Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Missing Ithaca and my past
Pretty straight forward blog title. I'm listening to all this music that has a connection to my past in Ithaca i.e. James Taylor, Simon & Garfunkle, etc. I'd say that I'm afraid of changing, but I'm not. Without change, there'd be no life. I also know that I bring my memories with us where ever I go, I just wish that I could experience them again. It almost seems unfair to have memories; when we think about them, we experience them as if they're happening in real time, but as soon as we realize that it's not the case, then that little piece of us connected to the memory is dragged back to the past with it, leaving us incomplete. The funny thing is that this time a year from now, I'll feel the same way about this moment. When it comes down to it, I guess there's two ways of looking at life similar to a glass half empty/half full approach: life is either a series of memories that are recollected when we leave this world or a perpetual present, constantly moving forward, evolving, changing. I can't go back to relive the past and I'm not particularly anxious to get to the future, all I have is now and although it will be just another memory come tomorrow, there will always be a new "now" to experience.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Why Care?: The Meaning Behind the Tisha b'Av Observance
This year, I'm in Jerusalem for Tisha b'Av. For those of you who don't know what that means, Tisha b'Av is considered the saddest day of the year in Judaism; it commemorates all of the tragedies that befell the Jewish people, mainly the destruction of the First and Second Temple, or Beit Hamikdash. There are many people who still, two thousand years after the last destruction, take on the observances of mourning. For twenty-five hours, people do not eat or drink. They don't bath. They don't wear leather shoes. They don't greet each other. They don't learn Torah. They don't apply ointments or deodorant. They don't have marital relations. Now the obvious question that one would and should ask is that after two millenia, why go through all this trouble? People die, cities are besieged and conquered, civilizations fall; this is the nature of things. Even if I am a Jew and my ancestors were among those slain or exiled, why should I inconvenience myself over something that happened to the distant generations long since passed? Here I am in the 21st century, a free-thinking member of society; any feeling that I experience from the events of Tisha b'Av are unnoticable, unpercieved; a faint ripple spread out by the fallen stones in the recesses of history. Why Care? I would venture to say that you a very good reason to.
Every year during the Passover seder, Jews around the world recount the story of the Exodus from Egypt, another event from an almost forgotten past. At the seder, we say that in every generation, each person must feel as if they themselves emerged just now from Egypt. How is this so? We are all slaves in the desert of our minds, a psychological prison enforced by the brutal task master of our addictions, habits, fears, and anxieties. When we come together as one people to celebrate our redemption, we are celebrating the transcendence that we could achieve through dedication, perserverance, and the grace of G-d today. At Shavuot, the holiday commemorating the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, we stand at the recitation of the ten commandments from the Torah. By doing this, we symbolically recognize that these laws are not some fossilized remains of a dead culture, but the thriving and vivifying force ever-present in our lives as human beings today. On Shabbat, we take a day of rest to not only remember G-d's resting from creation, but also to recognize the constant and ongoing creation of the universe today . In short, by keep these traditions alive, we are personally recognizing the same presence found behind the letter of the law in our very lives.
Tisha b'Av, however, is somewhat different. Instead of commemorating a miraculous event through celebration and feasting, we commemorate a tremendous tragedy through mourning and contemplation. How is the destruction relevent in our lives? Because we recognize that it could happen again. We know that the kohanim (priests) of the second Temple observed Tisha b'Av in commemoration of the first Temple; how could this be so? The Temple was already rebuilt in all it's glory! They observed the day as a time of prayer, recognizing that the destruction hadn't even been one hundred years earlier and that it could happen again. Sadly, it certainly did happen again, a pattern of repetitive destruction found as a theme throughout Jewish history. The Holocaust wasn't so long ago, not even seventy-five years ago, yet sadly, even that is becoming a forgotten memory. Living in America, one might not be able to see or feel the present possibility of physical destruction, but in Israel, the threat of annhilation from nations that want you wiped off the map is present everyday. As I said before, though, this only deals with the physical annhilation. The destruction of the Temple was much more than just the razing of a building, it was the dismemberment of a way of life, a near collapse of the Jewish soul. What is to be said about the threat of spiritual annhilation?
Many Jews that I've come into contact with are ashamed of being Jewish, simply put. They're either ashamed or they are forgetting what it means to be a Jew. Being Jewish is so much more than just receving present on Hanukkah or eating matzah ball soup on Passover, it's a hidden mystical beauty, an abstract complex of emotions and devotion, a passionate and involved relationship with the infinite and unfathomable Divine. Many people don't know this, nor care to know this; they have become comfortable in this illusory facade of materialism that we call "reality". We go through our lives a puppet in a pantomime, looking to the magazines, T.V. screens, and celebrities to follow by example in what we percieve as life. One need only to take the first step out of the candle-lit cave to see the blazing, brilliant light of the sun.
This is also why we observe Tisha b'Av; because in the future, it will no longer be an observance of mourning, but a celebration of life, the arrival of something much bigger than iphones and realty show break-ups, a transcendence of the physical and an immersion in the hidden spiritual realty; in short, an awakening in global consciousness. One need only look around with the right lens to see the destruction present all around us. If by setting aside one day out of the year to recognize that personal destruction, then imagine how much creative power we could be capable of. So whoever or wherever you are, let's try to rebuild what we've lost, let's come together to bring the beauty and glory of the past here into the present. It is only then that we'll see time as merely a barrier through which belief can break.
Every year during the Passover seder, Jews around the world recount the story of the Exodus from Egypt, another event from an almost forgotten past. At the seder, we say that in every generation, each person must feel as if they themselves emerged just now from Egypt. How is this so? We are all slaves in the desert of our minds, a psychological prison enforced by the brutal task master of our addictions, habits, fears, and anxieties. When we come together as one people to celebrate our redemption, we are celebrating the transcendence that we could achieve through dedication, perserverance, and the grace of G-d today. At Shavuot, the holiday commemorating the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, we stand at the recitation of the ten commandments from the Torah. By doing this, we symbolically recognize that these laws are not some fossilized remains of a dead culture, but the thriving and vivifying force ever-present in our lives as human beings today. On Shabbat, we take a day of rest to not only remember G-d's resting from creation, but also to recognize the constant and ongoing creation of the universe today . In short, by keep these traditions alive, we are personally recognizing the same presence found behind the letter of the law in our very lives.
Tisha b'Av, however, is somewhat different. Instead of commemorating a miraculous event through celebration and feasting, we commemorate a tremendous tragedy through mourning and contemplation. How is the destruction relevent in our lives? Because we recognize that it could happen again. We know that the kohanim (priests) of the second Temple observed Tisha b'Av in commemoration of the first Temple; how could this be so? The Temple was already rebuilt in all it's glory! They observed the day as a time of prayer, recognizing that the destruction hadn't even been one hundred years earlier and that it could happen again. Sadly, it certainly did happen again, a pattern of repetitive destruction found as a theme throughout Jewish history. The Holocaust wasn't so long ago, not even seventy-five years ago, yet sadly, even that is becoming a forgotten memory. Living in America, one might not be able to see or feel the present possibility of physical destruction, but in Israel, the threat of annhilation from nations that want you wiped off the map is present everyday. As I said before, though, this only deals with the physical annhilation. The destruction of the Temple was much more than just the razing of a building, it was the dismemberment of a way of life, a near collapse of the Jewish soul. What is to be said about the threat of spiritual annhilation?
Many Jews that I've come into contact with are ashamed of being Jewish, simply put. They're either ashamed or they are forgetting what it means to be a Jew. Being Jewish is so much more than just receving present on Hanukkah or eating matzah ball soup on Passover, it's a hidden mystical beauty, an abstract complex of emotions and devotion, a passionate and involved relationship with the infinite and unfathomable Divine. Many people don't know this, nor care to know this; they have become comfortable in this illusory facade of materialism that we call "reality". We go through our lives a puppet in a pantomime, looking to the magazines, T.V. screens, and celebrities to follow by example in what we percieve as life. One need only to take the first step out of the candle-lit cave to see the blazing, brilliant light of the sun.
This is also why we observe Tisha b'Av; because in the future, it will no longer be an observance of mourning, but a celebration of life, the arrival of something much bigger than iphones and realty show break-ups, a transcendence of the physical and an immersion in the hidden spiritual realty; in short, an awakening in global consciousness. One need only look around with the right lens to see the destruction present all around us. If by setting aside one day out of the year to recognize that personal destruction, then imagine how much creative power we could be capable of. So whoever or wherever you are, let's try to rebuild what we've lost, let's come together to bring the beauty and glory of the past here into the present. It is only then that we'll see time as merely a barrier through which belief can break.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Shabbat in Tzfat
This Shabbat I went to Tzfat, one of the four holy cities in Israel. We (everyone at the yeshiva) got up at 6 a.m. on friday morning to leave for Tzfat. We first stopped at a natural spring and then went to the grave of Rabbi Meir, one of the pupils of Rabbi Akiva and a major player in the Talmud. We finally arrived in Tzfat at around 12 p.m., checked into our hotel, got some of the best falafel in Israel, and then headed down with a few friends to the kever (grave) of Rabbi Isaac Luria, also known as the Arizal. Rabbi Isaac Luria is known for being a monumental figure in the revelation and development of the kabbalah (Jewish mysticism). Afterwards, my friends and I went to the Ari Mikveh, a natural spring inside a cave that's used for ritual purification. You pretty much go in and dunk a few times; people dunk different number of times depending on their liking (my personal favorite is ten). What makes this mikveh different from other mikveh's is that a) although the water leaks from the mountain where the cave is, nobody knows where it's source is and b) it's FREEZING cold, better than a cup of coffee if you want to wake up :-)
The Shabbat service I went to was pretty great; it was an outdoor Carlebach minyan, which means that there was a lot of singing and dancing with a group of mixed company ranging from the most non-observant to the most orthodox Jew. The music was beautiful and it was so great to see Jews of different backgrounds coming together for Shabbat, but the only thing was that the service seemed to be more about the music and performance of it than the actual davening. Afterwards, I had a great Shabbat dinner with my friends from yeshiva and then stayed up for an amazing fabrengen (chasidic gathering). We sang nigunim (wordless chasidic tunes), sipped on some drinks, and told stories about spirituality, religion, perserverance, family, integrity, and lots of other really great things.
The next day had a lot of great highlights: davening with the yeshiva, going to the ari mikveh again, reading the entire book of tehillim (psalms), afternoon fabrengen, and havdalah. At night we went to Ascent, a hostel in the middle of Tzfat that I'll be staying at for 2 1/2 weeks after the summer semester of Mayanot. We saw a documentary about a rabbi who conducted the largest passover seder in the world in Nepal. You would think that there wouldn't be that many Jews there, but after serving in the military, a lot of Israeli's actually make this huge trip out to the East for 6 months to a year. There were over 1,000 people at that seder! Afterwards, a group of people from the yeshiva (myself included) went to go visit the grave of the Rebbe's brother, went to the Ari mikveh AGAIN for a late night dip (1 a.m. to be precise), and then we went to this absolutely AMAZING old fortress from hundreds of years ago. The main room of the fortress was this huge dome that had great acoustics; whatever you said would linger on for a few seconds after you said it. We sang a lot of acappella Jewish songs and nigunim, it was one of the most amazing sonic experiences of my life, incredibly moving and beautiful.
The next day we went on this big hike from Tzfat to the grave of Shimon bar Yochai, a tzadik (holy person) we lived around the Second Temple period. According to the tradition, he was the author of the holy Zohar, the foundational and fundamental text of the Kabbalah. The whole thing was incredibly romantic in the 18th century literary adventure sense; the group of us went on this huge hike across mountains to go visit and pray at the tomb of one of the biggest holy men in all of Judaism. According to the legend, Shimon bar Yochai and his son Eliezar hid from the Romans for twelve years in a cave where they learned all the secrets of the Kabbalah. After all those years of hiding, they left the cave to find a man working in the field. Eliezar was so angered by the fact that people could do something as mundane as field work that his intense religious passion sparked the entire field on fire. A voice from heaven told them that they weren't ready yet, that they had to learn how to combine spirituality and physicality together so they went back in for another year. When they finally came out, they had the clear vision of how the two, spirituality and the physical world, work harmoniously together.
At the actual monument dedicated to Rabbi Shimon, I just stood there among all these chasidim and I prayed silently to G-d. What was amazing is that the sounds of people praying, along with the acoustics of the space, combined to make the sound of low rumbling winds. Why this is so cool is because the four holy cities (Tzfat, Jerusalem, Hebron, and Tiberias) allude to the four elements (wind, fire, earth, and water). As you can probably guess, Tzfat is connected to wind, so the fact that it sounds like blowing winds was really intense. One of the things that I've been most happy with is the spiritual development that I've been making; it's definitely been a huge struggle for me, but I'm growing inch my inch, practically crawling in hopes that someday I'll be able to walk. That's all for now. Right now I'm in a particularly good mood; I had some good study sessions with Talmud and Torah, made some great progress with my new composition, and finally got skype (I'll now be able to talk to and see my parents over the internet!) That's all for now.
Best thoughts and wishes from Jerusalem,
Zach/Michael
The Shabbat service I went to was pretty great; it was an outdoor Carlebach minyan, which means that there was a lot of singing and dancing with a group of mixed company ranging from the most non-observant to the most orthodox Jew. The music was beautiful and it was so great to see Jews of different backgrounds coming together for Shabbat, but the only thing was that the service seemed to be more about the music and performance of it than the actual davening. Afterwards, I had a great Shabbat dinner with my friends from yeshiva and then stayed up for an amazing fabrengen (chasidic gathering). We sang nigunim (wordless chasidic tunes), sipped on some drinks, and told stories about spirituality, religion, perserverance, family, integrity, and lots of other really great things.
The next day had a lot of great highlights: davening with the yeshiva, going to the ari mikveh again, reading the entire book of tehillim (psalms), afternoon fabrengen, and havdalah. At night we went to Ascent, a hostel in the middle of Tzfat that I'll be staying at for 2 1/2 weeks after the summer semester of Mayanot. We saw a documentary about a rabbi who conducted the largest passover seder in the world in Nepal. You would think that there wouldn't be that many Jews there, but after serving in the military, a lot of Israeli's actually make this huge trip out to the East for 6 months to a year. There were over 1,000 people at that seder! Afterwards, a group of people from the yeshiva (myself included) went to go visit the grave of the Rebbe's brother, went to the Ari mikveh AGAIN for a late night dip (1 a.m. to be precise), and then we went to this absolutely AMAZING old fortress from hundreds of years ago. The main room of the fortress was this huge dome that had great acoustics; whatever you said would linger on for a few seconds after you said it. We sang a lot of acappella Jewish songs and nigunim, it was one of the most amazing sonic experiences of my life, incredibly moving and beautiful.
The next day we went on this big hike from Tzfat to the grave of Shimon bar Yochai, a tzadik (holy person) we lived around the Second Temple period. According to the tradition, he was the author of the holy Zohar, the foundational and fundamental text of the Kabbalah. The whole thing was incredibly romantic in the 18th century literary adventure sense; the group of us went on this huge hike across mountains to go visit and pray at the tomb of one of the biggest holy men in all of Judaism. According to the legend, Shimon bar Yochai and his son Eliezar hid from the Romans for twelve years in a cave where they learned all the secrets of the Kabbalah. After all those years of hiding, they left the cave to find a man working in the field. Eliezar was so angered by the fact that people could do something as mundane as field work that his intense religious passion sparked the entire field on fire. A voice from heaven told them that they weren't ready yet, that they had to learn how to combine spirituality and physicality together so they went back in for another year. When they finally came out, they had the clear vision of how the two, spirituality and the physical world, work harmoniously together.
At the actual monument dedicated to Rabbi Shimon, I just stood there among all these chasidim and I prayed silently to G-d. What was amazing is that the sounds of people praying, along with the acoustics of the space, combined to make the sound of low rumbling winds. Why this is so cool is because the four holy cities (Tzfat, Jerusalem, Hebron, and Tiberias) allude to the four elements (wind, fire, earth, and water). As you can probably guess, Tzfat is connected to wind, so the fact that it sounds like blowing winds was really intense. One of the things that I've been most happy with is the spiritual development that I've been making; it's definitely been a huge struggle for me, but I'm growing inch my inch, practically crawling in hopes that someday I'll be able to walk. That's all for now. Right now I'm in a particularly good mood; I had some good study sessions with Talmud and Torah, made some great progress with my new composition, and finally got skype (I'll now be able to talk to and see my parents over the internet!) That's all for now.
Best thoughts and wishes from Jerusalem,
Zach/Michael
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Learning, Living, Loving in Jerusalem
Jerusalem really is the heart of the world. I can't describe it or put my finger on it, outside of the Old City it looks like a completely normal city, but there's something in the air, something that goes through you, circulating and pumping your heart, an ancient life force or energy that connects you to not only the past, but the present as well. One can truly live in the moment if they want to, all it takes is a bit of perspective and contemplation. All we have is the present; the future is merely an illusion, non-existent, an imaginary end goal that, if misunderstood, can cause unnecessary anxiety and fear. There's no such thing as the future since once we're there, it's the present. That's why humanity can truly tap into their potential only when they are focused on the here and now. Not tomorrow, not next week or ten years from now, but in the moment, where people are alive and progressing forward, is there a true level of existence and where G-d can be most found.
Now don't hold me to this 100%, but, in hebrew, G-d's name is spelled yud, hey, vov, hey or Y-H-V-H. If isolated, the 'H-V-H' is meant to express being while the 'Y' indicates something ongoing. Therefore, G-d's name literally expresses an ongoing being (omnipresence), an ongoing present. That is why G-d is most found in the here and now as opposed to in past/future history. By tapping into that all-present presence, we can actualize the reality that is G-d, a state of being as opposed to some distant diety looking down on us from a spot in heaven. In regards to the past, one should never live in the past because, just like preoccupying onself with the future, it detracts from living the present. The past should merely be used to propel us in the perpetually unfolding present that we call the future.
Now that I've gotten that out of my system *phew*, it's time for the update. I'm loving Jerusalem. Only in Israel can I walk 30 minutes from my yeshivah and find myself and the holiest place in the world (the kotel). I've met some pretty "interesting" people, Israel is full of people who either think that they are the Messiah or don't quite know how to express their excitment for the Messiah's arrival. I'm learning a ton about my Jewish identity, living in Israel, Israel and it's relationship with rest of the world (which sadly is incredibly skewed and misunderstood), and myself. The main problem that I have here is trying to find a focal point for all this energy that I have!
I will admit, though, that I miss my family and friends. It's very difficult to be away from my mom, dad, brother, dog (even though she is annoying), and close friends. I also miss having a piano to play, as well as having a library of scores and recordings at my disposal. I've been keeping up with composing; I'm actually working on a new technique/process of composing that involves studying Chassidut (Jewish mysticism) and writing. So far the prospects seem promising, but it's difficult to navigate a completely new system that seems to have no prior grounding in previous composers.
Something that I didn't quite expect was the level of individuality that I've found in yeshivah; while I knew that I would be trying to figure myself out here, I've found that by being around so many religious people/living in such a religious community that I've felt the need to preserve my individuality even more. This is not to say that I'm trying to be different, but it's been forcing me, in a sense, to keep in touch with who I am. That's all for now, sorry for the gap in time between blog posts, but as you can tell I have been VERY busy!
with love,
Zach/Michael
Now don't hold me to this 100%, but, in hebrew, G-d's name is spelled yud, hey, vov, hey or Y-H-V-H. If isolated, the 'H-V-H' is meant to express being while the 'Y' indicates something ongoing. Therefore, G-d's name literally expresses an ongoing being (omnipresence), an ongoing present. That is why G-d is most found in the here and now as opposed to in past/future history. By tapping into that all-present presence, we can actualize the reality that is G-d, a state of being as opposed to some distant diety looking down on us from a spot in heaven. In regards to the past, one should never live in the past because, just like preoccupying onself with the future, it detracts from living the present. The past should merely be used to propel us in the perpetually unfolding present that we call the future.
Now that I've gotten that out of my system *phew*, it's time for the update. I'm loving Jerusalem. Only in Israel can I walk 30 minutes from my yeshivah and find myself and the holiest place in the world (the kotel). I've met some pretty "interesting" people, Israel is full of people who either think that they are the Messiah or don't quite know how to express their excitment for the Messiah's arrival. I'm learning a ton about my Jewish identity, living in Israel, Israel and it's relationship with rest of the world (which sadly is incredibly skewed and misunderstood), and myself. The main problem that I have here is trying to find a focal point for all this energy that I have!
I will admit, though, that I miss my family and friends. It's very difficult to be away from my mom, dad, brother, dog (even though she is annoying), and close friends. I also miss having a piano to play, as well as having a library of scores and recordings at my disposal. I've been keeping up with composing; I'm actually working on a new technique/process of composing that involves studying Chassidut (Jewish mysticism) and writing. So far the prospects seem promising, but it's difficult to navigate a completely new system that seems to have no prior grounding in previous composers.
Something that I didn't quite expect was the level of individuality that I've found in yeshivah; while I knew that I would be trying to figure myself out here, I've found that by being around so many religious people/living in such a religious community that I've felt the need to preserve my individuality even more. This is not to say that I'm trying to be different, but it's been forcing me, in a sense, to keep in touch with who I am. That's all for now, sorry for the gap in time between blog posts, but as you can tell I have been VERY busy!
with love,
Zach/Michael
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)