What is God? Praying to One

More than at any other time of year, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, demand that we grapple with our understanding of God. This week, Rabbi Larry Bach of Temple Mount Sinai, in El Paso TX, writes about his struggles with the liturgy and the evolution of his understanding of the Divine.

Rabbi Larry Bach

As we move into Yamim Hanora’im, some of us will find ourselves face-to-face with a familiar dilemma: the challenge of praying “face-to-face” with a God who is so intensely personalized in our liturgy. “God as Person,” it seems to me, is even more present in the machzor than the siddur. This is certainly true for North American Reform Judaism today, where experiencing the polyvocality of Mishkan T’filah year-round sets us up for a jarring experience upon returning to Gates of Repentance, so thoroughly (almost uniformly) couched in the language of dialogue.

My own struggles with saying “You” while in prayer are an outcome of my explorations in the world of Jewish mindfulness. Through meditation, prayer, study, and observation, I’ve come to experience God not as other, but as All. Ein od – there is nothing else. How then, to speak to a separate being, a “You” when experience tells me that it’s all One?

One option, which has worked for me up to a point, is to mentally “translate into monist.” While speaking to God as Other, I attempt to offer a running, internal commentary, hearing kavvanot in my head that allow me to reflect on the theme of that  particular prayer through the lens of my own theology. Often, these kavvonot present themselves in the Bronx-inflected lilt of my teacher, Sheila Peltz-Weinberg, a master at praying aloud in this way. As I speak the words, “Cause us, O Eternal God, to lie down in peace, and raise us up, O Sovereign, to life renewed…” my mind might be offering this prayer: “May this evening be one of attunement to YHWH, the Breath of All Life, and may that attunement manifest in me as a sense of peacefulness. Resting peacefully, may I be restored in body and spirit, so that I can stand up tomorrow with energy and strength to meet the day.” This practice works well for me on many levels, not the least of which is “keeping my head in the game” and not drifting toward a mindless rehearsal of words, disguised as religious leadership.

And yet, what is so satisfying intellectually can sometimes leave me cold, emotionally. And since I believe that prayer is as much about the heart as the head, I’m going to try something very different each year. I’m going to offer up each “You” with all my heart and soul, and see what arises. My kavvanot as I take on this practice will come from two teachers, Alexander Susskind of Grodno (d. 1793) and Kalonymous Kalman Shapira (1889-1943).

Susskind, a Lithuanian Kabbalist, wrote Yesod Veshoresh Ha’avodah, which explores various aspects of prayer and mindfulness. The selection below is anthologized in Yissachar Dov Rubin’s T’lalei Orot:

When you say baruch atah imagine that the Creator is actually standing there, in your presence. That’s what’s implied in the second-person singular form, atah. This intention is an important part of praying, praising, and offering thanks. Don’t just “go through the motions!” Have it in mind when you say “Blessed are You…” that there really is a “You” confronting you. After all, “The fullness of the whole earth is God’s glory” (Isaiah 6:3).

The second text comes to us by way of the Warsaw Ghetto, and is from Sefer Aish Kodesh, the Shoah-era commentary of Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira of Piaseczno (1889-1943). On the opening verse of Ki Tezei, Shapira offers a beautiful and creative Hasidic rereading.

“When you go to war against your enemies…” When you are in a bad place, in “wartime”…

“..put ‘YHWH, your God’ in your hands…” Pray “You” from the depths of your heart. Take refuge in the fact that “YHWH is your God,” and that divinity is present to you, personally…

“…and return, come back.” We pray, “Bring us back, O YHWH, to You,” and God says, “Return to me.” How is that accomplished? When we make God present in our prayers, we and God are returned to each other.

Together, these teachings have helped me to recontextualize my struggle against saying “You” when I pray. I find in them – particularly in the Piaseczner – an invitation to be more imaginative at prayer. These mystics understood ein od just as I do (l’havdil….they understood it far more deeply!), and yet they invest their “You” with power and meaning. With their teachings in my repertoire, I find myself less concerned with reinterpreting my way toward some “theological correctness” when I encounter the metaphor of God as Other. Instead, see it for what it is: a metaphor.

In saying “Blessed are You” to some Other, I no longer feel as though I’m denying reality as I understand it in light of my meditation cushion; rather I am affirming it in a new and profound way.

Saying Sorry: What Does it Really Mean?

This week we begin a occasional summer series on the topic of saying sorry. As we prepare our hearts and actions for the work of Elul, we hope that the words of the HUC-JIR faculty and staff will help deepen our own understandings and insights. This week, Dr. Richard Sarason, Professor of Rabbinic Literature and Thought on the Cincinnati campus brings ancient wisdom to bear on some of our contemporary culture of apologizing.

Dr. Richard Sarason

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Readers of a certain age will recall this ad-line for the 1970 film version of Erich Segal’s short novel Love Story, which was all the rage in pop and campus culture at the time.  I remember thinking—even then—how fatuous (and sentimental) that statement is.  For Jews, love means precisely having to say you’re sorry, but not just saying.

As I am writing this piece, two prominent apologies have just been noted in the press.  First, Tony Hayward, the CEO of British Petroleum, began his testimony before the U.S. Congress with an apology to the American people for the catastrophic oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, which he acknowledged should never have happened.  To many, this must have felt like cold comfort and empty words after the fact, particularly when BP’s safety record has been so problematic for years.  The establishment of a $20 billion dollar fund to compensate those whose livelihoods have been ruined by the spill (after some arm-twisting from President Obama) is at least an attempt to make good on the apology. Words must be followed by actions if they are to be given any credence, because deeds have consequences.

Two days earlier, British Prime Minister David Cameron had issued an official apology to the people of Northern Ireland for the 1972 “Bloody Sunday” killings by British troops of 14 unarmed demonstrators in Londonderry—and he, too, used words similar to those of Tony Hayward: “What happened should never, ever have happened.”  But of course it did, and there’s the rub.  Only deeds can atone for deeds—but words can have profound symbolic significance as an outward expression of an inward change.  As John F. Burns noted in The New York Times Week in Review on June 20, “Seen from the historical viewpoint, this was an act of reconciliation to be listed alongside . . .[those of] other penitents throughout the ages.”

Which brings us full circle back to a religious perspective and to our own Jewish tradition as we prepare once again for the High Holy Days. (One of our sons as a child used to refer, not incorrectly, to Yom Kippur as “I’m Sorry Day”).

I always carry around in my head a little verse that I memorized as a first-grader in religious school, from Dorothy Kripke’s children’s book, Let’s Talk About God:

God and friends and parents

Forgive wrong things we do

If we can say, “I’m sorry,”

And really mean it, too.

Herein is both the problem and, perhaps, a way toward a solution.  Talk is cheap.  Words do not, cannot, undo deeds.  But words can at least begin the process of restitution and reconciliation as an outward expression of an inward change, as an acknowledgement of  responsibility for one’s actions, as a way of reaching out to the other.

Maimonides’ definition of teshuvah (Mishneh Torah, Sefer Hamada’, Hilkhot Teshuvah 1:1) notes that the process of teshuvah must begin with a verbal confession (vidui)—in words, out loud—so that one’s inward resolution is given outward, public expression. (And if this verbal confession is hypocritical, the person is like one who immerses in a mikveh still holding onto a dead creeping thing, a primary source of impurity; Hilkhot Teshuvah 2:3—what a powerfully concrete analogy!).  Expanding upon M. Yoma 8:9, Maimonides continues, “Transgressions against one’s fellow, as for instance, if one wounds, curses or robs one’s neighbor or commits similar wrongs, are never pardoned until the injured party has received due compensation and has also been appeased.  Even though he has made compensation, the wrongdoer must also appease the one he has injured and ask his forgiveness.  Even if a person only annoyed another in words, he has to pacify the latter and entreat him until he has obtained his forgiveness” (Hilkhot Teshuvah 2:9-10).

So, while words alone do not suffice for full repentance (they must be accompanied by compensation and a change in behavior), they are a necessary part of the process: words are our first line of social communication as adults.  (We socialize our children by saying: “Use your words.”)  But our words must truly express who we are and what we mean when we wish to make amends and to change relationships.  And then we must stand by our words with deeds—“and really mean it, too.”

Glee: TV’s most Jewish show

The most Jewish show on TV? In my opinion it has to be Glee. Each week the songs and story lines revolve around a particular theme, musician or type of music. Excellent execution transforms a somewhat goofy concept –yes, students do just break into song in the gym- into good television. It is also a wonderful contemporary example of the value of intertextuality. Anyone who appreciates the ways in which Jewish culture rests on the ability of texts and traditions to comment on each other across time and place will relate not only to the content –which the URJ has already flagged as useful for those working with teens- but to the format.

Last week’s episode, for example, revolved around “Bad Reputations” and their rehabilitation. The story line revolved around several of the main characters and their struggles with their own reputations –both good and bad. Meanwhile, the members of the Glee club, collectively suffering from the lack of popularity that desire, are charged with task of taking a “terrific song [which] because of time or some bad press has become a joke,” and giving it new life. Not only does the challenge faced by the songs exemplify the challenge faced by the characters, but the songs themselves help bring along the broader narratives. In this particular episode, Olivia Newton John, a 1980s pop star makes an appearance to work with one of the teachers on a redo of Newton John’s 1981 song physical. It is possible to understand the story line with Newton John without having seen the original music video or knowing the ways in which the song resonated with listeners when it was originally released but without the larger context one loses important nuance that the remake conveys. There are layers of irony and history portrayed in the haircuts, color choices, and dance moves that are only apparent if one is able to recall the original work and period.

The idea that old texts, ie. songs, can resonate if we work to reinterpret them is a very Jewish notion. But in reality, Glee does this kind of reinterpretation each week. The songs chosen, whether based on a theme or an artistic body of work, harken back to the original context and ways in which they were presented. Much like Torah study, the ability to understand the story is greatly enhanced by knowledge of the original texts and contexts in which they existed. The ways in which music, text and meaning interact in the show shares similarities with the ways in which music adds layers of interpretation and meaning to prayer in Jewish worship. In Glee, as in midrash, stories reference each other even as they move in different directions and interpretations of the themes under consideration.

Original broadcasts of the show can be seen on Fox on Tuesday nights, but several episodes are available for viewing at anytime online. If you are a fan of the show, a newcomer, or looking to engage young teens in a conversation about Jewish intertextuality, I have put together some of the questions that came to my mind when watching last week. They can be used with the “Bad Reputations” episode but are equally appropriate with any other episode.

• How do the songs add/animate to the storyline? Do they change or advance the story line in any way? How does music add to/annimate Jewish prayer? What would this show be like without the music? What would prayer be like without music?

• How does the original song compare to the Glee version? How does the setting and story line change/add to the original intention? What do you gain about the story line by knowing something about how the theme or musician is thought about outside the context of this show? Consider how Jewish texts or prayers, like the Friday night Kiddush, draw from biblical sources and splice them together. Does this add to or change our understanding of the prayer?

• What do you think the original singer/songwriter would say if they saw the reinterpretation? (In “Bad Reputations,” Oliva Newton John does actually come back and comment on the need to reinterpret her original work.) What do you think that our biblical ancestors would say about how we understand Judaism? What about the rabbis of ancient times?

Communal Teshuvah: 12 Step Programs, Community Organizing and the Jewish Way

by Ruth Abusch-Magder

What would it look like if a community really undertook teshuvah? And where would god sit in the process?

These were the questions that puzzled my chevrutah and I, a short while ago, as we prepared for the Yamim Noraim.  As I wrote before Rosh Hashana, I struggle with the process of teshuvah, often wondering how it happens in reality. At this time of year rabbis, cantors and educators, teach, preach and sing about teshuvah in community. But what does success really look like? In reaching for answers, we gained some insight into nature of teshuvah and God’s place in the process of change.

The Jewish tradition presents us with an odd sort of tension when it comes to repentance. On the one hand teshuvah is a highly personal act. Each person needs to undertake the process of soul searching, remorse and redirection in a way that fits with their own challenges and failings. Much of the language found in rabbinic sources points to individual responsibility. Indeed the power of personal teshuva is so great according to Rabbi Meir (BT Yoma 86) that “one individual who vows penitence, pardon is given to him as well as to the entire world.”

But there is also an important role for the community in the process of teshuvah. Our liturgy speaks in the plural, Avinu Malkainu Ashamnu. We have sinned. Our prayer, for forgiveness are offered not in private, but in community as our tradition acknowledges that no individual is alone in their transgression. There are even examples of group repentance such as the hooligans who were befriended by Rabbi Zera and after his death reconsidered their actions and chose to repent. (BT Sanhedrin 37a)

It was easy to of think of stories of how individuals have changed their lives based on a deep experience during this season. But these were so personal that it was hard to know what they meant for us as individuals struggling with our own demons. By working to imagine communal teshuvah we hoped to gain more universal insight. Read the rest of this entry »

In Time for the High Holidays: Delving the Depth and Breadth of Jewish Liturgical Creativity

Mishkan T’filah has helped fuel awareness of the diversity of ways Jews can pray and the ways in which liturgy can be at once traditional and creative. One of the oldest examples of this marriage of creativity with traditional themes is the art of Piyut. Taken from the Greek word for poem, poietes, the earliest piyutim date back to the 3rd century, as much of Jewish creative expression was connected to liturgy or ritual through the middle ages the piyutim took on the form of religious liturgical poetry. Even as some piyutim became fixed within the liturgical cannon, the form allowed for creativity and inspired Jews in many communities across the centuries. The vast body of piyutim serves to highlight the diversity of Jewish ethnic and prayer experiences.

In 2006, the Israeli Singing Communities project launched the website An Invitation to Piyut a site dedicated to the celebration of the art of piyyut. Reporting on the launch for Zeek, Basmat Hazan Arnoff wrote that the impetus for the site came from the desire of its founder, Yossi Ohana, to promote Mizrachi culture and tradition. But Singing Communities’ work in the field of piyut has far exceeded that critical early vision.

Whether you are new to the field of piyyut or already possess a deep appreciation for the form, this site has much to offer. The user interface, which is best viewed on an Internet Explorer browser (it did not function well at all in Firefox) allows for exploration of the world of piyutim and provide spiritual and intellectual enrichment. There is much to interest those with interests as disparate and overlapping as liturgy, folk customs, history, and of course music. Read the rest of this entry »