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.

Is There A Jewish Way to Make a New Year's Resolution?

Though we were living in NYC at the time, my wife and I got married in Georgia. We both have family here, and it was a lot easier to get married in Atlanta than Manhattan. When we came down a couple of weeks before the wedding to get our license, we went to the county probate court and filled out the appropriate form. At the desk, as we handed in our completed form to the clerk who asked us to raise our hands and swear that the answers and information we had given were true. As a rabbi, I was intrigued. The Talmud discusses vows and oaths at length, and in general discourages people from making them. Our words have power and meaning, and it's best not to take oaths if they can be avoided. 

I was also fascinated by the fact that someone might lie on the official government form, but when asked to swear that they had told the truth in front of a government bureaucrat would suddenly get a conscience and be forced to tell the truth. I asked the clerk if anyone ever got to the desk and when confronted by the oath went back and changed their answer. Her response surprised me to say the least. She said: “Every day.”

Every day!

Now maybe she was exaggerating, but still. It wasn’t so surprising that someone would lie every day, but that the oath administered at the desk would deter them from lying. What is it about such a declaration that kept them so honest?

This morning in shul, we read the final chapter of the book of Genesis. In the final days of his life, Jacob makes arrangements for his burial, and asks Joseph, his son, to make sure that he is not buried in Egypt, but instead in the Machpelah cave that his grandfather Abraham bought as a family burial ground. Jacob, like many still today, wants to be buried close to his family. Joseph agrees, but Jacob, needing assurance insists that Joseph swear to him. Joseph’s word is not good enough. His father insists on a formally spoken oath, and without hesitation, Joseph swears.

In just a couple of days, millions of Americans will take a kind of oath. They will make New Years resolutions, and if past experience tells us anything, most of them will not be kept. We all know the typical oaths we make – lose weight, go to the gym, eat less chocolate, stay in touch with friends more. We never vow to do the unchallenging or the easy things. (I doubt anyone has to make a resolution to eat more chocolate, or go to the gym less often.) And perhaps just the making of a vow at New Years helps us to identify the things we want to do better.

I certainly believe that being reflective is important, and if you want to make improvements in the coming year, I think there is value to making a resolution. I have made a few in my time, but I must admit, they have not been my most successful commitments, and there is also a serious down-side to making an oath we are pretty sure we will break. Each time we promise or resolve to do something and then do not keep that promise we erode our self confidence and create an image of ourselves that is unable and too weak to keep our own word. And we get the bad kind of debilitating guilt that keeps us yo-yoing through our desired commitments.

At the beginning of the Jewish new year, on Kol Nidre night, instead of making promises for the year ahead, Jews practice an ancient and controversial ritual called hatarat nedarim – the annulment of vows. Recognizing the peril of hasty vows, the rabbis invented a way to formally “un-declare” your vow, and through words in a formal process, in public, you could undo the other formal public declaration you had made.

It seems to me that Kol Nidre specifically reminds us how bad it is to make formal, spoken vows, and how seriously we should consider the consequences of breaking these oral contracts. This underlying notion, that promises are too easily broken, also accounts for another Jewish tradition, the ketubah.

I am often asked by non-Jews whether Jewish weddings include vows like many Christian traditions. You know the scene in the movie when the minister says; “for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.” Jews do not really have vows in our marriage ceremonies. Instead we insist on a much more stringent kind of promise – a contract, a ketubah. This is a written document, signed and witnessed. It has real teeth; real consequences and specific terms, not simply a spoken promise. After all, if promises guaranteed results, there would be far fewer divorces in times of worse/poorer/sickness. Do you think your bank would accept a spoken promise to pay back the mortgage, or even a vow with your right hand raised. No way. They insist on a contract, and give it as much explicit consequences for violation as they can.

So what does all this have to do with my New Year’s resolutions?

I want to offer two suggestions about how to make better resolutions this year. First, if it is something you are not sure you will really be able to keep, then do not speak it out loud. Instead make a silent intention not a voiced resolution. Keep the idea to yourself and share it only with the One who knows all of our intentions. Create a set of pathways in your mind and spirit, but don’t fill out any public forms, or make a big deal about joining a gym. These kinds of internal intentions can be tremendously powerful, they can grow and gain strength in the protected atmosphere of our spirit, and they change us from the inside out without pomp or fanfare.

If you are resolving something more serious and you really need it to stick, consider putting it in writing. Make a contract with yourself. Actually write it out. Ask a friend or loved one to witness it, and give it some teeth to insure that you follow through in the moments of weakness that beset us all from time to time. Be as specific as you can be, and don’t let yourself off the hook too easily.

Mostly, be generous with yourself, and don’t set yourself up for failure. Quiet intentions, and contractual obligations can help us become what we really want to be. May this be your blessing in the year to come.