I’ve been reading a lot about Haiti today. In grad school I took a few classes focused on international poverty, and Haiti was always the textbook example of political, social, environmental, and economic turmoil. One day I was waiting for a friend in a cafe and studying water infrastructure in Haiti, completely unable to imagine the level of poverty that I was reading about. My friend walked in, asked me what I wanted to order, and i just looked up blankly and said “can you imagine not having enough resources to get a bucket to get water that you can’t afford?” And then we moved on to drinking coffee and gossiping. This is the way it goes, right? Suffering is often too difficult to grasp. When it’s far away, we can easily put it aside and return to our daily life. Reading about the earthquake and victims in Haiti reminded me of my own forgetfulness about suffering in the world. It also reminded me about why I meditate.

I was having an existential crisis a few years ago and a relative said to me “Ali, you always feel like the world is on your shoulders!” The reality is that I have always felt that way. For most of my life, I’ve felt solely responsible for the world, completely devastated when things don’t happen the way I think they should, and paralyzed by my inability to fix it all. I’ve asked many teachers about how to go on working for change, knowing that you might not make any difference. I’ve gotten lots of different answers, the consensus seems to be that this is just what you do. You have to have faith that you can make a difference, that the world can be healed and perfected, at the same time as realizing that the world has always been broken, may always be broken, and probably will stay that way at least for your lifetime.

Holding it all, living within this contradiction feels impossible, and maybe it is. It seems to be the only way to go, though. The world is on each of our shoulders. We are all responsible for ourselves and one another. When we practice, especially as a community, this interconnection is tangible. Sitting quietly, listening to our own breath and the sounds of others breathing, shifting in their seats, hearing the cacophony of Brooklyn outside the window, it’s impossible to feel isolated. Meditation may seem like an individual practice, but when you feel connected to your source, to divinity, there’s no disconnection between you and every other being in the world. Within that, I think, is the strength to keep working to heal the world, holding suffering along with hope, becoming our best selves and creating the world we want to live in.

Help Haiti by clicking HERE for a list of organizations providing relief to victims.

I also really like Jeff Roth’s explanation of what makes his meditation practice Jewish: “One thing that defines my practice as Jewish is that my object of focus is always God, in one form or another…”

I think that this intention or aspiration is important. Some people use meditation as a tool to find relaxation and stress relief, and I think that will happen regardless of what sort of meditation practice you use or subscribe to, just breathing deeply and paying attention will bring relaxation, stillness, and calm. My goal is personal transformation, leading to community and global transformation.

What makes my meditation practice Jewish is that I’m cultivating Tikkun Olam- from the inside out.

Last winter, after learning and meditating on the concept of g’milut hasadim (acts of loving kindness), and reading a lot of old rebbe stories where God or an angel is always dressed as a beggar, I decided to make giving tzedakah (charity) to people who ask part of my practice. It’s difficult and challenging every day, because I always made a point of not giving money, but giving food or donating to charity to make panhandling less attractive (and lucrative) and because who knows where the money’s going.

But when I decided to make this a practice, those reasons didn’t really matter anymore. I thought, who cares where the money’s going, that’s not really what this is about- this is about an exchange of coins, yes, but also eye contact, physical contact, humanity in some way. I can hear dissenters saying this is totally selfish, that this isn’t true tzedekah, and really, whatever. Yeah, I am getting something out of it, and that’s okay, maybe it’s more than okay, maybe it’s good.

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