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Laurie's comment stayed with me for a long time. Although I never became an artist, it inspired me to be true to my authentic self. I spent a decade studying Vedanta and Buddhism and I was struggling to incorporate those spiritual teachings into my daily life when I met a young rabbi, David J. Meyer, who introduced me to Jewish spirituality in a way that resonated with what I had learned in the ashram. Contrary to my earlier impressions, I found that Judaism possessed at its core a seamlessly-integrated set of spiritual teachings as profound as anything I had encountered through Eastern traditions. Consequently, I saw in Judaism an opportunity to become fully engaged in a spiritual practice that embraced every aspect of my life; even the all-too-ordinary aspects and relationships I had previously dismissed as irrelevant, if not annoying. Because I took spirituality seriously, I decided then to take Judaism seriously. Until then, being Jewish was nothing more to me than an incidental ethnic identity but, at this new juncture in my life, I was ready to immerse myself in study and practice, not as a hobby but as my primary vocation – as a rabbi . I felt I couldn't do or be anything else.
Twenty years later, I realize it's taken me a while to bring my life, relationships and spiritual aspirations into alignment; it's always a work in progress. At least I now feel fully-engaged in a tradition and community that understands and embraces the interdependence of body and soul. Jewish tradition recognizes, for example, that social justice and environmental concerns are not separate from spiritual concerns. In other words, changing the world necessarily involves changing one's relationship with the world and, on a deeper level, with what we call God. In this way, 'being Jewish' becomes a way of embodying a vision that is both transcendent and all-encompassing.
I am reminded here of a story from the Talmud (from Tractate Sanhedrin, 91b): Once there was a king who had a magnificent orchard full of the most delectable figs. Knowing that even his most trusted servants could not resist the temptation, he hired two servants whom he thought would be unable to steal his precious fruit—one who was blind and another who was unable to walk. One day, the lame man said to the blind man, "These are truly beautiful figs. Why don't you put me on your shoulders and I will direct you so that we can pick figs to enjoy." And that is just what they did. Later, when the king asked them where his figs had gone, the lame man said, "I couldn’t have taken them. I can't even walk," and the blind man said, "I can't see. How How could I have possibly taken the figs?"
The original intent of this story was to illustrate rabbinic notions about a final Judgment Day when body and soul will be judged together. I'm not sure how relevant their point is here, but I do find the allegory of the two men compelling for another reason.
To explain it in a more contemporary framework, it's like Abraham Maslow's "hierarchy of needs" (see photo). It is only after a person's basic needs are fulfilled that he or she can attend to higher needs—like belongingness, self-esteem, and, ultimately, self-actualization. And, as I found through my own experience, fulfilling these higher needs can only be done through the skillful integration of physicality and spirituality. This is not an easy task, especially in relationship with others. Yet it is precisely in relationship with others, in the context of a community that is not self-isolating, that the most enduring self-actualization can be achieved.
For me, being part of a Jewish community means bringing together people who are intensely pragmatic with artistic, visionary types who are passionate about spirituality. Together we can enjoy the extraordinary sweetness that such cooperation brings within reach. Once you develop a taste for this sweetness, you realize there's a higher purpose for even the most ordinary tasks involved in being part of a Jewish community, whether it’s setting up chairs for a service or preparing dessert for a potluck meal. Before our "T'Orah Tuesday" morning yoga and shacharit (morning prayer service) at BAJC, it's my job to sweep the floors. One could say it's a very Zen-like activity. For me, there's nothing I'd rather be doing.
L'shalom,
Rabbi Tom
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