This week’s parsha (Torah chapter) is from the first book of the Torah, Genesis or Bereishit which is usually translated as, “In the Beginning.” It involves the famous story of Noah’s Ark. The story says that Noah was the only righteous man in a corrupted world. He is told by G-d to make an ark because there will be a flood that is going to destroy everything on earth except Noah and his family. Noah is then commanded to bring two members of each animal species (a male and female) into the ark.

After 365 days, a year of living on the ark, the water subsides and Noah is commanded to go onto dry land, G-d establishes a covenant with every living creature that there will never again be a flood to destroy the earth. A sign was sent to symbolize this covenant: “and it shall come to pass, when a cloud is brought over the earth…the rainbow shall be in the cloud.”

I’d like to take a moment to reflect on that idea, because there is a very special message here that resonated for me: the power of finding the beauty within the storm. Sometimes you may feel like the world as you know it is ending, or everything that you have been working towards is suddenly destroyed right before your eyes. For example, a career path or a personal relationship that you’ve been working towards suddenly crashes and burns. But instead of allowing that destruction to overcome you, the message here is to find the beauty within the storm. Meaning to use the storm as a real opportunity to check in with yourself and maybe find new direction.

I know for me, I often feel devastated when things don’t go my way. The example that comes up for me is when all of my efforts towards living and surfing in LA while studying to become an attorney were destroyed after I failed the California bar exam. However, after being devastated, I realized that it really wasn’t the direction I wanted to be going in, and I was free to pursue something else that I was passionate about like teaching yoga.

The Hebrew word for ark is tevah, also means “word.”  According to the Baal Shem Tov, G-d’s commandment to Noah to build and enter the ark can also be interpreted as “enter within the words of prayer and Torah study. Here you will find a sanctuary of wisdom, meaning and holiness amidst the raging floodwaters of life.”

Another rabbi describes the flood as a cleansing process where the waters spiritually cleanse the waste that tends to accumulate throughout our life’s endeavors. Here with the flood, the world received a spiritual cleansing or redirection. In all adversity there is both opportunity and positivity. It may not always be apparent – even when we look for it. But it is there.

Every moment is a doorway for entry; a chance to let go of things that are no longer serving us, to release stagnant energy, to stop and just breathe. When we find ourselves confused by feelings or overwhelmed by a “flood” of negative thoughts, perhaps we can shift our perspective and instead use the frustration or storminess as an opportunity to “enter our own ark” and let the turbulent waters of everyday life settle so that we can see with more clarity and feel calmer moving forward.

This is what the practice of meditation is all about for me – creating a sacred space to just feel whatever it is I am feeling without any judgment or criticism. Noticing what the quality of my breath is, not trying so hard to fight it or change it all the time but just observe the breath, listen to the flow of the breath – dive into that ocean that exists inside of us and practice being fully present in the moment. It is such a gift to give yourself the space to just be and breathe into whatever it is that you are feeling in the moment and know that it is okay.

This week, in honor of the story of Noah, take some time to explore what it might mean to you to “enter your ark.” What is standing in your way of creating that space for yourself? What do you need to make it happen?

This week’s Torah portion, Tazria, explains that during specific periods in a person’s life,
she or he must spend time in physical seclusion, truly alone, in order to return physically and
spiritually to a balanced state of being; once a person returns to this place of balance, she is
then ready to return to the welcoming arms of the community. Tazria begins with a discussion
of the seclusion and purification period that women were required to go through after giving
birth. Yet the majority of the portion discusses the mandated period of isolation that had to be
undertaken by a person stricken with tzara’at, a disease usually translated as leprosy. People
who developed physical symptoms associated with this disease, such as patches of white hair and
scaly discolored skin, had to report to the Priest, Aaron, or to one of his sons, and if the diagnosis
of tzara’at was confirmed, the prescribed treatment was immediate isolation. Yet interestingly,
according to many commentators, tzara’at was not leprosy at all, but actually a kind of spiritual
disorder or confusion, and one of the ways in which this spiritual disordering manifested was as
physical symptoms.

When I first started reading Tazria, I initially felt disappointed- what did leprosy have to do
with my life in 2011 and the lives of the people I know? But the commentaries, in describing
tzara’at in spiritual terms, provided me with an entry point, a way to connect. Commentary after
commentary discussed spiritual affliction and the ways in which seclusion, silence, time alone,
can and do provide an essential part of the answer to healing oneself and one’s soul. I started
to think, what helps me when I feel confused, conflicted, in a state of imbalance? In our day-to-
day lives, we speak and interact constantly, and often, in auto-pilot mode, I immediately turn to
friends and family when I am in need of support. But then, at some point, I realize that it is time
once again to turn to myself for answers, or at least for more specific questions. Basically, it is
time to sit again, to do the inner work that only I can do for myself.

And why do I do it? When something is not quite right internally and I am not tending to
myself, I find that my interactions are often not quite right as well. Maybe this is why the Torah
mandated such periods of seclusion. A state of spiritual confusion that goes undiagnosed and
untended often harms more than just the afflicted person; members of the community may suffer
as well, a kind of spiritual second-hand smoke. So I attempt to return to my breath and see what
arises, because sitting here is about much more than I initially understood: it is about offering up
my own attempts at inner healing in an effort to bring more balance to my interactions and to the
lives with which my own life is intertwined.

Those afflicted with tzara’at were required to seclude themselves in order to heal themselves,
but those who meditate are, admirably, choosing to do so through meditation. When you are
about to meditate or during a meditation session, you might consider why have you chosen the
silence and internal seclusion of meditation at and in that moment. How does the seclusion heal
you or re-balance you?

This week’s Torah portion, Sh’mini, begins on the eighth day of the consecration of
the tabernacle (or mishkan) which is the traveling dwelling place for God’s presence.
Moses summons Aaron, his sons, and the elders of Israel and instructs them on the varied
offerings they will be bringing before God with the hope of God revealing him/herself.
Once the sacrifices were complete to the precise order of God, the people were then
bestowed with the sight of “God’s glory.” After the offering, God tells Moses and Aaron
to inform the children of Israel of the laws of kashrut or being kosher. The requirements
for edible mammals include having split hooves and being able to chew their own cud.
Animals who have just one of the two requirements are deemed non-kosher such as
the pig, which is clearly the one that gets the most non-kosher attention in the Jewish
community. The pig is also the only one indicated in the torah who has the split hooves
but does not chew its own cud. From the outside the pig can pass as a seemingly kosher
animal; however, its inner process does not match what is visible to the world. This
concept reminds me of discussions had around Purim and the concept of going through
life wearing masks or presenting a face to the world that may not match our own inner
being.

Perhaps you had a day at work that required you to put on a persona that you do not feel
matches who you really are. Or maybe you had to schmooze with people that required
a lot of external focus and you have yet to check in with yourself and your breath today.
Wherever you are, I invite you to center yourself by bringing your attention back to
the very thing that sustains you; your breath. For the first sit I would like to offer the
kavannah, or intention, of using your breath as a vehicle to leave the masks aside and
draw your attention to your inner self.

The parsha goes on to talk about the laws of ritual purity which include the purifying
power of the mikvah or pool of water. Rabbi David Cooper says in his book God is
a Verb, “Mastery in purity comes through contemplation.” Rabbi Cooper goes on
to describe the goal of purity within spiritual or contemplative practice as being “to
minimize or eliminate thoughts that cause inner conflict.”

Reduction in inner conflict has been one of the greatest benefits I have found for myself
within my own meditation practice. Friends of mine will often hear me talk about making
a big decision and say “I need to meditate on it”. Meditation has been a source of quiet
and calm in my own thinking and has helped purify my opinions, feelings and desires and
weed out external factors that can muddle my decision-making ability. There are many
factors we take into account when making decisions or determining our own feelings,
some of which are largely unimportant to the matter at hand. We often get swept away in
the “coulds”, “shoulds” and “woulds” of our mind’s dialogue which often contributes to
our impurity of thought thus bringing us distress.

I would like to invite you to take a step in bringing this “purity” to your own practice.

Bring your attention to your breath, and when your mind inevitably wanders, observe
your thoughts or feelings (however “pure” or “unpure”) without judging them. Gently
bring your attention back to your breath. In the first sit, I offered the intention of
using the breath to tune in to your inner self. In this next sit try and let the “coulds”
and “shoulds” be replaced with the practice of returning to the breath so as to breathe
purity into your inner process.

In That’s Funny, You Don’t Look Buddhist: On Being a Faithful Jew and Passionate Buddhist, by Sylvia Boorstein, there’s a part about how when first teaching meditation for Rabbis, Sylvia was really concerned about having Buddha statues in the meditation room and spent a lot of time and energy figuring out how to cover or hide them. At one point, she realizes that it’s really her own trip, that most people don’t care, and her anguish about what to do with the buddhas is kind of unfounded. When we began sharing space with the Brooklyn Zen Center, hosting weekly Jewish meditation sits and events, and welcoming guest teachers, I thought a lot about this section in the book.

My initial response to the question of what to do with the buddhas was that if people are annoyed, uncomfortable, or frustrated by their presence, then that could be part of their practice- inquiring within themselves what it is that is sparking those feelings, where they come from, and how to sit with them. It’s like when we talk about how you sit in meditation when your leg hurts: there are different ways of dealing with pain- for example, using the pain, itself, as your practice, but you could also just stretch your leg and not have pain in that moment. One of the Zen Center Directors suggested we go with the latter route and just put up a shoji screen to cover the big Buddha, which is a much more sensitive approach than what I was thinking, so that’s what we did.

This worked fine for a while, but then we realized that on Tuesday mornings, it was almost painful to block the sun streaming in from the windows with the screen up, so we stopped using the screen, and instead moved the big Buddha. Problem solved! (We thought). Then it was brought to my attention that there might be some discomfort about not covering the altar that the Buddha was sitting on (without the Buddha statue, there is a vase of flowers, a candle, incense, etc). Here’s what I think: objects hold the power that we ascribe to them. Not all sculptures are idols, not all tables are altars. Sometimes idols are just statues and altars are just tables. To me, the buddhas are statues that represent, not necessarily the Buddha, himself, but the idea of buddhanature, our own capacity to be a buddha, enlightened, awake, a mensch in the present moment, really.

My neighborhood in Brooklyn is full of statues of saints, Jesus, and Mary; statues are all over the place, and I kind of like it. No one is worshipping these statues, I certainly am not, they might spark strong feelings and evoke emotions about Catholicism and Christianity, but I just consider them neighbors and representatives of qualities that I think are good reminders to be kind, loving, supportive, and helpful. I view the buddhas in the same way, but I know it’s different to be walking around outside with these statues compared to sitting near them in meditation or prayer. I hope that if the stray buddha statues in the meditation room are a source of discomfort, that frustration can be transformed into questioning- a little less messy and fueled by fear or anger, and can then become a source of great insight and introspection, helping each of us on our way to waking up, “enlightening up,” and opening our hearts and minds.

So I’m a bit jet-lagged and hope this all makes sense.

During last night’s sit, we went through a guided meditation and were told to examine, and hold, our current feeling. Mine, unfortunately, was anger. I was angry that I had let one person get to me during my vacation. I was staying in a lovely ocean-side house with my partner and ten other people, so there was bound to be some sort of conflict. But I was hoping that my new meditation practice would make me immune from any discord: I was wrong.

The week-long trip was great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s hard when one person comes into a house and so dominates the setting. It put me right back in to being a teenager, when you’d go on a field trip, or conference, and the “cool kids” would make the others feel, well, less cool.

Back in those days, I would just pick up a book or go with my friends to another place. I really could’ve cared less about those people then but those people’s actions still made me angry and drove me away. But now, with my meditation practice and greater self awareness, I wanted to try to face up to my feelings of anger and, let’s be honest, fear. So I engaged this person, talked to her as much as possible, even laughed at her jokes that were not funny. All this to make ME feel better? Hm…

I had some limited success, but still came away with a lot of bitterness that I wish didn’t have to appear.

I was speaking with Yael before our sit last night and she was saying that people who make you confront your feelings are gifts. I definitely agree with that and had tried to use this person as a teacher, someone to help me deal with feelings I’ve had for a long time. So every day, for at least 20 minutes, I meditated on vacation, trying to use feelings of sun on my face and wind on my clothes to drive away my strong thoughts. That technique worked for awhile, but once I saw the trigger person for my anger, the feelings flooded back.

Only since coming back to New York have I realized, well more so remembered, that just because I have certain thoughts doesn’t mean that they’re real. This sounds basic, but it took some reflection for me to get to this point: that when someone triggers hurt, anger or fear in me, that doesn’t mean I’m a helpless, angry or scared person.

I’m definitely trying harder to have less judgment and attachment to my feelings, and this was, is, a great lesson in that. That doesn’t mean I’ve learned my lesson or that I will every firmly conquer my attachment to my feelings, but I’ve yet again been reminded that it is “ok” to have, and sit with, certain feelings.

Just read this article, by Tim Kreider, in the NYTimes Happy Days column.  The author writes about how he realized that he actually enjoyed being angry

A couple of years ago, while meditating, I learned something kind of embarrassing: anger feels good. Although we may consciously experience it as upsetting, somatically it feels a lot like the first rush of an opiate — a tingling warmth on the insides of your elbows and wrists, in the back of your knees. Realizing that anger was a physical pleasure explained some of the perverse obstinancy with which my mind kept returning to it despite the fact that, intellectually, I knew it was pointless self-torture.

and how that realization shifted his awareness and his reactions. I love how Kreider doesn’t treat this superficially and was careful to explain carefully and clearly that he’s not advocating the end of anger, he’s pushing for a deeper exploration of that anger and how there is a difference between feeling anger and allowing anger to transform us (instead of cultivating a life based around care, compassion, and justice, for example):

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that all outrage is inherently irrational, that we should all just calm down, that It’s All Good. All is not good. The kind of piety that would have a schoolteacher whipped deserves to be mocked and vilified. My reasons for despising the Bush administration were sane and moral and patriotic. Outrage is healthy to the extent that it causes us to act against injustice…

And it occurred to me that one reason we rush so quickly to the vulgar satisfactions of judgment, and love to revel in our righteous outrage, is that it spares us the impotent pain of empathy, and the harder, messier work of understanding.

I think that last point, which is the end of the column, has stuck with me today, because I love the recognition that understanding is difficult and the practice is messy and empathy can cause us to suffer.  It feels easier to get distracted by anger, to put up walls of hate and disgust, disconnect ourselves from the complexities of reality, and hold on to our own fears.  By holding on to anger, which can feel good, as the article discusses, we distance ourselves from other people. When we distance ourselves, we disconnect ourselves from humanity, and when we are disconnected, we are lost, we are angry, and we’re usually in pain.  Fortunately, when we let ourselves fully explore our feelings, when we realize that we like the anger, that putting up walls sometimes feels good, those walls and that anger start disintegrating. Our disconnection fades into a larger perspective, and we don’t hold on as tightly to our anger and our fear.  When our grip loosens, we’re able to hold much more.  When we let go of judgements, we open ourselves up to ourselves, others, and happiness.