Powerful Punches, Powerful prayers

In my Tae Kwon Do practice, we are taught to put tremendous energy and force into every move. Each block, kick, or punch must not only be executed correctly, but it must also harness energy from our core (hips, back, stomach) so that it delivers significant force. Since people of all ages and sizes practice Tae Kwon Do, the question of how to develop that force is an important one. If you recall your high school physics, the equation for force is F=MA, force equals the product of mass and acceleration. In layman’s terms, two components affect the force of any strike, the size of the object and how fast it its going. Consider your fist. It is not that big, really. If you strike someone very slowly, they will barely feel it. The small size of the fist multiplied by the slow movement will not deliver a significant amount of force. If my fist was much bigger, say the size of a boulder, the rate of acceleration would not matter. A slow moving boulder still delivers a devastating amount of force. For a small pebble to equal that force it has to move at a much higher rate of acceleration.

My fist has a constant mass. In order for it to deliver a powerful blow, it must be moving very fast. I only have so much muscle and so much power in my arms, so to increase the power of my punch I have to begin the movement from my center, move through the distance to the target at an elevated speed, and at the very last moment, rotate my fist in order to fully maximize the acceleration. In addition to these mechanics, when throwing a TKD punch, we make a sharp and loud noise (kee-hup) just as we are about to strike the target. This shout serves several purposes – distracting the opponent, intimidating him/her, focusing our attention – including a brief, but important additional measure of energy in the movement. All of these efforts combine to make my small fist a potentially upsetting force.

As you become a more advanced student, the expectation is that you will become an increasingly powerful fighter, capable of overwhelming power in each and every move.

In my Jewish practice, I teach my students to put tremendous energy and meaning into each and every word of the tefillot (worship) and action of the mitzvot (commandments). Each individual word is small, and has a constant capacity. The force and effectiveness of a person’s prayer is necessarily the product of the energy they put into these words and actions. Like a well-thrown punch, a well prayed word gets nearly all of its energy and power, not from some external force, but from the core of the person who is praying. If you deliver the words with very little intention/kavanah (acceleration), they will be anemic and unable to affect the target at all. The words must be accompanied by intense focus, vocal clarity, precision mechanics, and a spiritual kee-hup.

Like Tae Kwon Do, as we become more advanced in our prayer practice, we must keep the expectation high, and strive to be increasingly powerful warriors of the spirit, capable of overwhelming depth and meaning in each and every word we say. This capacity does not come from the siddur (prayer book), or from any other external place. It must come from within, and be delivered to God with every measure of strength we have.

9/11 - Vigilance and Liberty

“Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.”

There is some scholarly debate about who uttered these now famous words. Some say it was Thomas Jefferson, others say Ida Wells, others still say John Philpot Curran. It was used in a speech by Wendell Phillips and in the farewell address of Andrew Jackson. Regardless of the orator, as we approach the anniversary of 9/11, this profound sentiment is my memorial meditation. There is so much emotion wrapped up with the commemoration of the attacks that day - anger, fear, sadness, resolve, uncertainty and more. I still remember vividly how I felt as a rabbi and a New Yorker when my wife and I watched the tragedy unfold on the news with our newborn daughter in hand.

Yom Kippur that year was difficult for all of us in NYC, and though time has helped to soften the wounds, time must not soften our resolve as Jews, as Americans, as patriots, and as members of the human family as Yom Kippur approaches this year.

Often, when people talk about 9/11 they infuse their conversation with inflammatory and emotional rhetoric. They seek to promote a particular political, social, religious or military agenda, and in doing so they dilute what I believe are the lasting and important resolutions we must make to honor the immensity of the loss.

The above quote reminds me that the purpose of our country and all of its immeasurable sacrifices is nothing if not freedom and liberty. To the extent that our commemorations rededicate us to this immutable foundation, I believe they will properly give the events of 9/11 their due tribute. No matter what our politics or religion, if we neglect to defend and honor freedom and liberty, if we are complacent about promoting liberty, if we give up our freedom too easily to secure a limited measure of security and a feeling of safety, then I believe we are dishonoring those who lost their lives.

Equally true, I believe is the undeniable responsibility that 9/11 places on our shoulders. If we remain indifferent to the real threats that challenge our freedoms, if we do not defend our country from all enemies – foreign and domestic – if we fail to secure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and future generations, then we are unworthy of the sacrifice and the devotion that our fellow citizens give to ensure our life and liberty.

This is not a political diatribe, and I am not promoting any particular political or legislative agenda. Please don’t read it to support your own personal politics. Our commemoration  must be for all Americans, indeed for all people of every religion, creed, and country. For liberty knows no borders, and it is the right of all people to be free.

Vigilance must be our method, and freedom must be our purpose. To sacrifice freedom for the sake of vigilance, or to let down our guard for the ease of liberty; both of these failures would be a strong indictment of our republic and our ability to learn from past lessons.

May the memories of those lost be a blessing. May God grant us with strength, and bless us with peace.

A Second Litany for The High Holy Days - For The Mitzvah Which We Have Fulfilled

It can get a little heavy. The High Holy Days are with us, and though they are filled with joyful celebration, and family reunions, the themes of this time of year are intense. In Hebrew we call them “Yamim Nora’im” – Days of Awe. I love this intensity. It makes me feel alive. But must admit that it can weigh on my shoulders a bit, and I sometimes find myself looking for a little relief from all of the chest pounding and talk of kings and judgement.

Don’t get me wrong, I believe we need to experience this kind of introspective evaluation. All of us, young and old alike, must from time to time delve into our spiritual life with a critical eye, and even say “For the sin which we have sinned . . .” We need to ask the hard questions of ourselves, and even to seek God’s forgiveness and the forgiveness of our friends and family. Perhaps we even crave this kind of intense experience, and know that it is good for us, even though it is difficult.

Still, a spoonful of sugar can help even the most bitter medicine go down a bit more easily. This year in addition to focusing on the errors we have made, and the shortcomings that trip us up and keep us from becoming our best selves, I suggest we create a litany of positive accomplishments also. While we beat our chest, and say “For the sin which we have sinned . . .” lets also open our arms and list the many good and noble efforts we have made. Lets add to our prayer experience a second litany, “For the mitzvah which we have fulfilled . . .” Lets not forget that just as we seek to minimize the failures in the year to come, we must also strengthen and increase the successes. Removing from our lives the things we have done wrong is not enough. We must also develop our better selves and increase the tikkun – the repair which we are capable of delivering to our community and to the entire world.

These truly are the Days of Awe. Let them also be the Days of Celebration as we strive to become the person God wants us to be. If you are coming to SI for the holidays, I look forward to seeing you and reconnecting. If you will be elsewhere, let me wish you,

Shanah Tovah.

Have You Ever . . . You Could . . .

Have you ever . . .

·        Felt lost while praying?

·        Checked the time on your cell phone during services?

·        Gossiped or shared small talk at synagogue?

·        Brought the newspaper or a magazine with you?

·        Allowed others to engage you in conversation while standing in prayer?

·        Left shul feeling like you had not done anything?

·        Come to shul in a bad mood, or feeling stubborn?

Our experiences in tefillah shape us and create spiritual patterns that make us in their image. And we, and everything we bring with us, shapes our prayer experiences.

You could . . .

·        Let go of the lost feeling, and accept whatever level you are at as true and good.

·        Leave your cell phone at home.

·        Commit to davening and save the conversation for kiddush.

·        Open the siddur, and do your best to follow along for the entire service.

·        Be polite, but firm and let people know you have come to pray.

·        Feel good about the tefillot you experienced, and not focus on what you didn’t do.

·        Shake off the bad mood, and open your heart to God.

Be careful what you bring with you, and be careful what you do when you come to pray in synagogue or elsewhere, for these are the things that will define your tefillot. And your tefillot will define you.

What Mountain Climbing and NASA Can Teach Us About Boston

I don’t usually write about current events on this blog. My main purpose is to write about prayer and creativity, and how we learn these things. But I have been taken by a few of the more common reactions to the murderous attacks in Boston last week, and feel like the Davenology approach can perhaps offer some insight into moving forward.

One of the things I heard in the immediate aftermath was a comparison to Israel. It happened that marathon day and Israel Independence Day coincided, and many of my colleagues and friends noted that with this occasion, America had a taste of what Israel lives with in every day life. Random acts of terrorism are not foreign to Israelis and they come to all such public events with a profound awareness of the potential for a large gathering to be seen as a soft target for terrorists.

The other thing I heard a lot of was an expression of fear and a sense that people’s feelings of safety had been shattered. “I don’t feel safe anymore.” Hearing both of these tropes over and over I began to really question why they were so pervasive. I felt when I heard people say that they did not “feel” safe, that there is an important distinction between feeling safe and actually being safe. In truth, we were actually no safer the day before the marathon than after, but the attack changed the way people felt, not the truth of how we live.

All of this brought me back thirty plus years to the summer of 1982 when I spent a summer volunteering in the Israeli town of S’derot. S’derot is not a remarkable town, except for its proximity to Gaza and its status as a popular target for rocket attacks from Palestinian terrorists. If it were not for the sheer number of these attacks, most people would not have ever heard of S’derot. It has a small population, and when I went there it was even smaller. But S’derot is the sister city of Rochester, NY where I grew up, and our Jewish Federation has a long relationship with it. In 1982, together with a high school friend, I volunteered to work at the municipal summer day camp for children located at the community swimming pool in the center of town.

Looking back on it, we were in a bit over our heads. Most of the other counselors at the summer camp were young female soldiers, fulfilling their army service through the education and service corp. We were the only Americans working there; in fact we were the only Americans in S’derot that summer. Our Hebrew was okay, but not great, and we were a long way from the shelter and comfort of our upstate homes.

On the first day of orientation for the staff, a soldier came to make a presentation to raise awareness of the threats that existed for the camp. In the years prior to the tightening of border defense with Gaza, infiltration was far more common than rocket fire, and terrorists used explosive devices placed in person to create fear and destruction. The soldier showed us various different ways that the terrorists constructed and hid bombs in order to make them as devastating as possible. Among all of the different methods, one stood out to me and shocked me out of my naiveté. He held up a little toy doll that had been used to disguise a shrapnel-filled bomb.

Wow. This was incredible. Who would so such a thing? A doll? What little kid would not pick up a doll? It was hard to understand that this was the reality with which the residents of S’derot lived. But surprisingly, I did not feel any more threatened or any less safe than I had before. His explanation and his devotion to helping others be aware of and prepared for the actual threat had not heightened my discomfort or anxiety. Instead, I simply felt a little more prepared to do my job and take care of the young children of my summer hometown.

Skip ahead to Boston 2013.

We all know that the threat is real, and we all know that large gatherings like a sporting event or a synagogue present a soft target for people determined to harm and sow terror and fear. That is why they check your bag at the ball game. That is why synagogues have armed police officers at services, and that is why the local and federal officials use bomb-sniffing dogs to check the route of the marathon before the race starts. Knowing the risks and being aware of how they might play out is an essential part of living and surviving in a dangerous world.

I am currently reading a fascinating book that on its surface seems to have little to do with Arab terrorism in Israel, or domestic terrorism in Boston. The book, titled Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzales is subtitled Who Lives, Who Dies and Why, and this is essentially what he writes about. The culmination of years of research, Gonzales looks at wilderness survival stories and tries to understand why some people survive seemingly unsurvivable events, and why others die in circumstances where others live. In one of the chapters, he tells the story of four amateur hikers who attempt a climb up Mt. Hood in Oregon. This is not a beginner’s hike, but these untrained men were convinced that it was easy enough for them to do it, and they had a safety plan that gave them the confident illusion that they could handle whatever came their way.

Unfortunately, the very thing that makes you rich sometimes makes you poor, and when the men found themselves hanging, literally from a rope, tied to each other, the over protective safety plan they had developed ended up bringing them down together with two other climbers from another party, and sending them all to their death in an icy crevice. Like many dangerous situations, their willful ignorance of the risk, and their overblown reaction to that risk, only served to increase the danger and their susceptibility to it.

In the US, I believe, we have also reacted to the very real danger of terrorism and crime in an overblown way. The Patriot Act, the rush to institute extensive gun control, take off your shoes in the airport, spy drones and more all in response to what is a very small likelihood of being harmed in an act of mass violence or terrorism. Gonzales demonstrates that the climbers would have been safer (though would have FELT less safe) had they tried to descend the mountain with no safety measures at all. Citing two scientists – Charles Perrow and Per Bak – Gonzales insightfully relates how complex systems and layers of safety efforts do not remove the inherent nature of complex activities.

Perhaps those men should never have even attempted the climb. In hindsight we can easily say they were foolish. But thousands of people climb Mt. Hood each year, and there is a very small, but regular and predictable number of deaths each year. While none of us has to climb mountains for recreation, and it is perhaps best left to well-trained experts, all of us have “mountains” in life that we must climb if we are to live meaningful and significant lives. If we are to do anything worthwhile in life, we must acknowledge an ancient truth and wisdom, that human beings are complex and that the systems of community and society that we create are also complex. And that in complex systems, accidents, harm, and tragedy are inherent parts of the experience.

Of course most accidents are small, giving us the false impression that all accidents can be survived. Gonzales compares the Mt. Hood accident to the devastating destruction of the two space shuttles -- Challenger and Columbia. Space travel is probably the most complex and dangerous of all human endeavors. The various shuttles flew hundreds of missions, and something small failed or malfunctioned on nearly every one of those trips. But most of these failures were manageable and never rose to the level of tipping point crisis. But there was always the chance that this mission would be the one. Every astronaut knows that these risks are present and yet they not only want to go, they fight and dedicate tremendous personal sacrifice to go.

Feeling safe is not the same as being safe. To feel safe we must close our eyes and pretend that the real dangers do not exist or else we must simply never attempt to do anything of meaning or significance -- never fly, never run in a race, never swim in the municipal pool, never shoot a gun, never climb a “mountain,” or ride a bike. To be safe, however, requires that we open our eyes, recognize the dangers, understand them and prepare ourselves mentally and physically to meet them when they come.

We all deserve to live without fear, but that is not the same as living without danger. Fear can only be overcome through knowledge and training. Danger is an inherent part of God’s incredible world. This risk and this complexity is likely what gave life to the world in the first place.

Reacting is not the same as responding. Reaction leads to misguided attempts to create complex safety systems that only give the illusion of safety, and likely creates new pathways for dangerous accidents to happen.

Gonzales points out that the very best minds in every field of science will scour the details of the shuttle accidents for lessons to use in the future, and will recommend new safety protocols for NASA, but that none of these will actually eliminate the danger of space travel and that some of them may actually be responsible for future malfunction and disaster.

Responding is what makes us human. The capacity to choose, the ability to recognize and prepare for what lies ahead gives us hope and allows us not only to be safer, but as a result of our honest assessment and our eyes wide open awareness to live a full and meaningful life free of fear, and driven towards great accomplishments.

Martial Judaism: A Different Kind Of Passover Preparation

In Tae Kwon Do class today, we spent about fifteen minutes learning some close quarter self-defense techniques that use your legs, and no hands. Well aimed and strategically targeted blows to the feet, legs, and knees of the opponent, and even a few techniques to use if you are on the ground and the opponent is standing. We don’t do a lot of explicit self defense training in my dojang. Mostly we concentrate on poomse (a series of choreographed punches, kicks and blocks) and World Tae Kwon Do Federation sparring. But on occasion, Master Mast teaches some digestible and straightforward techniques that almost anyone can master to give you an advantage, or an opportunity to escape if confronted with disparate force.

After class, I was talking with one of the other Jewish students in the class, and I mentioned that I really want to find an additional day each week to come at train at the dojang. My practice keeps getting better, and I feel that I would benefit greatly from another weekly session. She said that the hour she spends in Tae Kwon Do class is one of the rare moments each week when she feels truly great and free from all the stresses and demands of daily work life. I agreed and added that as a non-profit professional I am usually giving to others. But in Tae Kwon Do I feel like I am the recipient. As a rabbi and an educator, I am usually teaching, but in Tae Kwon Do I am a student. I commented how good it is for my mind to be a student and a receiver of wisdom. She added, and good for the body too.

Her comment raised for me something I have been feeling ever since I began my Tae Kwon Do practice. For all the wonder, intellectual stimulation, learning and prayer of Jewish living, there is really something missing. Our Judaism is, for the most part disembodied. We have no martial tradition that parallels the spiritual, and so much of our Jewish experiences are neck up only. Even Passover with all of its culinary symbolic gestures is mostly about what these foods make us think about. Its all pretty heady really.

More and more, I feel that Judaism sorely needs a set of physical disciplines to complete its wholistic mission. I don’t know exactly what that would look like, and we had a short conversation about how to create authentic Jewish martial practices. We remarked how any new ritual or discipline would potentially be meaningful to us as individuals, but that it would take time, perhaps even generations, for us to evaluate what stuck and what lacked that authentic “Jewishness” that would make it meaningful for us as a community and a people.

By that time, Master Mast and another student had joined the conversation, and I was saying how I wanted to teach some martial arts as part of the prayer curriculum at summer camp this coming June. And I recalled to them the passage that we read each Passover, the Torah’s account of the Israelites preparations for the exodus.

Now, anyone familiar with Passover preparations knows that among the extensive cleaning and preparing, a lot of the prep work mirrors the early Israelites' preparations before leaving Egypt more than 3000 years ago. We make horseradish (homemade is definitely best) because they brought bitter herbs with them. We eat matzah because they prepared only urgent bread as they fled Egypt. I pointed out that among the details the Torah gives for the Israelites preparations is that the they left Egypt armed (Exodus 13:18). You don’t hear this a lot. Not a lot of rabbis preach about it, and I think it makes a lot of modern Jews uncomfortable. Raised on generations of thinking of ourselves as victims and persecuted, we have embraced the victim status and even enjoy being seen as the weak but justified people. American Jews, having grown up in relative security and comfort, we emphasize the spiritual heritage of the desert – the Torah that prepared us to become a new nation and to inhabit the land of our ancestor Abraham.

But the Israelites did not only prepare for spiritual struggles. They prepared for battles of the real kind also, and left Egypt with weapons to defend themselves along the way. In a short hallway homily at the Tae Kwon Do studio, I taught a little Torah. We left Egypt, prepared to encounter God at Sinai, but we also left prepared to encounter Egypt and Amalek. My friend added that perhaps this is how we should leave our homes every day; armed with spiritual guidance to confront the temptations and failures that challenge our spirit, but also prepared with, and ready to use, our martial forces to confront the real and present dangers that threaten our body and our peace.

Master Mast nodded and said that is the Tae Kwon Do way – to be peaceful, but to be prepared. The Children of Israel left Egypt armed, ready for a fight, but not looking for a fight. Knowing how to defend yourself does not make you aggressive, and being armed, contrary to the knee jerk reaction of the TV news, does not make you want to kill someone. Being prepared gives you confidence and peace of body as you find your way through the desert and the dangerous places on your way to receive Torah and wisdom for the mind and heart.

When is the Race Won?

I often like to begin a discussion of tefillah* with a simple question that almost anyone of any age can understand. I stay away from all the specific questions about what a particular poem or prayer means to you, and leave till later questions about God and belief, and instead just ask: “When is the race won? At the beginning? In the middle? Or at the end?

It is a simple question, and it is the kind of simple question whose simplicity masks a more probative quality. Of course there is no right answer to such a question. Instead, it is the kind of question that asks us to engage with each possible response and explore each one to see if and how it might be true.

So, when is the race won?

Well, we could say that it is clearly won at the beginning. Consider that the greatest concentration is focused on the beginning. Runners and swimmers practice their starts over and over and over again, only to shave a few microseconds off this extraordinarily important part of the entire race. Drivers compete hard in qualifying heats, only to grab a sliver of an advantage with the pole position, and recognize that such an advantage can not easily be made up by the other drivers. Racers know that if you have a weak start, it is almost impossible to finish in the lead group. Races are won or lost in the first few milliseconds of the event, and the way we start our efforts often determines nearly everything about our experience.

Speed and power are the principle qualities that are more vital than any others. This is true in so many parts of life that we often fail to even notice it. But it has given rise to expressions like “you never get a second chance to make a first impression.” Every teacher, mentor, coach, or trainer knows that when a student shows up at the beginning of the lesson with a lousy attitude they are unlikely to turn it around during the practice, and finish differently than they were at the beginning. If you start behind, you end behind.

But….

We do not end the race immediately after the start. If everything hinged only on the beginning, there would be no point in even running the race. If how we leave the starting block determines whether we win or lose, why not simply end our run after the first few strides and declare a winner based on who is ahead after the runners reach their full stride? Of course, this is ridiculous, because we all know that leads change and change again during the middle of the race. While the start is crucial, it is not, in the end, determinative. Though you have a lot more to overcome when you begin poorly, nonetheless, you CAN overcome it. This is why every coach teaches their players to NEVER GIVE UP. In the middle of the race anything can happen. Fortunes change, injuries occur, new depths of perseverance emerge from the body of the effort, the heart of the struggle, and it is not only a good beginning, but the ability to translate that beginning into a lasting lead that really determines the victory.

Even from a raw emotional perspective, the middle of the race requires the greatest effort, and therefore induces that greatest number of failures. Everyone is excited at the beginning of the race. Every competitor steps into the starting line-up with their heart and chemistry pumping excitement and clarity and focus throughout their bodies. Nerves and muscles are on high alert, and there is practically no laziness at all. The same is true in the final push to the victory line when the end is in sight. In contrast, in the middle of the race, the runner must sustain and harness the energy necessary to maintain a winning pace against the relentless forces of inertia and decline. The racer has to withstand distractions, injuries, pains, and a wide range of body chemistry working to slow him down as the initial high of starting fades to the sluggish pull of gravity and fatigue. And there is also the ever present awareness of place. At the beginning, everyone is in the same place, and no one has or challenges the lead. There is no advantage and no need to make up lost ground or keep hold of position. But in the middle of the race, all of these challenges work to winnow the field of competitors, and it is in the full belly of the race that the racer must encounter and defeat these obstacles in order to win the race. In the depth of the conflict and the heart of the struggle the winners and losers are chosen, and perseverance, not only speed and power determine victory.
In our case, victory is not defined by a finish line, or a ribbon or a medal. In most spiritual practices the real "destination" is a life long process and progression. There is no "end" to an evolving practice of discovery. Still, the analogy to a race is an apt one for anyone seeking a creative spiritual practice. When we think of who wins the race, who is able to achieve what they set out to do, we must certainly, at some point think of the end. Though we are all in a process of improving our religious life, we do set goals for ourselves, experiences we wish to have that are the purpose of our prayer life or creative endeavor. Expression like "at the end of the day", or "in the end", or "the bottom line", "when all is said and done" all indicate something any competitive athlete knows deeply - there is only one statistic that matters. Who is ahead at the end of the game or race. Our competition in creative and spiritual matters is not with others. We are not trying to out-worship or out create anyone. Instead it is a race against all of our inner obstacles and assumptions, and monsters.

In order to succeed in developing these kinds of creative abilities, we must run hardest at the end of the race. Precisely when we have fallen into a steady pace, when we have gotten comfortable in our middle of the race assumptions and acumen, when we have gotten routine and lost the start-of-the-race youthful energy; precisely when we are beginning to tire of life's wonder and meaning, we grow by redoubling our inner efforts to strive for and enhance our goals and aspirations.

At the beginning of every journey there is a line. a moment when, whether we are aware of it or not, our energy shifted in favor of the journey and the race was begun. At the end of every race there is a line, a fictional border waiting to be crossed. A new beginning disguised as a destination. The race is really only won for a fleeting moment. Success depends on a strong beginning, middle, and end. As soon as one record is broken, we can continue to strive and reach and cross lines.

Ready, Set . . .





*for those of you who don’t recognize this word, it is Hebrew and is the word used for traditional prayer. In davenology, it does not carry the same sense as the English word prayer, which has a connotation of asking for something. In Hebrew, the word for this is bakashah and it is also one of the basic forms of jewish meditation. But tefillah, is a word that has an interesting linguistic shading to its meaning, and it connotes here the practice of Jewish recitation and meditation, that is the core canvas for my writings. It is also frequently used in the sense of self-discovery. This is because of its Hebrew grammar which is reflexive (to pray=l’hitpallel means to define oneself) and because it is, I believe the purpose of tefillah, namely to deepen our understanding of who we are, and to discover ourselves and our connections to the universe we inhabit.

What is Your Favorite Passover Food? And Why?

More than any other Jewish holy day, Pesach is deeply intertwined with food. The obvious reason is that the principle mitzvot of Pesach have to do with food. We are prohibited from eating chametz (leaven), and obligated to eat Matzah. These two symbolic gestures, when done with the proper intention, bring us into contact with the story of our ancient ancestors and the formative moment of the Jewish people, our exodus from Egyptian slavery and covenant with God.

I must admit, I don’t really love cleaning the house of chametz. And, if the truth be told I’m not a big fan of matzah. But there are many Passover foods that I look forward to every year.

First, there is the green vegetable. I love veggies, and early spring veggies are both delicious and symbolic. As we celebrate liberation and its season, spring, I always try to have a luxurious selection of karpas at my seders. Not just a little parsley sprig, but scallions, romaine, parsley, celery, endive, and colorful radishes.

Then there is the maror. Yum! I am part of a multi-generational group of men who each year gather just before pesach to make fresh, homemade horseradish. We grind up more than 20 lbs of fresh root and through our teary eyes, we sing Carlebach melodies, dance around the food processor, and imagine the beauty of the seder and the poignancy of its rituals.

And of course, let’s not forget charoset. The sweet and sticky symbol of the labor imposed on the Israelites. There are literally hundreds of delicious recipes. I personally like apples, though many customs use apricots, prunes and dates. I also like a little fresh ginger to add spice and heat to the sweet mortar.

Finally, the wine. While one should certainly be careful not to drink too much, Passover invites us to indulge a little bit and drink joyfully from four full cups of wine. Reminiscent of blood, the wine both gets us tipsy and makes us sober to the realities of our liberation story, and the blood which was spilled in the course of setting the Israelites free – the Passover lamb, the plagues, the first born Egyptians, and all who stayed behind. We diminish the second cup of wine as we recite each plague so that we never forget that our freedom came with an un-payable debt.

Wow. I’m full. It must be time for my personal family favorite – Passover chocolate fudgies, my mother’s recipe for kosher for Pesach brownies. Each family hastheir own food traditions, and I always remember my parents and grandparents and the wonderful seders we had when I was young, and the incredible and love filled food my mother prepared for the festival meal.

Carrot tzimmes? Matzah ball soup? Potato Kugel? These are some of my favorites. What are some of yours?

Drashah from the Dojang - A shared message of spiritual guidance

In my Tae Kwon Do practice, my current belt level has a corresponding Poomse (form), a choreographed sequence of stances, blocks, kicks and punches - Taeguk 6 Jang. Each form reflects and trains for an imaginary battle, and each form also carries spiritual ideas and characteristics. One of the books I use as a resource for Tae Kwon Do discusses the philosophical and tactical underpinning of this series of movements. In Tae Kwon Do: The Korean Martial Art, Richard Chun says:

“Gam is Water, which is liquid and formless yet never loses its nature, though it may conform to the vessel in which it finds itself. Water always flows downward and, in time, can wear away the hardest granite.

Gam is male. It symbolizes North. Through Gam, we learn that we can overcome every difficulty if we go forward with self-confidence and persistence, easy to bend but not break.

Like water, Taeguk 6 Jang is flowing and gentle yet destructive. It teaches that man, when faced with a challenge, can overcome it by persistence and unwavering belief. To give this form the appearance of continuity, its separate sequences of motion are connected by the Front Kick.”

In Jewish tradition, The Midrash on Song of Songs (Song of Songs is read on the intermediate Shabbat of Passover) also compares the Torah to water.

“Just as rain water comes down in drops and forms rivers, so with the Torah; one studies a bit today and some more tomorrow, until in time becomes like a flowing stream.

Just as water has no taste unless one is thirsty, so too, Torah is best appreciated through great effort and yearning.

Just as water leaves a high place and flows to a low one, so too, Torah leaves one whose spirit is proud and remains with one whose spirit is humble.

Water is a great equalizer, no matter your station or class - all can drink water. So, too - a scholar should not be ashamed to say to a simpler fellow, 'Teach me a chapter, a verse or a letter'.

Just as water is a source of life for the world, as it says, A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters (Song of Songs 4:15), so the Torah is a source of life for the world.

Just as water restores the soul, so does the Torah.

Just as water is cleansing, the words of Torah are purifying.”

The virtues of water, the same ones mentioned by Richard Chun, are symbolically powerful and important to remember as we approach Passover this year in which water plays such a central role. Water is both necessary and inspiring.

Water accommodates any shape, and every person, no matter who we are, and what our spiritual traditions, and ongoing practices. Torah can also “fit” every person, and can be experienced by everyone. Race, religion, gender, politics, age, and ideology do not keep us separated from the sources of faith and religion.

Water erodes even the hardest rock, and Torah, its wisdom, teachings and guidance for living soften hearts, and gives us the compassion and civility necessary to wear away bias, bigotry, prejudice and other hardnesses of the heart.

All water moves toward the same end. What separates us and defines us as different is far smaller than what unites us; the loves, losses and experiences that are shared by all people. Understood this way, Torah no longer stands as an exclusive possession of the Jewish people. Torah becomes the universal ocean of consciousness that we all share, the larger truth that surpasses the local, parochial truths of our individual communities.

I am inspired by the ancient teaching of Tae Kwon Do and the disciplined practice that has grown from them. And I have found the TKD studio to be a place of universal respect and community as we all study together towards mastery. My practice feels both deeply rooted and poignant and useful today.

I am inspired by the ancient teachings of Judaism and the rituals and symbolic gestures that have grown from the Torah. And I pray that the universal messages of wisdom, humility, and holiness will reach far beyond the borders of the Jewish community and unite many people of many faiths in a shared vision of spiritual mastery, at the same time ancient, vibrant and flowing like water.

Judaicon Mitzvah Minder

We have travelled far and wide, scaled the heights of the tallest mountains, and explored the depths of the ocean floor. We have stood on the surface of the moon and looked far beyond to the farthest reaches of the known universe. We have seen, searched, invented, developed, written, manufactured, and built more than we ever could have imagined. We have hiked, camped, trekked, flown, soared and sailed. Yet we still do not know the local landscape of our own soul, or the boundaries of our inner life. Of the writing of books there is no end, but knowledge of God and of ourselves continues to elude us. Faster and faster we move through history, but never take the time to slow down and be, for just a short moment, mindful and focused on what lies within, and what The One asks us to fulfill as our destiny. It is this “fringe,” this edge of our domain that tzitzit ask us to remember. For thousands of years, Jews have answered this call and worn fringes during prayers. The Mitzvah Minder is a new way to take that experience with you, wherever you journey. Clip it to your belt loop, backpack, or pocketbook, and get “Inward Bound.”

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Kick Higher

I felt bad for her at first.

We were barely five minutes into the Tae Kwon Do belt test, and the Master called her out by name. The test begins with everyone demonstrating basic kicks and blocks. Everyone there knows how to do them. Master M is looking for the quality of your form, and your energy. “Mary*” he said, in a stern voice. Mary is a young girl, not quite a teenager and not quite a little girl. “Mary, I am only going to say this to you once, and then I am going to ask you to leave.” Wow. Master M is usually not so hard on you, I thought. What could it be? “You have got to kick higher.” I got the impression, and later it proved to be true, that this was not the first time, he had called her out on this. Tae Kwon Do is a lot of kicking, and Master M always tells everyone to kick higher. But Mary had a persistent thing with what I would call wimpy kicks.

We continued kicking, and within just a few minutes, I saw him give her a very serious look, and tap his pen, impatiently. I knew without having to see it, that she was not kicking high enough and that the pen tapping was for her.

I felt bad for her.

My kids take TKD lessons too, and my heart would just sink if Master M had talked to either of them in this way. Was she really going to get dismissed from the test? Generally, in our TKD studio, you don’t get asked to test unless Master M thinks you can do it. The point is not to set you up for failure, but he sometimes reminds students taking the test, “This is a test, you CAN fail.” We continued to demonstrate our kicks.

Third time.

Master M asked everyone to sit down, and told Mary to stand in front of the table in the middle of the mats. “Show me your highest round house kick” he said. She kicked. “Show me your highest axe kick.” She kicked.

So, she could kick higher. What was going on? Why was she repeatedly kicking low and lazy?  This was not her first test ever, and she was certainly able physically to put her foot up to the proper height.

I felt a little less bad for her.

“I will give you every opportunity to succeed here. But I will also give you a shovel and let you dig yourself into a hole if that is what you choose. If you couldn’t physically kick any higher that would be okay. But its not that you can’t, its that you won’t, or at least aren’t.”

I was starting to see where he was going, and I felt my sentiment shift almost completely.

“I can only teach you how to do it. You must accept my teaching in order to actually move ahead” he said. I was done feeling bad for her. Not that I wanted her to fail, but I know Master M well enough to know that there is a life lesson in this moment, not only a technical lesson about the kicks of TKD.

“Sit down”, he told her. And then he turned to all of the students who were testing.

“It may seem to you, like it’s just a kick. No big deal” He began. “But it is not just another kick. It is a standard that you set for yourself. And every time you come to class, every time you spar, every time you test, you have to hold yourself to that standard. TKD is not about setting low standards for yourself in class or beyond. It is about reaching up to a higher standard, maintaining your best standard, and then trying to push higher and better.”

Amen Master M.

Mary finished the test. So did I. I must have told the story five times the next day; at our synagogue staff meeting, in my davening class, to friends. It made a strong impression on me, and I think there is a davenology message in it that is terribly important.

In our spiritual practice, in our prayer life, and our ritual life, we cannot set nor accept a low standard, or expect our teachers, rabbis and mentors to accept our unwillingness to reach higher, and strive to do better. When you pray, every time you pray, you must set a standard. You might think it is just another Shabbat service, or just another morning ritual, or just another opportunity to chat with your shul friends. But its not. Your spiritual life is at stake. So every time you pray, every time you come to shul, every time you practice your tradition, you must have a high standard of holiness and passion, and then every time you must strive to maintain that standard, and to work towards a higher and better way.

Kick higher.

*not her real name.