Reflections on Crisis and Uncertainty—Rabbi Yitzhak Miller

Final Reflections on Israel Trip 2009--Rabbi Yitzhak Miller

 
I sit here at Kennedy Airport on my 38th birthday preparing to board the plane for the final leg of a journey that was conceptualized to provide some substantial time for personal reflection followed by a visit with my grandmother, then morphed into a study program whose title was “Jewish Responses to Crisis and Uncertainty”, reinforced the title of the program as Shoshi got laid off for the 2nd time in 3 months during the first 3 days of my trip, offered ample inspiration from the religious, spiritual, civic, and corporate aspects of Jerusalem and Israel for expansive personal and professional exploration, and then turned out to be a visit to the NY family providing comfort and reflection in the wake of my grandmother’s death.  As they say-be careful what you wish for, eh? 

Personal reflection has not been a challenge this last month (like it ever is with me anyway...).  Conclusions?  Not so clear.  Certainly lots of reinforcement of how little control we have over our lives and the continuous struggle within that reality to be as effective, productive, successful, happy, or whatever we decide is the ultimate measure of our time on this earth.

The one thing I’m certain I’m coming home with is another massive list of books to read.  Apparently 2009 is not the first time in history that people have struggled with crisis and uncertainty.J  The other thing I’m certain I’m coming home with is no clear answer to the question (of course, if anyone actually had a clear answer to the question, there wouldn’t be nearly so many books about it).  If there was any consensus amongst Jewish responses to crisis and uncertainty it was the necessity of confidence/belief/faith/trust in the slow-but-definite progress of the world and humanity’s active involvement in that progress. 

Where is my career headed?  Not sure.  Where do I want my career to be headed?  Not even sure about that.  Then one has to ask the question how much difference it would make if I felt sure.  Certainly I might have more of the comforting illusion of control.  On the other hand, my ability to truly see the breadth of viable possibilities would be highly-limited. 

I have a wonderful family-that I’m sure of.  Shoshi and I have a son who is an amazing blessing.  That, too, I’m sure of.  We have a roof over our heads, food on the table, not quite as many toys as we used to have but still way more toys than any generation before the 20th century had ever conceptualized.  Jacob has grandparents 10 minutes away to grow up with, to love him, and to teach him lessons that only a generation of separation can accomplish. 

We live in a place that is physically, spiritually, and intellectually amazing.  I am getting more opportunities for growth and exploration than I ever dreamed could exist, and-I have to admit-I’m actually getting a lot of fulfillment out of the exploration itself.  Some days I’m even enjoying it.

So what did I ultimately learn from this piece of my life’s journey?  Frankly, I’m not entirely sure.  But as far as I can tell, not being sure means that it was a successful trip.  Definitely a good birthday...

B’shalom,

Rabbi Yitzi

A Little bit Religious is like A Little bit Pregnant

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller--Tzfat, Israel--7/17/09

 
This week’s eNewsletter from MyJewishLearning.com was titled “Jewish Secularism” (link)  (you didn't actually think I was going to spend 3 weeks in Israel and not write about Secular and Religious issues, did you?

Secularism certainly has a very different implication in Israel than in the rest of the world, and is certainly very present for me as I sit here in the Holy City of Tzfat with Shabbat approaching.

I’m choosing to spend Shabbat in Tzfat because it is one of the most spiritual cities in the world-rivaling Jerusalem (I would claim this was a personal belief if it weren’t so universally-recognized as such). 

For those who don’t know, it was here in Tzfat that the service for welcoming Shabbat was created by the Kabbalists (mystics) in the 16th-century.  The service is anchored by the song Lecha Dodi which welcomes “The Sabbath Bride”.  Take a look at the picture, and you can see that from Tzfat (on the top of a mountain), Mount Marom (to the west) casts a shadow into the valley below.  The sunlight then traces its way up the western slope of the mountain to Tzfat like the train of a wedding dress coming for the Sabbath.

It’s certainly interesting spending time in Tzfat, where the residents would certainly consider me “one of the least religious people around” (other than the pure tourists).  I was talking with someone in Jerusalem about being a Reform Rabbi who said “Being a little bit religious is like being a little bit pregnant-impossible”. 

In the US, being a “secular Jew” is usually synonymous with being a “cultural Jew” (which usually is also synonymous with being a “gastronomic Jew”).  In Israel, being a “secular Jew” is synonymous with being a “political Jew”.  “I live in Israel-what else do I need to do to be Jewish?” many Israeli’s will say (as they take the year after their army service to go to India to “find spirituality”).

That’s the party line in Israel.  Either you’re “religious” (Orthodox or Ultra-Orthodox), or you’re “secular” (2 days ago in Jerusalem someone used the line with me that is the title of this blog post when they found out I was a non-Orthodox Rabbi).  An interesting survey about 10 years ago demonstrated a very interesting set of statistics-“secular” Jews in Israel do more “religious” things (lighting candles on the Sabbath, keeping Kosher, etc), than most declared “Reform” or “Conservative” Jews in the US.

So here I am-Friday afternoon in Tzfat, in shorts and a t-shirt, no yarmulke, posing as a tourist but soaking in the spirituality (yeah, ok, I did a little shopping, too--Tzfat also has the best artists' colony in the country).  There are many religious cities in Israel.  There are only a few spiritual ones.  Jerusalem and Tzfat are certainly the two highest on the list.  Over the course of the afternoon the entire city has literally shut down.  Even moreso than Jerusalem (in Jerusalem you can still get an Arab taxi on Shabbat-here-don’t even think about it).  The tourists and their busses left around 2pm when the shops shut down so their proprietors could spend the next 5-6 hours preparing to welcome the Sabbath. 

About an hour-and-a-half from now the entire city will begin their evening prayers as the sun sets over Mount Merom.  In Tzfat you can hear the singing of Lecha Dodi from shteibl (small synagogue) after shteibl-literally 3-5 per block.  In Tzfat, the singing of the single song Lecha Dodi in may go on for an hour or more as those gathered welcome the Sabbath Bride literally into their hearts and souls.

Welcoming the holiness of the Sabbath not just into life but into the depths of your soul has little to do with religiosity, in my experience. 

The “secular” Israelis don’t know what they’re missing...

Shabbat Shalom from the Spiritual City of Tzfat,

Rabbi Yitzi

Living Between IS and OUGHT:  Rabbi Yitzhak Miller writing from Jerusalem 7/14/09

I have just returned from one of the most influential days I can remember.  Saul Singer, author of the upcoming book “Startup Nation” took some of the Rabbis at the Hartman Institute Program to observe and meet with programs and people that represented the “inherent Israeli and Jewish character that accounts for the ridiculously disproportionate number of “startups” in Israel.” 

First, a visit with the director of Jerusalem Venture Partners—a nearly $1Billion venture capital fund dedicating to developing art, music, theater, cinema and education startups.  Erel Margalit spoke of his responsibility to develop jobs in the city of Jerusalem—Israel’s poorest major city).  The JVP enterprise is, in fact, located in a building which was once the first Israeli mint.  “Why,” he states, “Here they used to make money—the foundation of financial profit.  Now here we make opportunity—the foundation of social profit.”

Second a visit with the director of Google Israel who spent more than ½ his time discussing Israel’s obligation to distribute its knowledge and creations “beyond the borders of the State of Israel” What did he think was the most exciting work coming out of Google’s Israel offices?—their work on translation programs.  Why?  “It would give Israelis the opportunity to read Arab newspapers and vice-versa thereby giving “both sides” the opportunity to receive unfiltered versions each others’ perspectives.”

Next, a discussion of “Better Place”—a project launched by Shai Agassi who resigned as the CEO-heir-apparent for the German conglomerate SAP in order to demonstrate that Israel—by 2020—through the changeover to an electric vehicle infrastructure and green energy production could be the first country in the world to be 100% independent of fossil-fuel (at last count, with Israel committing to being the proving ground, 3 states and 2 countries have already also signed onto the project)

As incredible as these 3 visits were, the final visit of the day put an entire group of Rabbis’ idealism to shame (and—in my experience, being a Rabbi not only typically implies but continuously requires an almost-insane amount of idealism)…

The Ayalim project is founded on the principle “Why are we fighting with the Palestinians over ‘disputed territories’ when over 80% of the undisputed State of Israel is unoccupied empty land?”  Ayalim is what Israel describes as a “social startup”—a startup project whose intent is social development rather than financial development.

Five years ago two friends finished their army service.  These 2 friends went to Ben Gurion University (located in the middle of the Negev Desert), put up flyers that they were going to give a talk about how to fulfill Ben Gurion’s initial vision for the state of Israel that the pioneers should make the land bloom from the Negev to the Galilee.  650 students came. 

Their message? “After being raised throughout our lives to serve our country; after spending 3 years serving our country in the army; after our grandparents drained the swamps and built the villages; after our parents fought all the major wars to ensure Israel’s security, we are now supposed to go spend the rest of our lives thinking nothing beyond our own education, our own family, our own job, and our own apartment?  How dare our culture deprive us of the opportunity to make a difference building our country!”  (I try to imagine even the most idealistic American youth complaining that they are “being deprived of the opportunity” to be of service).

At each of 10 different colleges in the Negev and the Galilee, groups of 50 students receive 25 empty mobile homes bought by funds already dedicated to funding settlement in the Galilee and Negev (funds which have been highly criticized because they have often simply been used to build “low income housing” in “undesirable locations” making the locations even more “undesirable” by attracting the least-educated citizens and not attracting any employment for them).

The students’ responsibility—in exchange for not paying rent during their undergraduate studies—is: a) to convert these empty mobile homes into a functioning village; b) to volunteer 10 hours per week in the towns near where these villages are located to make those existing Negev and Galilee communities better places; and c) to create a 100-hour-per-year project that will improve either their villages, the towns near them, or Ayalim itself.

It is easy to hear the “kibbutz mentality” of “we will make the desert bloom” in their voices.  But in addition, the project is constructed along the model of a business-startup by which the enthusiasm of these post-army youth is tapped during the time it is most realistic.  It is not an expectation that these students will remain in these student villages forever—rather it is expected that they will recognize how much effect they can have in a place like the Negev or Galilee and will go on to build or buy homes and practice exactly what they’ve studied (whether engineering, law, medicine, music, etc), but will do so in the Negev or Galilee, thereby becoming professional and civic leaders in areas desperate for educated, capable leadership.

We returned to Jerusalem.  I was exhausted.  I was enthralled.  I was energized.  Every bit of the day fueled my core passions.  So what happens when we chase this passion?  Many would say we’re setting ourselves up for failure and disappointment—an approach to life that is foolish, risky, juvenile, and irresponsible.  Most Israelis would say we’re simply doing what’s expected of us. 

Is there a way to seriously follow one’s passion without the associated risk and the associated pain?  If there is, someone please let me know.  Despite the events of the past few years, I’m still pretty committed to my Rabbinic idealism.  Maybe today’s tour helped explain some of that…

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller from Jerusalem—The Last Shabbat
In memory of Beatrice Bader:  1917-2009
May her Memory be for a Blessing

Every 7^th time the earth rotates on its axis we Jews choose to call it something different than “sunrise” and “sunset”.  We choose to call it Shabbat. 

For me, this Shabbat is my last Shabbat in Jerusalem for this trip, so I assumed I’d be writing this Shabbat about my last Shabbat in Jerusalem.  So much for assumptions: reality arrives.

For each of us, there will be a last Shabbat… 

For my grandmother, last Shabbat—the 4^th of July 2009—the 12^th of Tamuz 5769—turned out to be the last Shabbat of her life.  At 92 years old; with 4 children and 2 stepchildren, with 9 grandchildren and 5 great-grandchildren; after truly suffering with Parkinson’s for only a year (I’m sure it didn’t feel like “only” a year, but given the amount of life that Parkinson’s often takes from people, I’m sure she’d be the first one to say that she was fortunate); and passing from lung dysfunction that materialized over the course of a week, this is what clergy would call “a good death”.

My first response to hearing of her death was guilt.  I needed to spend a few days in Boston to work with my website developer, and a few days in New York to visit my grandmother, so I left 3 days on each side of my Israel trip on the east coast.  Wanting to get CyberJudaism.org up and running before the High Holy Days, I chose to do the Boston visit before going to Israel, and New York on my way back, lest we “waste” 3 weeks more getting started on CyberJudaism.org’s beta site.  Given my grandmother’s passing right in between, I wish I had done New York first and Boston second.  But she would have been the first to tell me I made the best decision I could with the information I had at the time, and that regret over those things we can’t control is pointless.

Obviously each of us in her family knew her differently.  I never knew her as the Atlantic City beauty pageant winner she was when she was 17.  I never knew her as the single parent of a 2-year-old and a newborn after her first husband died while she was still pregnant with my father.  I never new her as Beatrice Reich, or as Beatrice Kleinfeld; and I only knew her for a short time as Beatrice Miller before she became Beatrice Bader.  I knew her as her first grandchild, and then as the father of her first great-grandchild.  I knew her as a woman of sage wisdom, deep love, and an astonishing commitment to reality.  Burying 3 husbands over the course of a lifetime is 3 times the pain anyone should have to bear.  Sometime after her last husband passed, she rented out a room in her house for some income and some company.  One of “her boarders” (as she called them) rarely called her by name.  “Matriarch” he would call her.  She was.  Many of us in the family picked up the nickname. 

It seems fitting to me that she passed away on a Friday, as Shabbat was approaching.  This seems a fitting metaphor for her life—because my experience was that she always working to make time as beautiful as it could be, and always attempting to see how the realities of the present could be directed towards the positive possibilities for the future rather than the negative events of the past.  Was that truly what she felt inside?  I doubt it.  But that’s what she chose to manifest outwardly; that’s the message she chose to convey to her grandchildren (at least this one); and it appears to me that was how she chose to live her life.

Living in reality was something that Beatrice Bader did very well.  I remember when her doctor told her that her blood pressure was getting high and she needed to cut sodium out of her diet.  That was the end of NY Deli in the house.  I was awed that she was able to make such a life-altering decision with the simple statement: “well, that’s what needs to be” (perhaps there is also the reality that—as a Californian—NY deli is a much more precious commodity!)  She decided (or so she told me) that from then on, she was going to have deli twice a year—once a year she’d get her pastrami sandwich, and once a year she’d get her corned beef.  I was privileged to be with her one year when it was corned beef day.  We went from Long Island to the 2^nd Avenue deli in Manhattan.  She sent the sandwich back to the kitchen: “If I wanted something lean I would have ordered the turkey,” she said, “Now bring me a real corned beef sandwich”.  Corned beef that day was her reality and she was going to make the most of it.

Grandma always had the ability to make every moment feel like the most special moment in the world.  When we would come to visit her, or she to visit us, she would kiss her grandchildren like it was the first time she had ever seen them—every time.  By the time I knew Beatrice Bader, she had developed that innate ability to make everyone she cared about feel genuinely special. 

Many of us—particularly in this current economy—are learning many of the lessons that she internalized from the Great Depression and from her own great depression of outliving 3 husbands.  Her commitment to making the most out of the reality she had to work with had its quirks (I remember the one year I spent Passover at her house and discovered that her Passover silverware was all stamped “United,” “TWA,” “Pan Am”, etc (from the days when airlines not only had meals, they actually had metal silverware to eat it with)… “If they didn’t want you to keep it, then why do they give it to you?” was her response to my inquiry about where all this silverware had come from.)

My Rabbinic ordination was the last time her spinal stenosis ever let her travel to California.  For months before, she told me every time we spoke that she didn’t know if she was going to be able to come.  Somehow she made it work.  It was her ability to “make it work” in spite of the self-doubt and challenges that you knew were there which made her ability to transcend the challenges of reality so amazing.  It takes a special person to live simultaneously in “what IS” and to pursue “what OUGHT to be”.  Her life manifest one of the lessons that all great spiritual teachers teach—that transcending reality requires embracing reality.

I know few people who ever did it better.

I love you Grandma.  Shabbat Shalom…

Israel: Power, Presence, Pawn, or Patsy?--Rabbi Yitzhak Miller:  July 8^th in Jerusalem

WARNING:  POLITICAL CONTENT AND OPINION INCLUDED
disagreement possible, acceptable and encouraged

Assyria the Superpower vs. Egypt the Superpower…II Kings ch 15:17-17:6

Menahem reigned ten years in Samaria.  And the king of Assyria threatened Menahem; and Menahem gave the king a thousand talents of silver, so that he might confirm Israel’s servitude.  Then Hosea reigned and had pledged allegiance to Egypt and paid no taxes to Assyria; so the king of Assyria took Samaria, and carried Israel away to Assyria

Babylonia the Superpower vs. Egypt the Superpower…II Kings ch 23:35-24:10

Jehoiakim began to reign in Jerusalem.  Jehoiakim paid taxes of silver and gold to Pharaoh.  Then Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came up, and Jehoiakim became his vassal.  And the king of Egypt was no longer able to protect Jerusalem for the king of Babylon had conquer from the Nile river to the river Euphrates lands which had been controlled by the king of Egypt.  Hence the servants of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came up against Jerusalem, and the city was besieged.

Menahem, Hoshea, and Jehoiakim:  fools? pragmatists? heroes?  I am quite certain that in the moment of their actions, there were critics who called them all 3.  In the end, their actions did not turn out to be in the interests of the Jewish people.  The examples continue: Persia vs. Greece; Turkey vs. Rome; Christian Europe vs. Muslim Spain…So?...

Joe Biden’s comments reported on Monday that “The US would not stand in the way of Israeli attacks on Iranian nuclear capabilities” and today’s headline that “Obama says ‘no green light for Israeli attacks on Iran’” certainly underscore the reality of America’s influence on Israel’s actions.  Despite Biden’s insistence that “Israel is a sovereign nation”, the reality is that Israel is about as independent from the US as a 15-year old teenager is from their parents.  Certainly Israel would like to be independent.  Whether it is capable of being so is another question entirely.

The bigger question, though, is to what extent should Israel be guided/motivated/controlled by the directions of the US?  The US has an agenda.  Israel has an agenda.  It is naïve to imagine that these agendas always match.  And it is dangerous to forget that when those agendas don’t match, Israel’s loyalty to and dependence on the US puts Israel in a very vulnerable position.  How could this ever happen?  I would suggest that simple logic is sufficient to clarify the danger, but in case we need a reminder, I would draw your attention to the texts of our history.

Though the danger of dependency may be clear, the response to that danger is—obviously—not clear at all.  The factual reality is that Israel IS highly vulnerable.  Iran’s nuclear potential is currently the most present example of that vulnerability.  Certainly there is substantial overlap between America’s concern about Iran’s nuclear potential and Israel’s concern.  But those who think those concerns are identical are fooling themselves.  How factual the nuclear threat is si probably less-relevant than the communal anxiety that the concern produces.  What do I mean?  The US is certainly right to be generally-concerned about nuclear proliferation, and to be doubly-concerned about nuclear proliferation in places that it does not trust.  But Israel—right or wrong—is absolutely convinced that a nuclear Iran will literally and rapidly mean the physical end of the existence of the State of Israel and the annihilation of 1/3 of the world’s Jewish population for the 2^nd time in a century. 

Recall, when we are talking about Israel, that we are talking about a physical space the size of New Jersey located approximately the same distance Cuba is from Washington DC.  Recall the fear in the US during the Cuban Missile crisis, then expand that fear based on the reality that one nuclear device is literally capable of wiping out the entirety of physical Israel, add to that the fact that Iran has continually and publicly called for the physical destruction of Israel, and you may be able to conceptualize the fear that Israelis hold for a nuclear Iran.

So, in a theme we’ve heard before, this little piece of land at the Eastern edge of the Mediterranean finds itself smack in the middle of a battle between West and East—this time the “battle between Western democracy and Islamic fundamentalist politics”.  I imagine that Jewish communities in the time of the Egyptians, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Greeks, the Persians, the Romans, and the Ottomans faced similar challenges—how much do we align ourselves with the current power, knowing that relationship is only as stable as the goals are mutual, knowing history shows us their power will wane, and that when it does, Israel will likely end up on the wrong side of a battle much bigger than it is?  So how much should Israel be depending on US diplomatic intervention in Iran?  How much should Israel be staking its existence on its alliance with the world’s current power?  I’m sure Menachem, Hoshea, and Jehoiakim also thought they were doing what seemed the expedient thing at the time.  And maybe they were.  What other choice did they have?…

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller
RebYitzi@Yahoo.com
www.RabbiYitzhakMiller.org

Life: Worth Fighting For--Rabbi Yitzhak Miller:  July 6^th in Jerusalem

One thing that always stands out to people who visit Israel is how seriously Israelis take life.  The sociologists have many theories for why.  Some claim a reverence for the Jewish commandment to choose life and internalizing our toast “l’chaim—To Life”.  Others claim that it results from living under constant threat of cultural and political annihilation.  Regardless, life itself is serious business in Israel.  How does this manifest?

When I’m in Israel, I actually read the newspaper, because newspapers in Israel are actually worth reading.  Whether you want the more left-leaning Jerusalem Post or the more right-leaning HaAretz (Both available in English online, by the way at www.jpost.com & www.haaretz.com) the headlines and the stories are meant to convey information and perspectives—not simply to sell newspapers. 

Today’s Jerusalem Post is a perfect example.  There are just 2 sections to the paper:  “News” and “Commentary”.  Yes, you can find sports, classifieds, the crossword puzzle, and TV & Movie listings (though note that the concert and art exhibit reviews get more column-space than the TV & Movie listings), but none of them is “serious enough” business to get its own section (the results of the Wimbledon Men’s Championship did merit a photo of Roger Federer kissing the trophy on the front page referring you to page 12 for the story. 

The Jerusalem Post uses the same type of “header bar” as US papers to draw your attention to stories inside.  But what are the 3 stories today that The Post feels will entice people to buy their newspaper?

·         “WASTING WATER” critiquing a publicly-staged water fight in central Tel Aviv titled “Fighting for Every Drop” and designed to promote ecological awareness:

·         “DECODING RUSSIA” a full-page conglomeration of stories as Obama visits Moscow contrasting American views of Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union “a glorious time when Russians tasted freedom after freeing themselves from communism” with Russian-Israeli’s views of Russia in this same time period “a decade of despair, of economic collapse, and of political bedlam”

·         “SINGING IN HARMONY” another full-page story and set of interviews with teen participants in a program where Jewish Israelis, Palestinian citizens of Israel, and Palestinian citizens of the West Bank and Gaza got together to work with professional music producers to learn about each other and to produce music reflecting each others’ struggles.

Perhaps no topic is more readily at-hand than the realities of life and of the political entities that govern life in Israel.  Ask any bus driver or taxi driver in Israel about politics.  It’s no surprise that they’ll have an opinion—don’t bus drivers and taxi drivers in most places?  What surprises Americans visiting Israel so much is that the bus drivers and taxi drivers have cogent, thoughtful, informed, logical, rational viewpoints.  One certainly may not agree, but you are unlikely to find an argument in Israel that is easily dismissed. 

Argument (or “discussion” as Israelis would call it) is a way of life here, and reflects the belief that every bit of life is intentional and important.  Walking from my hotel to the Shalom Hartman institute this morning I could not help but hear a vociferous argument from the 5^th or 6^th floor of an apartment building.  With no exaggeration—in the US we might likely have called the police on the assumption that violence was either occurring or imminent.  In fact, as I came to hear the topic of “discussion”, two men were arguing about a small point of Talmud!  While some might (rightly) claim that this and many “discussions” in Israel are a reflection of both the Jewish and the Israeli “need to be right”, they also reflect that taking a laissez-faire attitude about the world is just simply not part of the Jewish character.

I presume we all—at times—reflect on what we perceive to be our own strengths and challenges.  One thing I have always valued about myself is that I seem to have wholeheartedly internalized the preciousness of life.  Whether judged as offputting: “intense”;  neutral: “passionate”;  or attractive “potent”, I don’t recall ever being described as “lethargic”, “indifferent”, or “apathetic”.  To the extent that Israeli society represents intrinsic Jewish culture (which in some ways it does and in some ways it doesn’t), I would hold that I reflect this temperament much more than the classic “California attitude”.

How to balance these two polarities?  certainly a tricky business.  How to balance the two without losing reverence for every moment of life?  an eternal challenge—but a worthwhile one in my estimation.

Talmud arguments on the streets?  Political debates with taxi drivers?  Water fights to promote ecological conservation?  Perhaps I should be institutionalized, but I find some things strangely-comforting—like a good newspaper…

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller
RebYitzi@Yahoo.com
www.RabbiYitzhakMiller.org

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller:  July 4^th in Jerusalem—Freedom and Independence

My Facebook and Twitter accounts were full of “Happy Independence Day” greetings today from many friends.  Here in Jerusalem, July 4^th was just another Saturday.  Well, not just another Saturday—a special Saturday—exactly as special as every Saturday—Shabbat.  Shabbat is an interesting reality in Judaism—39 entire categories of things—according to Orthodox law—that one should not do for the sake of creating freedom from the tyranny of our own internal compulsions.  From not walking more than a certain distance (about 1km) from home to not carrying things to not using money, Orthodox Jews will tell you that the purpose of these laws is that we need guidance from beyond ourselves to keep our own impulses in check--to create freedom for ourselves by creating freedom from ourselves. 

My self-reliant, independent, autonomous nature bristles at the concept of rules created by someone or something else to give me freedom.  My self-directed western mind rejoices (and often quotes) the Talmud’s affirmation of our impulses’ positive potential “without the instinctual drive a person would not have a child (positive lust), get a job (positive greed), or build a house (positive gluttony).“  Certainly independence from tyrannical rule was as important in 1776 as it was in Moses’ time in Egypt.  But I often wonder whether our Western concept of independence and freedom—particularly in America—may have swung too far the other way on the pendulum.  So this year’s confluence of July 4^th and Shabbat leaves me wondering—just how much freedom can we handle?

Modern 12-step spirituality echoes the teachings of long ago—that humanity is endowed with magnificent God-given self-potential which must be esteemed but also moderated.  The Jewish spiritual tradition of Mussar reminds us of the same message—each personal characteristic (pride/humility, joy/sadness, freedom/restriction, judgment/compassion, anger/equinimity) finds its true Divinity when it is in the proper balance for our lives.

This morning’s Jerusalem Post headlines recapped yesterday’s news…for the 2^nd Shabbat in a row, a large group of ultra-orthodox protesters were arrested for throwing rocks at cars parked in a parking lot near the Old City which was recently opened to cars on the Sabbath, and yelling “Shabbat desecrators must die” (driving a car on Shabbat violates the ultra-orthodox definition of Jewish law).  Jerusalem’s mayor stated that the parking lot needed to be opened on Shabbat because so many cars came to the Old City on Saturdays with no parking that they parked and double-parked in dangerous places causing traffic accidents and injuries.

Do I approve of this group’s methods?  Not one bit—certainly they know as well as I do that the most sacred Jewish commandment is the preservation of life—even trumping the laws of the Sabbath:  it is hard to conceive of anything more antithetical to Jewish teaching than threatening another person’s life in the name of preserving Shabbat .  But prioritizing principles before personalities, I appreciate the reminder that—left to my own ego’s guidance and American cultural values—I all-too-often treat Shabbat as just another one of 7 days to get done what I “need” to get done. 

A few weeks ago a colleague of mine came to visit California.  At one point we found ourselves discussing “sources of authority”, and I expounded my belief that with guidance, training, and commitment—utilizing techniques such as meditation, prayer, and continuous self-reflection—humans are imbued with the Divine capability to choose the good, and that choosing the good through free-will is patently superior to choosing the good through indoctrination or regulation.  I acknowledged that coercive governance and regulation would likely compel me to preserve Shabbat more often as a day separate from the other 6 days of the week, but that only autonomous free-will choice to sanctify Shabbat would truly allow me to make it a day of wonder and appreciation.  He told me I was hopelessly idealistic and reminded me that modernists such as Hermann Cohen and Immanuel Kant argued essentially the same thing before the Holocaust and the Nuclear Arms race led the questioning of the power of intelligence to indoctrinate morality and ushered-in post-modernist theology. 

I asked my friend whether he thought Cohen, Kant, Adolph Hitler or Edward Teller engaged in regular meditation practice with a committed intention to discern the Divine guidance within their best nature.  Again, he called me hopelessly idealistic and asked whether I thought that the human race could depend on every person’s willingness to engage in serious, meaningful self-reflection: the average person on a daily basis much less those who—for one reason or another—seem to be innately inclined to evil.  I answered that I didn’t know where to go with that reality, since my core nature tells me that inspiring myself and others to pursue self-chosen holiness reaches for the ultimate goal rather than resigning myself to a world governed by externally-imposed lowest-common-denominator laws, and that I could not—as a spiritual leader—endorse anything less.

“And you think it’s possible,” he asked?

“I don’t know,” I answered, “but my heart and soul won’t let me resign myself to a lesser goal.”

“You’re going to incur a lot of pain beating your head against that wall,” he responded.

He may well be right. 
Happy Independence Day, and Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller
RebYitzi@Yahoo.com
www.RabbiYitzhakMiller.org

Finding a Place within Jerusalem’s City Walls--Rabbi Yitzhak Miller writing from Jerusalem 7/4/09

Shabbat in Jerusalem’s Old City.  I wander without a yarmulke, leaving the taxi drivers to wonder what sort of tourist I am as they try to entice me to tours of Bethlehem.  I wonder what they’d think if I told them my name is Rabbi Yitzhak Miller.  Today I’m that, but in reality I’m Yitzi Miller, shorts & t-shirt, feeling wonderfully anonymous in Jerusalem looking like a somewhat lost tourist.

The city is always immaculate in the bizarre sort of way truly describable only to those who have been here.  Today the weather is immaculate, too.  Legs tired from 6 hours of walking yesterday, a taxi brings me just outside the walls of the old city.  A haredi (the most extreme form of Jewish Orthodox) man greets me with a full-bellied yell of “Good Shabbos” as I exit the taxi.  I reply with “Gam L’cha Shabbat Shalom” (Also to you a Peaceful Sabbath), knowing full well that his salutation is not a polite gesture of gratitude for the day but is—rather—an admonition against violating his version of Jewish Law which would prohibit riding in a car on Shabbat.  His fur hat and striped long coat, once the garb of Polish nobility and co-opted by the 18^th-century Jews look a bit uncomfortable to me in the summer sun of July in Jerusalem.  But, such clothes fit right in here.

Entering the tourist-laden Jaffa Gate I plunge into the depths of the old city as hustling ultra-orthodox try to avoid the “sin” of coming in contact with anyone female as they shimmy past stores in the crowded Arab market.  Where they are rushing on this day of rest is anyone’s guess, but clearly they have somewhere important to be.  I, on the other hand, have a lunch appointment with the best hummus in Jerusalem—in the Muslim quarter at restaurant Abu Shukri—and a date with a new book “The Hidden Spirituality of Men” by Matthew Fox, excommunicated Catholic priest and founder of the Creation Spirituality Institute in Oakland CA.  So a Rabbi posing a tourist heads for the Muslim quarter of Jerusalem to read a book by an excommunicated Catholic priest. 

Finishing my lunch, I decide that there would be no better place in Jerusalem for a Rabbi to read a book by an excommunicated priest than on the Muslim Temple Mount.  I am saddened to discover that the Temple Mount is now not only closed to non-Muslims on Friday (the Muslim Sabbath), but now on Saturdays, too.  And who’s the one who asks me if I’m Muslim and when I say “No” tells me that the Temple Mount is closed today to tourists and I have to come back tomorrow?  A young, Jewish, Israeli soldier.  What an amalgamation of cultural, ethnic, and religious realities.  Judgmentally, I think to myself “Yeesh—the Western Wall Prayer space—the Jews’ most holy site in Jerusalem—is open to everyone from every religion even on Friday night and Saturday as Jewish Sabbath prayers are happening—and the Muslims demand the Temple Mount be closed 2 out of every 7 days plus 5 times per day on the other 5 days for prayer time plus 1 hour before and 1 hour after?

Looking down the arched alleyway to the green door that leads to the Temple Mount I then look down at the ground as I realize that it is me who is being intolerant in this moment with the thoughts running through my head.  At the security gate to the Western Wall plaza I hear a Japanese tourist confusedly ask the guard why the Temple Mount is closed today but the Western Wall is open.  The guard replies the Temple Mount is only open to Muslims.  The tourist looks at his companion in confusion, clearly having understood the words but not the implications of the guard’s answer.  After greeting the couple in Japanese (using the last remnants of the Japanese I can remember from living there in 1991) I ask them “Do you know about Muslims and Jews—about Islam & Judaism?”  Now clearly confused, the couple is intrigued enough to engage in a bit of conversation as I pull out a map and explain to them about the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim quarters of Jerusalem’s old city.

As they attempt to understand the seemingly insurmountable cultural and religious differences, I wonder silently to myself whether confusion and ignorance might actually be better than the “knowledge”—filtered through my own cultural lens—that led my brain so quickly to judge so harshly—judgment in direct opposition to the teachings of my own tradition.  Again silently, I give thanks for the consciousness work I have done in recent years (mostly learned from Rabbis influenced by Buddhism, ironically), that gives me the awareness to catch myself in humanity-distancing judgment almost immediately.  “No,” I reflect to myself, “Ignorant non-judgment is not a substitute for conscious embracing of diversity.  It is the Divinely-given free will choice that allows us to transcend our animal nature, but we must choose to do so.”  I chuckle to myself as I realize that this thought could just as easily have come out of Eckhart Tolle than out of the Jewish Hasidic tradition that taught it to me.  I chuckle a bit more deeply as a realize that it is his interpretation of the same Hasidic tradition that informed my judgmental ultra-orthodox friend who greeted me with “Shabbat Shalom” at Jaffa gate.

“But don’t Christianity, Islam, and Judaism all believe in the same God?”  “Yes,” I reply, “But sometimes Christians, Muslims, and Jews forget that.”  “I understand,” she nods, “People so easily forget that we are all the same.” 

“Sabbat Salom and Hajimemashite (Japanese for ‘Nice to Meet You’),” she says to me as they depart, leaving me in stunned silence.  Her mispronunciation of the Hebrew words tells me that she has just learned this greeting somewhere else today, but the connection she is striving to make is immaculate—the same ultimate message of harmony and togetherness that King David prayed for in the Psalms 3000 years ago in this very spot, that Jesus prayed for as he passed through this spot 2000 years ago, and that Muhammad prayed for when he left on his night journey from this spot a bit over 1000 years ago.  “Shabbat Shalom” I manage to stammer back as I recognize the immaculate blessing I have just received from a Buddhist Japanese tourist while standing in the most fought-over, most sacred, most confusing, most beautiful city in the world—“Shabbat Shalom indeed.”

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller
RebYitzi@Yahoo.com
www.RabbiYitzhakMiller.org