Jewish Dharma (Two Wings of A Bird)

Today a great spiritual hunger is surfacing as many seek comfort, support, and meaning in a world that has spun out of control. Yet, times of loneliness, confusion, fear, or separation come for a powerful reason—so we can stop our usual way of being and discover where true strength, connection, and understanding lie. These difficult times are actually a blessing, removing us from preoccupation with externals and inviting us to embark on a journey into the heart and meaning of our lives. Both Jewish and Zen practice call us to enter the journey, though in different ways.
In a sense, Judaism and Zen represent two opposite ends of a continuum: Zen is based upon radical freedom, letting go, being in the present and nonattachment. Judaism comes rooted in family relationships, love, prayer to a Higher Power and the injunction to hold on and remember. A Jewish heart is warm, giving, human, devoted to family and friends. A Zen eye is fresh, direct, spontaneous, unencumbered by ideas, beliefs, hopes or expectations. These two practices are like two wings of a bird; both are needed to be able to fly.

Each tradition addresses the primal questions that drive our lives and provides keys for finding answers. In Zen practice, you take time to remove yourself from family and friends, do zazen, journey within and awaken for the good of all. Jewish practice is done in the midst of the community. Relationships are central. It is said that God is to be found at the kitchen table, with family, friends and food. In Jewish prayer you go to God and ask for everything. In this way you always know the Source of your good and constantly offer thanks. In Zen practice you do not pray for help at all. You do zazen, (zen meditation), sit, back straight, legs crossed, eyes down, facing the wall. You do not speak, reach out, touch, or listen to the troubles of others. You do not offer consolation or turn to others for support. In fact, what you thought of as support is taken away. If others are having trouble on the cushion, experiencing sorrow or pain, you do not interfere. Their experience is precious and they are now being given the opportunity to face it fully. The support you offer is silent and profound, just sitting strongly beside them, facing your own experience as well.

The need to combine Zen and Jewish practice always felt important to me. I was born into an Orthodox Jewish family in Borough Park, Brooklyn where we lived in a three family house. My grandparents lived downstairs. My parents lived on the second floor and everybody had a different opinion about what God wanted from us. My grandparents, devout Jews - Hasids, kept everything strictly; My grandmother’s door was always open; anyone who was hungry could come and eat. My grandpa sang to God constantly, my other grandpa sat upstairs, studied and hardly spoke, except to warn us not to gossip. My mother wrote beautiful poems, that she would read to whoever listened, and my father, said he loved God by working hard and taking care of his family. He walked down the street proudly and never set foot in the synagogues.

And me, I had a lot of questions: what was the true way, and why did people who were serving God with all of their hearts have trouble living in the same house? There was no place I could rest, so I sat on the steps between the first and second floors wondering where, if anywhere, I belonged, and what life really wanted of me. I would spend hours sitting quietly, wondering. Although I didn’t know it at the time, this could be regarded as my first experience of Zen meditation, or zazen—sitting quietly, not moving, nowhere to go, nothing to lean on, taking a question, and entering deeply into my own heart and mind, waiting for a reply. Those years on the steps were precious though I didn’t realize it at the time.

Today, I am aware of many who feel displaced as well. They wish to relate to their original religion in a way that feels healing and congruent for them. It is easy to lose sight of the true purpose of any practice. Even with the best intentions, blind obedience to forms, obsession and group pressure to conform can and do lead many astray. Anger, judgmental attitudes and domination can easily replace the kindness, generosity and wisdom that are at the heart of all the teachings.

The practice of zazen (zen meditation) creates an atmosphere of acceptance, respect, clarity, kindness and not only illuminates your original teachings, but provides a deeper experience of them. And, conversely, your religion of origin can ground you in the reality of who you are, where you’ve come from, and provide a broader context for dealing with relationships of all kinds. In this way, practicing both Zen and Judaism provides balance and richness as each practice enriches, illuminates and challenges the other.