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rebounding
September 2009 
Reassembling My Jewish Perspective
Posted on Sep 19th, 2007
by 
Jordan
Jordan
[Note: The genesis of this piece is that I started describing this set of experiences to my Rabbi, the wonderful Ari Cartun of Congregation Etz Chayim, and he asked me if I would write it up for the synagogue's quarterly publication. I of course agreed, and here's how it came out. It could use some editing...]
For many years I have doubted the possibility that Judaism would ever be part of my deeper spiritual quest. But having found a very welcoming and invigorating synagogue, and having found a Rabbi (Ari Cartun) whom I both like and respect, I have slowly but surely found myself more involved with the Etz Chayim synagogue. (In part this is because we have an 8-year-old- daughter who is now attending religious school--Shorashim--twice a week.)
Still, services, have always been extremely difficult for me. It relates back to my Hebrew school experience in Long Island in the late 1960's and early 1970's. I have always felt bored and suffocated in services, and while parts of what goes on have always stirred me a bit (especially the musical parts), as an adult I have pretty much gone as little as I could get away with.
Given this background, what happened on Monday morning came as a tremendous surprise to me. The night before had been Rosh Hashana evening services, and I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. The singing and music was, as usual, quite excellent, and Ari's talk, about the "burning bush within each of us" that has not gone out for 4,000 years, was both stimulating and inspiring.
Still, I had determined to not go to the Rosh Hashana Monday morning services. So I got in my car, drove to my office in downtown Palo Alto, and turned off the engine. But as I then sat there for about 30 seconds, I realized that I wanted--actually strongly desired--to be in services that morning. To experience the general direction of the prayers, of the power of the New Year; to be part of the music and singing again; to listen to the Shofar being blown; to be part of the congregation. So I drove back home, quickly changed into decent clothes, and then walked to Cubberly where services were being held.
I have no idea, really, what caused me to change my mind. It was a kind of spontaneous call, an inner-directed desire, a willingness and a wanting-ness to be where I needed to be.
And once there, I had an even stranger experience. You have to understand, first of all, that I'm kind of a psycho-spiritual journalist. I have run a website called Enlightenment.Com for a dozen years, which has enabled me to interview luminaries such as Deepak Chopra, Ken Wilber, Byron Katie, and Jean Houston. Also, for many years, in many different New Age circles and seminars-from Insight Seminars to men's groups to Burning Man-I have tripped the light fantastic. So, with this background, I never think of Judaism qua Judiasm as a place that I, personally, am likely to experience great spiritual depth, insight, or growth. (And yes, I'm aware that Kabbalah is all about the mystical side of Judaism, but still, I've never gotten into it, at least not from a Jewish perspective.)
On top of that, I have always found a good deal of the actual words and concepts in the Jewish liturgy troubling. They always seemed to be anthropomorphizing G0D in a way that I thought was a bit childish, or placing a special emphasis on "our people" in a way that I just had trouble with. Occasionally I could let go into the deeper symbolism of the liturgy, but often, my mind, and even heart, resisted it.
But sitting there at the Rosh Hashana morning service -- hearing the prayers, listening to the trope, being washed over with the music and singing, being part of the congregation as I wrested with my own thoughts about the year that had gone and the new one that was beginning -- I had my even stranger experience. I suddenly saw and knew that the hundreds of people in the room were part of a very, very good, very, very deep, and very very profound process. Yes, the language was still troubling occasionally, but it did in fact provide the container that enabled all of these "ordinary" Jewish people filing the auditorium to wholeheartedly engage in--wrestle with even--their deepest spirituality and divine essence.
This was real. It was deep. It was the way, here and now, that those who follow a thousands of year old tradition came for sustenance, reconnection, and renewal. Here, in the midst of the hurried modern world, the power and energy of Divine revelation was being made available to those who sought it.
It was beautiful, and quite profound. And I was part of, and very glad for that.
Will I go to every possible service in the future? I doubt it. Will I want to duck out and wrestle with my friends...oh, wait, that's what I did when I was 11! Instead, I think I will find myself in synagogue more often, maybe even the occasional Shabbat service, where I will give myself the opportunity to continue to wrestle with my Jewish heritage and the profound here-and-now reality of spiritual engagement and transformation that so often goes on in our synagogue.
If you've ever read any of Carlos Castaneda's later books, you'll know that he talks about the "assemblage point," a kind of perceptual energy nexus that enables one to see things differently once this point is physically or energetically shifted. In the same way, sitting in the Cubberly auditorium last Monday morning, in the assembly of my People, I found my assemblage point shifted, and an entirely new reality came into focus: the great good that comes when people -- my people -- gather together to worship G0D in ways that resonate with and harken back to a thousands-year-old revelation. I feel very fortunate, and am looking forward to this coming year with greatly increased enthusiasm and excitement.
Reassembling My Jewish Perspective
For many years I have doubted the possibility that Judaism would ever be part of my deeper spiritual quest. But having found a very welcoming and invigorating synagogue, and having found a Rabbi (Ari Cartun) whom I both like and respect, I have slowly but surely found myself more involved with the Etz Chayim synagogue. (In part this is because we have an 8-year-old- daughter who is now attending religious school--Shorashim--twice a week.)
Still, services, have always been extremely difficult for me. It relates back to my Hebrew school experience in Long Island in the late 1960's and early 1970's. I have always felt bored and suffocated in services, and while parts of what goes on have always stirred me a bit (especially the musical parts), as an adult I have pretty much gone as little as I could get away with.
Given this background, what happened on Monday morning came as a tremendous surprise to me. The night before had been Rosh Hashana evening services, and I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. The singing and music was, as usual, quite excellent, and Ari's talk, about the "burning bush within each of us" that has not gone out for 4,000 years, was both stimulating and inspiring.
Still, I had determined to not go to the Rosh Hashana Monday morning services. So I got in my car, drove to my office in downtown Palo Alto, and turned off the engine. But as I then sat there for about 30 seconds, I realized that I wanted--actually strongly desired--to be in services that morning. To experience the general direction of the prayers, of the power of the New Year; to be part of the music and singing again; to listen to the Shofar being blown; to be part of the congregation. So I drove back home, quickly changed into decent clothes, and then walked to Cubberly where services were being held.
I have no idea, really, what caused me to change my mind. It was a kind of spontaneous call, an inner-directed desire, a willingness and a wanting-ness to be where I needed to be.
And once there, I had an even stranger experience. You have to understand, first of all, that I'm kind of a psycho-spiritual journalist. I have run a website called Enlightenment.Com for a dozen years, which has enabled me to interview luminaries such as Deepak Chopra, Ken Wilber, Byron Katie, and Jean Houston. Also, for many years, in many different New Age circles and seminars-from Insight Seminars to men's groups to Burning Man-I have tripped the light fantastic. So, with this background, I never think of Judaism qua Judiasm as a place that I, personally, am likely to experience great spiritual depth, insight, or growth. (And yes, I'm aware that Kabbalah is all about the mystical side of Judaism, but still, I've never gotten into it, at least not from a Jewish perspective.)
On top of that, I have always found a good deal of the actual words and concepts in the Jewish liturgy troubling. They always seemed to be anthropomorphizing G0D in a way that I thought was a bit childish, or placing a special emphasis on "our people" in a way that I just had trouble with. Occasionally I could let go into the deeper symbolism of the liturgy, but often, my mind, and even heart, resisted it.
But sitting there at the Rosh Hashana morning service -- hearing the prayers, listening to the trope, being washed over with the music and singing, being part of the congregation as I wrested with my own thoughts about the year that had gone and the new one that was beginning -- I had my even stranger experience. I suddenly saw and knew that the hundreds of people in the room were part of a very, very good, very, very deep, and very very profound process. Yes, the language was still troubling occasionally, but it did in fact provide the container that enabled all of these "ordinary" Jewish people filing the auditorium to wholeheartedly engage in--wrestle with even--their deepest spirituality and divine essence.
This was real. It was deep. It was the way, here and now, that those who follow a thousands of year old tradition came for sustenance, reconnection, and renewal. Here, in the midst of the hurried modern world, the power and energy of Divine revelation was being made available to those who sought it.
It was beautiful, and quite profound. And I was part of, and very glad for that.
Will I go to every possible service in the future? I doubt it. Will I want to duck out and wrestle with my friends...oh, wait, that's what I did when I was 11! Instead, I think I will find myself in synagogue more often, maybe even the occasional Shabbat service, where I will give myself the opportunity to continue to wrestle with my Jewish heritage and the profound here-and-now reality of spiritual engagement and transformation that so often goes on in our synagogue.
If you've ever read any of Carlos Castaneda's later books, you'll know that he talks about the "assemblage point," a kind of perceptual energy nexus that enables one to see things differently once this point is physically or energetically shifted. In the same way, sitting in the Cubberly auditorium last Monday morning, in the assembly of my People, I found my assemblage point shifted, and an entirely new reality came into focus: the great good that comes when people -- my people -- gather together to worship G0D in ways that resonate with and harken back to a thousands-year-old revelation. I feel very fortunate, and am looking forward to this coming year with greatly increased enthusiasm and excitement.
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