This People Israel: Shavuot 2011/5771

"The dynamic is much more characteristic of this people than the static, the flexible conception more than the exact organization, the vision more than the system." 

- Leo Baeck, This People Israel: The Meaning of Jewish Existence

   On Erev Shavuot I found myself reading from Leo Baeck's profoundly moving, This People Israel. Written before and during the Shoah (in some cases on scraps of paper and from within Theresienstadt), This People Israel is a book that warrants close study. Let's briefly unpack the above quotation...

   Dynamic/Static: Judaism is a living tradition. Its authority derives from the fact of its ongoing relevance in the modern world. As times change, Judaism changes. Though much of Jewish tradition is "static", Judaism's interaction with our changing world is meant to be dynamic. While Judaism is undeniably a "tradition" and therefore capable of manifesting in very conservative ways, the excitement and potential of Judaism emerge only in the context of dynamism.

   Flexible Concept/ Exact Organization: Judaism isn't a bureaucracy. It isn't a rigid, impersonal, series of considerations. It isn't the "Borg." Judaism is flexible, or at least it's supposed to be. Judaism should be tolerant of humanness, of mistakes, of failures, of weaknesses of will, of lapses. It should also be tolerant of people who don't always make the best choices and those who deviate from the letter of the law. Being flexible is different from being weak, shallow, or invertebrate. Flexibility means the recognition that there's a gap between perfection and human aspiration, with the later being, in many ways, more beautiful. Judaism is flexible and resilient, rather than rigid and brittle. Flexibility and resilience are important features of Judaism both throughout history and today. 

   Vision/System: As someone who is fundamentally skeptical of all "isms" including Juda"ism" I love the idea that Judaism is a "vision" and not a "system." Sure, Judaism attempts to describe and systematize the world, but "vision" is the guiding principle rather than "system." When I think of "system" I think of a self-contained, self-organized, self-aware structure. Systems crave stability and strive to be comprehensive and all-encompassing. Things that threaten a system or undermine its integrity are often marginalized or even excluded from the system, as they threaten the status quo and established order. "Vision" is able to absorb and incorporate difference and divergent thinking. Vision is enriched by the marketplace of ideas and through the critiques and challenges of iconoclasts and varied perspectives. Rather than attempting to harmonize and incorporate, vision engages ideas, gleans from them, and transforms itself. I am interested in the Judaism of vision. The prophets didn't experience "systems" they experienced and prophesied "visions." 

Spiritual Gardening

             Gardening has the potential to be an incredible spiritual discipline. It's all a matter of frame of mind.

             I should say that as I write my forearms and ankles are covered in anti-itch cream as I've just finished weeding (for the first time in my life) and I got all scratched up. Though I've been planting for a couple of years now I'm still very much a novice. Being a novice isn't a bad thing at all. The fact that gardening is an art that requires mastery and that many of us never get beyond the novice phase is a surefire sign that gardening is a spiritual discipline.

             Let's get practical. What is spiritual gardening?


             1. Different for every person. While all of us (or the vast majority of us) respond to nature in fairly predictable ways (awe, inspiration, fear, gratitude) we all connect in unique ways as well. For some it's the mountains, others the beach, some love skiing, others love sleeping under the stars. When it comes to enjoying nature's bounty we all have different tastes and palates. Foods awaken deeply personal associations. Spiritual gardening begins with an awareness that gardening is a way of connecting to and participating in nature. Through gardening we come home to the reminder that we too are created beings needing sun, water, love, and attention.

            2. Creation and creator. Gardening is a way of partnering with God in the work of creation. God provides the sun, water, soil, and seed. We tend, care, and protect.

            3. Constant energy. Gardens change day to day. There's great joy in discovering that cherry tomatoes have sprung up overnight or that the first strawberry is ripe for the picking. Visiting a garden every day we notice the subtle differences. The new shoot or blossom or pest-devoured leaf catch our eye. I know my garden more intimately than anyone else. I witness the sun and water stimulating the foliage.

              Becoming accustomed to spiritual gardening is different for every person. Here are a few techniques for infusing your gardening with spiritual awareness:


               1. While gardening recite the words of hamotzi as a mantra. Hamotzi is the Jewish prayer recited before eating a meal. It reminds us that God is the Source of all sustenance. By reciting hamotzi as a mantra we invoke the notion of divine blessing and sustenance. We remain mindful of the miracle of divine sustenance.

               2. Engage all senses. Working the earth is a multi-sensory endeavor. Whether we focus on all senses at once or one sense at a time, engaging our senses gives us a feeling of wholeness and connectedness.

               3. Garden intentionally. Know your garden. Aspire to understand what kinds of plants grow best in what spots. Be sure to honor plants by giving them the space they need to grow. Think about why you are growing food and what you plan to do with your harvest. Try to make your garden beautiful as well as functional. Care for your soil and try to make it rich. Embrace your role as steward and cultivator and think about how the lessons of gardening apply to your life beyond the garden.

Education and Inspiration

            This morning I returned to The Davis Academy after Passover break to find my fellow administrative colleagues smiling and chatting animatedly. What had I missed? A kindergartener, Jacob, had come to school with a book that he'd written (and illustrated) on the topic of "Passover" and told his teacher that he wanted to share his literary creativity with the Head of School. Eager to please, his teacher escorted him to the Head of School's office so he could proudly share his book. In showcasing his work he was sure to point out a few interesting features:

       1. He was not only the author but the illustrator too.

       2. The book was dedicated-- to his teacher. 

 

       3. On the back of the book (14 pages in length he pointed out) it said "PJ Library" because Jacob intends to submit his manuscript for publication to the PJ Library (a Jewish publishing house). 

          Education is about inspiration. It's about kids being challenged to dream, imagine, and create. It's about creating the desire and the ability to envision new things and bring them into being. It's about empowering Jacob to grab some markers and wide-lined paper and write a book. Then it's about celebrating, publicizing the daily miracles, and believing that the future will be brighter than the present because of our efforts and the children we teach. 

         At least that's what education is about at The Davis Academy. 

      

       

Jewish Music

This week was a major first for me. I've spent most of chol ha'moed Passover at Gallup Studios in Tucker, GA. I've been there laying the foundation for an album of original Jewish music. Mostly for my own benefit I want to grab some of the narrative surrounding this project. As with anything in life, the more reflective we're able to be, the greater depth of meaning and awareness we can achieve.

I've been playing music for a long time. Looking back, music has always been a form of communication. I find playing guitar and mandolin (my primary instruments these days) to be incredibly relaxing and comforting, and also a great challenge. Whenever there's a guitar close by I know I'm at home. If I end up strumming for more than 1/2 it usually ends up being a good day. When I play music I often feel a sense of gratitude and connectedness.

The idea of writing a song is a strange one. It's like writing poetry and music. For me there's not a formula. Sometimes the lyrics come before the chords, sometimes the chords come years before the lyrics. Sometimes the lyrics are original, sometimes they're lifted right from Jewish texts. Sometimes things are literal and sometimes abstract and free-associated.

One long held notion I have about music is that it teaches us about the transience and fluidity of life. A chord is strummed, it lingers and fades. True music enters the world, impacts it, and dissipates. While we'd like to hold onto a beautiful sound, there's something powerful in listening to it fade.

For many years I struggled with the idea of "songwriting" because of my belief that music comes and goes. There was so much joy to be found in strumming and noodling that writing a song seemed inauthentic. However in recent years I've found myself doing a lot of "songwriting" and deriving deep meaning and satisfaction from the process (if you can call it that).

Songwriting in a Jewish context is an interesting enterprise. For starters I've often said that inspiration is easy to come by because the Eternal/Holy One/Source/Good/Truth/God is an ever present muse. I don't need heartbreak, alienation, or melancholy to feel like I have something to say. Also, I stand firmly planted in a diverse community of Jewish musicians, past and present. From King David to Mattisyahu to Peter Yarrow and beyond, Jews have interpreted and created Jewish culture through music. For me (and for others) music is Midrash-- an inquiring, seeking, interpreting, engaging, loving interaction with Jewish thought, life and the world.

The universe is overflowing with inspiration. There's no place that's more inspiring than The Davis Academy. I can trace the moment when I started writing songs to the early months of my joining The Davis Academy community. The children, their humor, intellect, energy, and wisdom, are incredibly inspiring. It's also inspiring to be a part of an educational institution-- a place where hearts and minds are open to learning. At Davis it's not just the students, but the teachers, administrators, and faculty as well. There are days when I'll come home from a long day and come up with 3-4 song ideas.

The studio is a humbling place. As with anything the best way to improve yourself is to surround yourself with experts. That's precisely what I've done. The musicians that are joining me on this musical journey are incredibly gifted and incredibly "gifting." Meaning they are generous, creative, energetic, and dedicated to bringing the songs to life. Yesterday I spent an entire day in the studio without picking up a musical instrument. We were recording bass and drums and I was there to witness, affirm, celebrate, critique, and enjoy. I see my role as checking my ego, believing in the value of the music, carrying the vision (and making sure it is shared), and helping to create the context where the gifts of others can be fully realized. My goal is for this Album to be a gift to The Davis Academy, the Jewish People, and anyone who loves music. We'll see how the process unfolds!

Introducing The Davis Academy Beit Midrash

This morning the Judaic Studies team at Davis studied the story of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa as it appears in Lamentations Rabbah 4:3. For those who aren't familiar the story is about... well that's the thing. It's a story that is connected in the "rabbinic imagination" to the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE by the Romans. The story serves as a kind of proof text or explanation for why the Temple was destroyed: baseless hatred and excessive piety.
There's enduring wisdom in the recognition that the fusion of baseless hatred ande excessive piety is a truly toxic combination. While Tisha b'Av mourns the physical destruction of the Jewish community in Ancient Palestine (and a host of other historical maladies) it also calls upon each of us to participate in the positive destruction of unchecked emotions that detract from rather than contribute to the social good.
This morning's conversation quickly diverged from a discussion of the moral dimensions of the story into a meta-conversation (I can just see you losing interest). The story of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa is, like many rabbinic texts, an elliptical story. It leaves out plenty of details, raises issues pertaining to narrative plausability, and requires a certain amount of familiarity with Jewish history. Because these are ancient/ classical texts and we are modern/ postmodern readers there are translation issues. These issues range from making sense of the Aramaic to trying to develop an appreciation of whatever genre restraints may be dictating both the content and form of any given story. In the case of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa one's sense of the text is determined as much by what you bring to the text as what you find there. Is this making sense?
Ultimately our conversation became about the act of reading itself. By the time we wrapped things up the five of us had spent about an hour engrossed in a dialogue that was brought into being by a Jewish text. Our activity connected us to countless people throughout history who had previously studied and discussed the story of Kamsa and Bar Kamsa. Our conversation also connected us with all those who study it today in relation to Tisha b'Av, and to some extent to those who study it in the future as well. In other words through engaged reading we became part of a community and a conversation that transcends time, geography, and ideology.
But at the same time as our conversation connected us with a kind of virtual community, it also forged a much more intimate community-- the five of us. The conversation that we had about Kamsa and Bar Kamsa was unique. While probably not unprecedented, it was our own conversation. In addition to mining a variety of messages from the text we also learned about one another-- what we see in the text, what we notice, how we analyze, how we think, how we question, what gets us intellectually excited, what Tisha b'Av means to each of us. All of this emerged through the act of reading and is a reflection of the powerful impact that reading can have.
I love reading. I especially love reading Jewish texts because they demand that I be an active, creative, and engaged reader. Jewish texts teach me how to read and enrich the many other readings I am engaged in.
While meta-conversations generally tend to resist pragmatic applications there is a very practical dimension to what I'm describing. At The Davis Academy we are going to be implementing a new initiative-- The Davis Academy Beit Midrash. At various times in the year the entire middle school will be coming together to study certain Jewish texts. One goal of the Beit Midrash is to expose students to classical Jewish texts that they might otherwise not encounter in the course of the regular Judaic curriculum and to teach them how to read these texts in the way I describe above. While reading Jewish texts to life we will simultaneously be fostering the kind of community that can only emerge through the kind of reading that Jewish texts invite-- a community that is based on shared conversations, dialogues, and ideas. A community of listening and speaking, of debating and relating. A community where teachers are learners and students are teachers. A community dedicated to the exploration of self and tradition, and critical reflection. I'll let you know how it goes...

Graduation: Invocation and Benediction

Invocation:

Adonai, Our God, God of our fathers and mothers (our sisters and our brothers), Source of All Life, we gather on this splendid evening, the 2nd of June, 2009 corresponding to the Hebrew Date of 11th of Sivan, 5769 to mark a moment of sacred transformation in the lives of 79 remarkable individuals and their families. We come to this joyful and complex celebration, each of us, bringing our own stories, our own histories, our own memories, our own tears, our own laughter. We strive, in Your presence, and in the presence of our friends and family, to embrace this moment and cherish each breath. Help us to appreciate all that this moment represents…

As we look toward the future this evening, we also reflect on the past. We think back on the years at Davis that flew by much more quickly than expected. We unlock the flood gates of memory and swim in the countless moments, the ones we planned for and the ones that planned for us without our knowing. Whether by fate, by chance, or by design, we consider all that has transpired in our lives and in our world.

Graduates— three weeks ago we sang together in Jerusalem. Who knew that the time would pass by so quickly? You’re older now, and wiser, well some of you :), actually, all of you. We’re ready to let you go, we’re ready to watch you change the world. This is your moment. Be proud, shine, be open, and embrace what comes…

As you take the vital, inevitable, the beautiful step forward into a future full of promise and light, know that you carry, in your hearts, in your minds, and in your souls, the special heritage that has been given to you by your family, by your school, and by your Jewish Tradition. Adonai, Our God, we invoke your blessing this evening. Bless our graduates, bless our teachers, bless our parents. Bestow your blessings upon us all that we may fully witness this sacred moment. Together we say: Amen.

Benediction:

And so God called to Abram and his wife Sarai—Lech l’cha. Go forth. Embark upon your journey.

And the prophet Isaiah cried out in the Temple Court—Beit Ya’akov l’chu vnilcha b’or Adonai. House of Israel, may God strengthen your steps and illumine your path.

Graduates—as you "go forth". As you embark upon your journey. May the mitzvot and the mentschlichkeit values be a light for you and may Torah fill your days.

And while we wish for each of you every blessing, every dream and more, we wish even more that you will be a blessing. God told Abraham, heveh bracha—be a blessing. It’s that simple. And to you we say—heveh bracha, heveh bracha, be a blessing.

Love Your Neighbor

This week's Torah portion contains the oft-recited verse, "V'ahavta l'reacha camocha" ("Love your neighbor as yourself"). Not bad as far as Leviticus goes! During tefillah with our kindergarteners I asked them who their neighbor was? As usual hands went straight up and I started calling on children:

"The person who lives next door to me."
"The person on my street."
"Mr. Raymond my neighbor."

But it wasn't long before they arrived at a deeper understanding of the concept of "neighbor":

"The person sitting next to me."
"Someone who is close to your heart."

And then most profound:

"God, because God is all around us."

I was reminded of our recent 7th grade trip to Washington DC. Sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the National Mall spread out before us, we read the words spoken by Rabbi Joachim Prinz who spoke these words in his speech at the March on Washington in 1963:

"In the realm of the spirit, our fathers taught us thousands of years ago that when God created man, he created him as everybody's neighbor. Neighbor is not a geographic term. It is a moral concept. It means our collective responsibility for the preservation of man's dignity and integrity."

I'm no longer surprised (and haven't been for some time now) that I probably (dare I say definitely) learn more from the children I teach than they learn from me. To what can the matter be compared? To the following parable told by the Maggid of Dubno, an 18th century rabbi and teacher (retold by Rabbi David Wolpe in his book Floating Takes Faith):

"Once a father traveled for miles with his son to reach a castle. Whenever they encountered a river or mountain, the father lifted his son on his shoulders and carried him. Finally they came to the castle, but its gate was shut, and there were only narrow windows along the sides. The father said, “my son, up until now I have carried you. Now the only way we can reach our destination is if you will climb through the windows and open the gate for me from within."

It occurs to me that if "neighbor" is indeed a moral concept, so too are "father" and "son."