Part 2 (2/2)

We laughed at that. But to be fair, Zalman was not proposing a parallel between the Jewish exodus and the Tibetan exile. Instead, his intention was to simply use the Pa.s.sover seder format as a sh.e.l.l, in which to insert a message about the life of Buddha.

The point was, the Dalai Lama had asked Jews for help. So I asked Marc if the seder, with its emphasis on parents teaching their children, wasn't an important and enduring secret of Jewish survival.

Lieberman exploded. The tensions of shepherding us through India, and all the minor details he'd been saddled with over the past few days, like relaying phone messages and changing money, had evidently been taking their toll.

”We keep asking what they want to know. Why don't we ask what we want to know? That's why I'm here. I did not bring a Chautauqua Society to Dharamsala to lecture Buddhists or Jewish-born Buddhists about Judaism.”

In his proposal, Marc had suggested topics for the Jewish partic.i.p.ants. Rabbis Zalman Schachter and Jonathan Omer-Man would address kabbalah and Jewish meditation. Yitz Greenberg would cover the role of the Talmud in Jewish survival, Rabbi Levitt the synagogue, Dr. Blu Greenberg, the Jewish home, Professor Mendes-Flohr the role of secular Jews, and Dr. Moshe Waldoks the Jewish textual tradition. Professor Nathan Katz would cover possible points of contact between Judaism and Buddhism in the ancient world.

I thought the format itself practically dictated that Jews would teach and the Dalai Lama would listen, but Marc rejected that idea vehemently. ”The topics were chosen because you could plug them in both ways. They are just as appropriate for Buddhists to talk to Jews about as for Jews to talk to Buddhists. How, for example, do the Buddhists really work? What's the reality of the Dalai Lama working with hotheaded Tibetans-keeping a lid on all the factions who urge violence and revolt against the Chinese? How do you work with that anger, that hatred of the oppressor?”

That interested Rabbi Levitt, who'd worked in support of the Israeli peace movement.

”Tell me about that,” she said to Marc. ”Who knows?”

”I think he will be able to show us.”

But Joy was skeptical. She had been struck by the same phrase from The Dhammapada The Dhammapada that I'd seen Zalman Schachter translating into Hebrew, ”Animosity produces only animosity.” that I'd seen Zalman Schachter translating into Hebrew, ”Animosity produces only animosity.”

”My fundamental issue in reading Buddhist texts,” she said, ”is what it means to love your enemy. I have a suspicion that they have a much better take on those energies than we do. On the other hand, when I read this stuff about loving the Chinese, I want to know why. I don't get it at all. It seems unnatural.”

Lieberman smiled. ”It's totally unnatural. The whole Buddhist thing is unnatural. The natural way of samsara samsara is the perpetuation of more and more suffering. Nothing could be more unnatural than cultivating the pure kind of mind where you get off the wheel.” is the perpetuation of more and more suffering. Nothing could be more unnatural than cultivating the pure kind of mind where you get off the wheel.”

”Yes, but I still don't understand that.”

”I'm not trying to give you a flip answer. That question is a genuine meeting of Tibetan and Jewish experience, where their response is different from ours.”

It had been a long day's journey, and it was getting cold sitting out on the porch. Tomorrow morning we would find new barriers on the Jewish side to overcome before such a genuine meeting could take place.

4.

Heights.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 24, DHARAMSALA.

Refreshed after a good night's sleep and some vigorous morning prayers, the Jewish group sat around a long dining table at Kashmir Cottage for a hearty breakfast of eggs, milk, and cheese. Moshe Waldoks read to us from the Torah portion for the coming Sabbath, in which Abram journeys out from the land of Ur. He focused on Beres.h.i.+t Beres.h.i.+t (Genesis) 14:18: ”And Melchizedek, king of Salem brought forth bread and wine; and he was a priest of the most high G.o.d.” (Genesis) 14:18: ”And Melchizedek, king of Salem brought forth bread and wine; and he was a priest of the most high G.o.d.”

Then Moshe took us on a compact midras.h.i.+c journey-through four thousand years of Jewish experience, from the terse biblical account to the rabbinic commentary to the Hasidic masters up to the present moment when, as we consumed bread and coffee, we thought about bread and wine.

To the rabbinic commentators, Salem is Jerusalem, and Melchizedek-as a priest of G.o.d most high-is intimating to Abram what his descendants will be doing there when they become priests of the Temple.

Then Moshe quoted a Hasidic take: ”bread and wine” symbolize words of wisdom, and anyone who shares wisdom with another is as holy as the ancient priests.

That's how far we'd gotten when Zalman struck yet another blow for spontaneity with a zap of instant midrash. The story of Abram learning from Melchizedek, he proposed, is an image of the dialogue to come. Like Abram, we had journeyed far from home to learn wisdom from a great non-Jewish teacher.

I was impressed. Suddenly, the Dalai Lama was Melchizedek. This kind of vigorous interplay showed me how, in yet another sense, the Torah might bring this group together.

Then Zalman added another twist: just as Abram and Melchizedek had shared rituals, couldn't we share our seder with the Buddhists?

That was one twist too many for Rabbi Greenberg. He responded with an acc.u.mulating syntax of carefully qualified clauses-Talmudic inflections. He had ”a theological reservation” about doing a Buddhist seder, ”because it begins to raise questions of crossing the line, and also, maybe unintentionally, patronizing them.”

Good-bye, Buddhist seder. The pattern would recur, the sides were shaping up. The traditionalists in the group, led by Rabbi Greenberg, spoke of preserving Jewish authenticity. But Reb Zalman believed that, in the Reconstructionist phrase, tradition should have a vote, not a veto.

The sides kept s.h.i.+fting partly because in moving into dialogue partic.i.p.ants were loosening up. Joy Levitt felt unmoored-far from her husband, her two kids, and her Long Island shul. When our discussion that morning moved toward her expectations and apprehensions, she said they were the same. ”I want to be completely open and that means I will be completely vulnerable. I want to be able go home changed. The more open you are about taking in new ideas, the more challenged you are about the ideas you already accept as true.”

Jonathan Omer-Man quipped, ”I've tried to purge myself of expectations, a process that was enhanced by the drive up here.”

Blu Greenberg added, ”Jonathan described himself as emptying out. It took so long that by the time we got here I thought we wouldn't have Jonathan.”

A quiet, deeply reflective man, Omer-Man had spent eleven years in Jerusalem studying kabbalah and Jewish meditation. Very soft-spoken, he was often talked over in a conversation, especially in the boisterous exchanges this group engaged in. But he was referring to more than the volume of his voice when he spoke that morning.

”What normally happens to me in this kind of encounter is that through dialogue I learn to see myself through the prism of the other's experience, and I very much want that to happen. Paradoxically, I find it very hard to share my feelings with Jews. I have problems with the number of times I've been told by Jews what my experience is.” His words would prove prophetic.

Michael Sautman, our Dharamsala connection, joined us. He was a somewhat mysterious figure. There was, for instance, the matter of what he did for a living, and for whom he worked. I knew for certain only that he was a trained private pilot, that he had done relief work with Tibetans in southern India, that he was the Dalai Lama's personal student. He mentioned that after the dialogue, he was starting up a cashmere factory in Mongolia.

Sautman was crisp, well organized, quick on the uptake, and very controlled. He was able to converse in Tibetan with Tsangpo or to bawl out our drivers in Punjabi if necessary. I sometimes wondered, in fact, how a practicing Buddhist could be so harsh with them. But he had reached very high levels of initiation in tantrayana tantrayana and spent several hours a day practicing. He intimated to me that he was now able to visualize himself as a dragon-headed deity of some sort. His Jewish roots showed too: he'd worked very hard on this dialogue. His own dream was that the Dalai Lama would visit Israel. and spent several hours a day practicing. He intimated to me that he was now able to visualize himself as a dragon-headed deity of some sort. His Jewish roots showed too: he'd worked very hard on this dialogue. His own dream was that the Dalai Lama would visit Israel.

More revealing perhaps about his own apprehensions and expectations, Michael Sautman had brought his parents to Dharamsala just for this occasion. It was their first visit. It seemed that Michael, like other JUBUs, was looking for a way to integrate his Jewish roots and Buddhist wings.

Sautman arrived with our schedule for the week. He was on his way to meet briefly with the Dalai Lama and wanted to hear what questions we might have him consider in advance. Like Lieberman, he was concerned that the Jews be open to learning from the Dalai Lama. ”As far as learning what he's about,” Sautman said, ”it's a precious opportunity, in talking to a Buddhist master to gain some knowledge and wisdom.”

But for now, much as Marc Lieberman feared, Moshe Waldoks and others seemed more interested in what the Dalai Lama would like to learn from the Jews.

Sautman sighed. ”If you remember the first meeting in New Jersey, certainly there was an interest in Jewish mysticism. He is very interested in thought transformation-how one purifies afflictive emotions. In Buddhism it's done through tantrayana tantrayana. He's also interested in issues of diaspora survival if there's some elaboration to be offered.”

Then Sautman repeated his request. Zalman spoke first about how both groups were at a crucial place in history. ”I would like to ask His Holiness, what is it he would like to teach to us for our own consideration and close cooperation with what's happening on the planet?”

”Give it to me in one sentence,” Sautman said crisply.

Zalman didn't hesitate. ”Give me dharma talk. Give me dharma talk addressed to Jews.”

In the prewar Hasidic Polish community of his childhood, Zalman had been nurtured on Jewish mysticism. As a young man he'd been an important outreach person for the Lubavitcher Hasidim of Crown Heights. And later, earning an advanced degree in the psychology of religion, he taught at Temple University. Starting in the sixties, he'd become an increasingly charismatic figure in Jewish circles and was active at the inception of the chavurah chavurah movement, when young Jews from the counterculture began exploring their Jewish roots. He gathered many around him, organized as a religious fellows.h.i.+p based in Philadelphia known as P'nai Or, or ”faces of light.” movement, when young Jews from the counterculture began exploring their Jewish roots. He gathered many around him, organized as a religious fellows.h.i.+p based in Philadelphia known as P'nai Or, or ”faces of light.”

Since Zalman sees himself as ”doing Jewish renewal, not Jewish restoration,” he identified with the Dalai Lama as a colleague facing a similar challenge. The Buddhist leader had brought with him into exile a Noah's ark of pract.i.tioners. Just as Jews had their specialists-mohels, mashgiachs, chazzans, kosher butchers-so the Tibetans had brought with them oracular mediums, thangka thangka painters, ”inner heat” meditators. To have the ”totality of our tradition accessible means to have people who live that tradition. It's not enough to have books; like in painters, ”inner heat” meditators. To have the ”totality of our tradition accessible means to have people who live that tradition. It's not enough to have books; like in Fahrenheit Fahrenheit 451, you need people who are living books. For every form of Tibetan practice he needs a living being that practices it.” But now, like the Jews, the Tibetans faced the dilemma of restoration versus renewal, namely choosing ”which tools to keep and preserve.” 451, you need people who are living books. For every form of Tibetan practice he needs a living being that practices it.” But now, like the Jews, the Tibetans faced the dilemma of restoration versus renewal, namely choosing ”which tools to keep and preserve.”

So Zalman had a second question to relay through Sautman.

”As the question of diaspora comes up for him, there is a sorting out of what is local and belongs to Tibet and what is global. I would like to know what he bases his discrimination on. This is our question in some ways too.”

Sautman was getting more than he could hope to communicate to the Dalai Lama in a brief interview. He looked around the table-”If someone could write up these points...” Zalman's prolixity revived his concern about the dialogue, which was the same as Marc Lieberman's. He cautioned us that the Dalai Lama ”always sees himself as the lowest person in the room. So it's important when you conclude your presentations to think of ways to bring His Holiness into the dialogue. I'm not saying he's shy. But you have to bring his partic.i.p.ation in. It's very important.”

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