-Freud-or you dig up stones-Adler. But if you want to get to the gold, which is the awe before G.o.d, and the silver, which is the love, and the diamonds, which are the faith, then you have to find the geologist of the soul who tells you where to dig." The rebbe added, "But the digging you have to do yourself."

When Zalman told them this story, they were full of stories, too: how to deal with students, the role of the teachers, their methods of training.

At one point Zalman explained to the geshe geshes an important teaching of the founder of Hasidism, the eighteenth-century rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, known universally as the Baal Shem Tov, or "Master of the Good Name." It is the doctrine of "strange thoughts."

"The Baal Shem Tov says when you are praying and you have a thought of a beautiful woman, l.u.s.t, such a thought comes to you begging to be raised. You raise it by saying, 'Oh, where does the beauty, where does the charm, where does the attraction come from?'-it comes from the source of beauty. He would say, Don't get scared, don't push it away, such symmetry, such beauty-what was it in this ideal that drew you on? Where did it come from?-it didn't make itself. It's so sublime, so beautiful, that's why it draws you, so take it back to its divine root."

I wondered what celibate monks made of this teaching on "strange thoughts." According to Zalman, they loved it. "It was such a gratifying thing. Then I started pushing again on the research and development. There are ways to hurry ahead...." By such prodding, Zalman felt he was "agenting for the next level of the dialogue" when geshe geshes and rabbis would meet to exchange techniques of meditation and training.

What was delightful was that such conversations were taking place all over Kashmir Cottage, living room, dining room, porch. When we rea.s.sembled for after meal prayers, we had traveled light-years from the formal interaction of that afternoon. We had blown on the spark lit when the Dalai Lama called a Shabbat psalm a visualization. Now Rabbi Joy Levitt led us in the very psalm Yitz had cited. "When G.o.d returned us to Zion from exile, we thought we were dreaming...."

She expressed the hope that the Tibetans too would "return...again to freedom." The lamas responded, putting their palms together and chanting a low-throated dedication that the good energy of the evening would go out to the aid of all suffering sentient beings.

As the two groups parted in the dark, the Jews formed a receiving line and the Tibetans wished each of their Jewish friends "Shabbat Shalom." The Jews responded in Tibetan, "Tashe delek." Sabbath peace. Peace to you. The Angel of Tibet and the Angel of the Jews were surely listening in just then.

Rabbi Greenberg had explained to the Dalai Lama the power of Shabbat in theory. But I was deeply moved to see how powerful the Shabbat could be in practice. Clearly the geshe geshes were also impressed, as were some of our Jewish-Buddhist visitors. Among them was Ruth Sonam, Geshe Sonam's translator and student, who it turned out had grown up Jewish in Ireland. I also met the Venerable Thubten Chodron, who had made the amazing journey in her life from American Jewish housewife to Tibetan Buddhist nun.

On their way home, Chodron and Ruth talked about the Shabbat. They'd noticed that the geshe geshes were sitting stone-faced while the rabbis were dancing and singing. That shared joy was very attractive, Chodron told me later. "It seems to create a stronger sense of community than if you're meditating."

I asked her what the geshe geshes thought of the davening.

Chodron laughed. "They were probably wondering how you can maintain control of your mind while you are singing and dancing."