The biggest barrier to change is the line “I’ve always been this way.” By saying that, we are allowing the past to control who we are in the now and who we hope to be in the future. If we can allow the past to be a place we turn to learn lessons of what to do/not to do and for tools we might need to draw on in similar situations going forward, we are taking control of the past instead of allowing the past to take control of us and keep you stagnant.
When reflections of past events come to mind at seemingly random moments, it is an opportunity for reflection. I have shared previously how it is important to not ignore the recollections. Rather, when these memories rise up, it is part of the inner work we are in need of doing to take the nexts steps we are striving to take.
If we can see the past as the lessons to be learned and not as the blueprint for who we are to be today, we can then set ourselves up so that each day is a new opportunity for growth, for blessing, for a new beginning.
I was recently reading Restoring the Healer: Spiritual Self-Care for Health Care Professionals by William Dorman. This book offered a health care chaplain’s perspective on methods for how to best care for oneself so as to be engaged and effective in the helping of our patients, families and those for whom we have been tasked to care. One particular piece struck me from this book. The author writes:
These patients are like manna in the desert during your bleak and tiresome days. They energize you. They nurture your heart and soul. In the years to come, you will draw inspiration, stamina, and encouragement from your memories of these patients. Healers share an old adage: “ I get more from that patient than I am able to give him or her.”
I found the metaphor of Manna poignant, as it is a sustenance of the spirit that we find at times. I recall one of my early hospice patients, a woman who was struggling with cancer. In one of our visits, she told me that I would always remember her as the person I cut my teeth on.
She was right!
For that patient, and the others who have taught and inspired me over the years, this quote sums up what they meant for me.
This message goes further than health care. What is your spiritual sustenance in those challenging times? From where do you draw your inspiration? What carries you through those difficult days?
The above picture is from last summer, on a beach in Florida. It was at the beach that I was originally inspired with the motto for New Beginnings Spiritual Coaching and Consulting LLC, “Helping you on the journey through the waves of life.”
I find myself reflecting on this picture today, thinking about the wonders of the world. Many of us find comfort and spirituality in the workings of nature, truly seeing the beauty and grandeur of the world. By observing the movement of the trees, the waves of the ocean, hearing the sounds of the birds, we can find our connection in the cycle of life.
For me, looking at this picture of the waves, I am reminded about how life is a series of ebbs and flows. Each wave carries sediment, and leaves it at the shore, while also dragging sand back into the ocean. Each step of life is a combination of leaving something behind and also carrying something forward.
Often we feel like we are traveling on a dark road with no end in sight. We can’t begin to figure out where the destination is. All we see is the uncertainty that lies ahead. How can we overcome the inevitable fear we feel on this long, unknown path? One way is to work to change the image we see before us. Perhaps, this next images changes the mood.
Imagine this brighter image. Yes, it is an open road, but with the sun, we will hopefully have a better sense of where we are able to go.
The first step on the journey to change and find our path is to “turn on the light.” This is not a simple practice. It is one which takes time and effort to find the “switch.” Yet, once we shift our perception, we can then begin to progress to the next destination along the road of life.
Often, as we are trying to find our way along our personal journeys, we search for tools to help us attain a greater focus on where we are going. I want to share one tool which I recently read about in The Awakened Brain: The New Science of Spirituality and Our Quest for an Inspired Life by Lisa Miller, PhD. The method is called Three Doors. The goal is described as helping to “show that when we’re using the lens of achieving awareness alone, we see boulders blocking our path, but when we engage our awakened attention, the boulders are actually stepping-stones that show us the path forward (P. 180).” This method resonates for me because it puts into focus the importance of reflecting on what was to help guide us forward while also allowing the what was to not prevent our next steps, something I have written about in other posts, including this early one Let the Broken Pieces Fall.
Three Doors Exercise (p. 180-181):
On a sheet of paper or in your journal, draw the road of your life
Identify a place on the road where you faced a hurdle: a loss, a disappointment, a death; a time when the thing you wanted – a job, a relationship, an award or accomplishment, an acceptance letter from a particular school – seemed lined up, in reach; and then somehow, unexpectedly, the door slammed, and you didn’t get what you wanted or what you thought you were going to get. Draw the slammed door on the road.
Now consider what happened as a result of that loss or disappointment that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Because the door closed, and because you didn’t claw ahead trying to force it back open, because you stopped and looked around, you saw a new door you hadn’t noticed before. What new insight of connection or path emerged, what new doorway opened, when the first door closed? Add the open door, leading to the new landscape along the road.
Next, can you locate a messenger or helper who showed up and, with or without knowing they played a role, somehow supported or guided you? Perhaps it was someone you’d never met before or someone you knew well; someone who showed up in person or called you or sent you a letter, or someone you thought of at a crucial moment. Who were the messengers or helpers who pointed you to the open door? Draw the messenger(s) on the road.
Repeat steps 2 through 4 twice more, so that your road of life shows three doors that closed and three that opened, and who showed up along the way to you on your path.
As I was reflecting on this exercise, I recall times when I have worked through a similar map to recognize how certain moments continue to line up in ways that have helped navigate me along a certain path towards were I am today. The catch is that an exercise like this cannot be done just one. It needs to be repeated multiple times during our lives to capture a greater sense of how the trials and tribulations of our journeys have led us to where we are at the moments we reflect on where to go next.
May each of us be attentive enough to see how a closed door is not an ending but is merely a marking point to take another exit along the journey each of us is going on.
I came across a great line in the Kedushat Levi, of R. Levi of Berditchev (second to last piece on Parashat Shelach in standard printings), that helps to shed light on this week’s Torah portion as well as provides us with a powerful perspective on keeping in our lane as we journey through life.
In reflecting on the character of Korach, R. Levi offered an interesting perspective. He suggests that Korach’s intention was not ego but it was the desire to serve Gd in the best way he perceived, which as a member of the Levite tribe meant the desire to serve in a priestly role like his cousin Aaron and sons. While noble, this was not the role Gd had in mind for Korach or for the other Levites for that matter. As such, Korach was punished with living in the state of limbo of being swallowed alive by the earth, “to live in Sheol (which biblically is like a netherworld). In the midst of analyzing Korach’s motivation and why it was problematic, R. Levi offers the analogy that Korach’s desire was like wearing a Tallit that didn’t belong to him (Reminds me of Harry Potter and the using of a wand which isn’t yours, as the wand chooses the wizard. The wand will work but not in the way that the person’s destined wand would work).
I would suggest that Kedushat Levi offers this analogy to connect the story of Korach to the end of last week’s Torah portion, which commands the Israelites in wearing a four cornered garment with tzitzit, strings. The tzitzit are worn as a constant reminder to follow after the laws Gd commanded. Part of the commandments is an underlying idea of the rules helping one stay in one’s lane, not starting after the desires of the heart and the eyes. Presumably, if you are find yourself straying from your “path,” you find yourself in limbo, or you find yourself along a path that isn’t yours. (I would also venture to suggest this analogy of the tallit is based on one of the rabbinic reads of Korach’s challenges to Moses. Karachi is said to have argued with Moses about whether a garment of all techeilet (blueish color) would qualify for the additional command to have one of the strings being of the techeilet color).
I found this metaphor resonated with me on a deeper level as regards to how we can grow in life. Most of us, with good intentions, will often go down a path we think we should go because others have found success or because it is the presumed best way to act. Yet, as we know, each of our paths is different and we shouldn’t try to walk along the path that we aren’t destined to go. We should work to properly wear our own “tallit” and not try to fit into someone else’s Tallit.
How would we know? R. Levi offers the answer. Going down a path that is “good” but not one’s path, like Korach, leaves a person in limbo. If we find ourselves living life yet feeling this sense of being neither here nor there, perhaps it is a deeper message inside our hearts to examine if we left the path we were destined for and veered onto a path we chose because it seemed for various reasons like the right one.
Years ago, I recall a hospice visit with a Presbyterian family in which we spent time during the visit holding hands and praying together, each of us from our different backgrounds, creating a holy and sacred space of care and support. The memories of this moment serve as a regular reminder of the grandeur and beauty we can create through our coming together to care for each other.
Spiritual Care, Interfaith Chaplaincy, Spiritual Life Coaching all work within a framework of working with others through the eyes of our collective human experiences of meaning making, hope and faith. The chaplain, spiritual care provider, coach enters the space recognizing the invisible boundaries that at first seem to exist in relation to the backgrounds of both parties in the sacred space. Each encounter is an intricate dance of balancing the universalistic goal of supporting and helping others with the particularisms that might arise in the space resulting from each one’s background. I offer this brief reflection because of an old post I shared here which I decided to revisit.
In May, 2010, the Dalai Lama had the following op-ed published in the NY Times (copied from here):
WHEN I was a boy in Tibet, I felt that my own Buddhist religion must be the best — and that other faiths were somehow inferior. Now I see how naïve I was, and how dangerous the extremes of religious intolerance can be today.
Though intolerance may be as old as religion itself, we still see vigorous signs of its virulence. In Europe, there are intense debates about newcomers wearing veils or wanting to erect minarets and episodes of violence against Muslim immigrants. Radical atheists issue blanket condemnations of those who hold to religious beliefs. In the Middle East, the flames of war are fanned by hatred of those who adhere to a different faith.
Such tensions are likely to increase as the world becomes more interconnected and cultures, peoples and religions become ever more entwined. The pressure this creates tests more than our tolerance — it demands that we promote peaceful coexistence and understanding across boundaries.
Granted, every religion has a sense of exclusivity as part of its core identity. Even so, I believe there is genuine potential for mutual understanding. While preserving faith toward one’s own tradition, one can respect, admire and appreciate other traditions.
An early eye-opener for me was my meeting with the Trappist monk Thomas Merton in India shortly before his untimely death in 1968. Merton told me he could be perfectly faithful to Christianity, yet learn in depth from other religions like Buddhism. The same is true for me as an ardent Buddhist learning from the world’s other great religions.
A main point in my discussion with Merton was how central compassion was to the message of both Christianity and Buddhism. In my readings of the New Testament, I find myself inspired by Jesus’ acts of compassion. His miracle of the loaves and fishes, his healing and his teaching are all motivated by the desire to relieve suffering.
I’m a firm believer in the power of personal contact to bridge differences, so I’ve long been drawn to dialogues with people of other religious outlooks. The focus on compassion that Merton and I observed in our two religions strikes me as a strong unifying thread among all the major faiths. And these days we need to highlight what unifies us.
Take Judaism, for instance. I first visited a synagogue in Cochin, India, in 1965, and have met with many rabbis over the years. I remember vividly the rabbi in the Netherlands who told me about the Holocaust with such intensity that we were both in tears. And I’ve learned how the Talmud and the Bible repeat the theme of compassion, as in the passage in Leviticus that admonishes, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
In my many encounters with Hindu scholars in India, I’ve come to see the centrality of selfless compassion in Hinduism too — as expressed, for instance, in the Bhagavad Gita, which praises those who “delight in the welfare of all beings.” I’m moved by the ways this value has been expressed in the life of great beings like Mahatma Gandhi, or the lesser-known Baba Amte, who founded a leper colony not far from a Tibetan settlement in Maharashtra State in India. There he fed and sheltered lepers who were otherwise shunned. When I received my Nobel Peace Prize, I made a donation to his colony.
Compassion is equally important in Islam — and recognizing that has become crucial in the years since Sept. 11, especially in answering those who paint Islam as a militant faith. On the first anniversary of 9/11, I spoke at the National Cathedral in Washington, pleading that we not blindly follow the lead of some in the news media and let the violent acts of a few individuals define an entire religion.
Let me tell you about the Islam I know. Tibet has had an Islamic community for around 400 years, although my richest contacts with Islam have been in India, which has the world’s second-largest Muslim population. An imam in Ladakh once told me that a true Muslim should love and respect all of Allah’s creatures. And in my understanding, Islam enshrines compassion as a core spiritual principle, reflected in the very name of God, the “Compassionate and Merciful,” that appears at the beginning of virtually each chapter of the Koran.
Finding common ground among faiths can help us bridge needless divides at a time when unified action is more crucial than ever. As a species, we must embrace the oneness of humanity as we face global issues like pandemics, economic crises and ecological disaster. At that scale, our response must be as one.
Harmony among the major faiths has become an essential ingredient of peaceful coexistence in our world. From this perspective, mutual understanding among these traditions is not merely the business of religious believers — it matters for the welfare of humanity as a whole.
In my original reflection on this piece, I found myself questioning what I perceived his primary argument to be, that through the commonality of compassion we should find the ability to rise above our particularistic beliefs to find a single unified humanity. I struggled at the time because I believed that it is from the particular backgrounds we came from that can best serve us in working together. In the original post, I wrote “While he is correct about said premise, compassion doesn’t necessarily translate into the reality of all religions being of a single truth. I think we sometimes lose track of our differences and hence this causes more conflict than would be had if we come to the table stating our stances on all topics.” Part of my claim was that so often we enter common space and apologize for who we are because we are afraid of the confrontation. Yet, if we take a deeper look at relationships, it is in the confrontation that I believe we can find compassion, care and real growth.
If we treat a space of with the compassion of respect, through listening, reflecting, sharing and being comfortable in the uncomfortable, we can foster our collective humanity. Often, we think the solution is to remove aspects of what we are bringing to the common space because of fear. Yet, by entering the space with people from other backgrounds, faiths, practices, etc. each of us has already taken the first step to building the bridge.
As I continue to reflect and re-engage with some of my older posts from my previous blogs (here and here), I came across a powerful story and message I originally wrote about in 2010 (see here).
Too often we may observe a situation and think we understand what is going on. Yet, we also know that it is a value to judge someone favorably, a lesson taught in Ethics of our Fathers, Pirkei Avot:
Joshua ben Perahiah and Nittai the Arbelite received [the oral tradition] from them. Joshua ben Perahiah used to say: appoint for thyself a teacher, and acquire for thyself a companion and judge all people with the scale weighted in their favor.
Pirkei Avot 1:6
Considering the words above, we can recognize the continuum of values, through establishing a teacher for oneself and maintaining true friendships, we can set ourselves up to see the world in such a way as to recognize that we don’t always understand everything that is happening. Too often, we want to make a go at it alone and through this mode of isolation we are more vulnerable to seeing others only through the lense of one’s own eyes.
To illustrate this, I want to share a story from the book, Jewish Visions for Aging by my colleague Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman, in which she shares an example of the importance of not drawing conclusions without all the facts:
Ira, a ninety-seven year old assisted living resident, has just fallen. He is taken to the emergency room and receives twelve stitches for a gash in his head. The resident and attending physician have called his family, but no one has come to be with him. Knowing that Ira has a daughter-in-law, Ricki, who is usually quite involved, the assisted-living facility staff are surprised. They comment that perhaps Ricki isn’t as interested in Pop as she once was.
P 72
Before reading the second paragraph, take a moment and reflect on how you feel at this point. Do you find yourself relating to the feelings of the facility staff that Ricki might not be interested in her father-in-law anymore? Or, were you open to seeing that perhaps her absence is likely due to some other circumstance other than not caring as much as others thought?
When Ricki comes in the next day, she explains that she couldn’t come sooner because on the very same day on which Ira was injured, her brother died and her husband was rushed to the hospital with chest pains. Ricki literally didn’t know what to do first: should she stay at the hospital with her husband during his cardiac catheterization; make funeral arrangements for her brother; or go to be with Pop, who must be very frightened and upset at being taken to the emergency room alone?
P 72
Ricki’s dilemma was complicated. How can we best able to support others if we are quick to presume the worst about the decisions made instead of taking the time to consider the various possibilities for a seeming choice that was made?
May we cultivate the expansive, open heart to see the good in others instead of immediately presuming the worst.
When Amy Greene, director of spiritual care at the Cleveland Clinic, was asked what she thinks people need from chaplains, she responded, “People want someone to see their total pain.”
P. 3
This quote reminds me of the following Talmudic passage:
אָמַר רַבִּי אַחָא בַּר חֲנִינָא כל הַמְבַקֵּר חוֹלֶה נוֹטֵל אֶחָד מִשִּׁשִּׁים בְּצַעֲרוֹ אָמְרִי לֵיהּ אִם כֵּן לִיעַלּוּן שִׁיתִּין וְלוֹקְמוּהּ אֲמַר לֵיהּ כְּעִישּׂוּרְיָיתָא דְּבֵי רַבִּי וּבְבֶן גִּילוֹ Rav Aḥa bar Ḥanina said: Anyone who visits an ill person takes from him one-sixtieth of his suffering. The Sages said to him: If so, let sixty people enter to visit him, and stand him up, and restore him to health. Rav Aḥa bar Ḥanina said to them: It is like the tenths of the school of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, who said that each of one’s daughters inherits one-tenth of his possessions. His intent was that each daughter would receive one-tenth of the remainder after the previous daughter took her portion. Here too, each visitor takes from the ill person one-sixtieth of the suffering that remains, and consequently a degree of suffering will always remain with the ill person. Furthermore, visiting is effective in easing the suffering of the ill person only when the visitor is one born under the same constellation as the ill person.
The chaplain is tasked with seeing the whole person, mind, body and soul. The chaplain visit is focused on visiting the person, not just the illness. It is through this seeing, being present to the whole person, that has a fundamentally positive effect. By positive, I mean to say that the time together is one that intrinsically changes the despair and loneliness most often felt when experiencing “total pain.”
Black Fire on White Fire – the multiple levels of Torah.
Every so often, I come back to the following story (see here for the original posting). I find much comfort in the layers that I have gleaned from it. Here is one version as I recently wrote up for Congregation Ahavas Achim’s Shavuot Journal.
Hasidic stories have many layers of interpretation and points for reflection. From the simple niceties of storytelling to deep esoteric concepts, many of these stories require time and focus to explore the breadth and depth of the lessons we can glean. One of my favorite stories describes the origins of how R. Dov Ber of Mezeritch (Maggid of Mezeritch) became a follower of the Baal Shem Tov (see Sefer Baal Shem Tov, vol. 1 pg. 7-8 or Keter Shem Tov Helek 2 23a).
(Freely translated/adapted): I heard from a Hasid, at some point R. Dov Ber began hearing about the greatness of the holy Rabbi, Baal Shem Tov, and how people would travel from far and wide to witness and receives his prayers. R. Dov Ber was known as one who had a sharp mind and was an expert in Shas and Poskim. Additionally, he had his hands in the wisdom of the Kabbalah. He was curious as to what made the Baal Shem Tov so great.
He finally decided to travel to the Baal Shem Tov in order to test him. As he was travelling, he began having regrets, for R. Dov Ber was a matmid, (someone always immersed in study) and he was unable to maintain his learning while travelling, thus distressing him. He finally resolved to continue, knowing that he would hear Torah when he arrived to see the Baal Shem Tov. Alas, this was not to be. Instead, the Baal Shem Tov shared a story about a how he was travelling for days and ran out of food to provide for his wagon driver. He then happened upon a poor non-Jew from whom he purchased bread to provide for his wagon driver. The Baal Shem Tov also described how he ran out of food for his horses on a journey. While the stories contained tremendous wisdom, R. Dov Ber did not see the wisdom or depth of the Baal Shem Tov’s words.
R. Dov Ber went to his assistant and told him to ready the wagons for his return trip the next morning, as it was too dark to travel on this particular night. At midnight, with everything prepped to go, R. Dov Ber was summoned to meet with the Baal Shem Tov.
The Baal Shem Tov asked him, “Do you know how to learn?”
He responded, “Yes.”
The Baal Shem Tov then continued saying, “I have heard that you know how to learn. Tell me, do you have knowledge of the wisdom of the Kabbalah?”
He responded, “Yes.”
The Baal Shem Tov then asked his attendant to bring him a copy of the Etz Chaim (Kabbalat HaAri) and showed R. Dov Ber an essay, which the Baal Shem Tov asked him to explain. R. Dov Ber took the text, reviewed it and returned to the Baal Shem Tov and explained the text to him.
The Baal Shem Tov said, “You don’t know anything.” So R. Dov Ber went back, looked it over again and told the Baal Shem Tov, “The correct interpretation is like I already stated, so if you think you know a better explanation, please tell it to me for I will hear truth from whomever shares truth.”
The Baal Shem Tov responded, “Stand up, for this passage contains names of angels.”
As soon as he said this, the text illuminated the entire house and a fire surrounded them. They sensed the presence of the angels mentioned in the text.
The Baal Shem Tov then said to R. Dov Ber, “In truth, the interpretation is as you said, however your learning lacks soul (ed. Note – emphasis mine).”
At this moment, R. Dov Ber told his servant to return home and he would be staying with the Baal Shem Tov to learn from his great wisdom.
Many of us struggle with the greater goals of Torah study. Throughout Jewish tradition, we have many philosophies and motives for study, including:
Studying the works of our tradition is an act that is to be done lishma, for its own sake.
Studying the Torah is a process that helps maintain the world, as we learn in Pirkei Avot 1:2, that one of the world’s pillars is the Torah.
Studying the Torah is for the sake of action, Lilmod al Minat L’Maaseh, study in order to do.
Yet, even with these goals and ideas, I would presume that we all struggle at times to see the soulful depth of what we are learning. We struggle to keep these ideals in mind.
If we reflect on the above story, perhaps we can garner a new appreciation for the centrality of Torah in our lives, something we reinvest in over Shavuot. R. Dov Ber did not recognize the Torah of storytelling, of the seemingly mundane. For him, Torah was merely the fixed “text” of Talmud, halacha, kabbalah. Anything outside of that was seen as mundane, unimportant. He couldn’t grasp the value in the experiential aspects of Torah study. That is, until the Baal Shem Tov opened his eyes to the deeper Torah that comes from experiencing it, integrating it beyond the words on paper. The Baal Shem Tov showed R. Dov Ber the soul of learning.
Today, we are blessed to be able to learn anytime, anywhere, almost anything we want. This is a blessing and a challenge. Many partake in daily set study, whether Daf Yomi, Mishna Yomi, Nach Yomi, or some other Yomi. Others have set learning based on certain desired quotas and measures that one takes upon oneself. We can connect to great scholars around the world. We are fortunate to be able to have access to both the texts and teachers who can help guide us through. Yet, how many times do we despair because the study moves too fast, or because we don’t recall the material from one day to the next.
We shouldn’t give up. As we can see from the story of R. Dov Ber, it isn’t just the ability to read a text that speaks to our growth in Torah study. It is about how we are engaged in the study. R. Dov Ber stayed with the Baal Shem Tov to learn what being engaged in the text meant. For us, it is how we approach our learning. If we are consistent, if we are mindful and engaged with mind, body and soul, then we will find true success. Not just in what we know, but in how Torah guides us in our lives.
This is the message of Shavuot as we celebrate it today. Shavuot, as Zman Matan Torateinu, the time of receiving our Torah, is a time to reinvest in our learning. Many do this through staying up and learning/being engaged in learning on the first night. Others through the communal focus on study activities throughout Shavuot. In all of these moments, we are tasked with both the study and also the experience of study so as to inspire us to strive towards deeper and more meaningful study. May each of us experience a soulful learning this Shavuot.
New beginnings: A blog about spirituality, chaplaincy and renewal 