Rabbi Chaya Gusfield

Rabbi Chaya Gusfield, Jewish Renewal, rabbi, spiritual director, chaplain

Prayer


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New Class (free)

Friends, I have been so excited working with Or Shalom Jewish Community in San Francisco as interim rabbi that I haven’t posted much.  But I wanted to let you know that I am teaching a 3-session class on line on how to enter Jewish prayer through writing.  I hope you can join me and those from Or Shalom.  Please see the information below.

Jewish Prayer as Medicine Using Writing

We will unpack prayer through study, writing, and sharing in a small group. This class is available to people of all levels of Jewish learning. We will explore a few key Jewish prayers, but more importantly, I will teach you an approach to gaining access to prayer and making it personal.

DETAILS: Wednesday night: March 8, 15, 22, 2023, 7-8:30 p.m. on Zoom. Contact me to register. (no fee)

 


Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Grief Writings, Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings
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The Crying Rabbi (Inspired by the Torah portion Vayetzei)

 

This was a first. When I lead services or speak publicly, I have been known to tear up, have my voice crack, take a minute, and authentically show up to the moment, to the place. At this Friday night Shabbat service it was very different.

We were exploring the Torah where Jacob experienced a moment of awe directly from his dream vision.  In his dream he received blessings from God and saw angels going up and down from earth to heaven. There were words like “stairway”, “awe”, “God’s house” and “gateway to heaven” in just a few sentences.  The word, הַמָּקוֹם  HaMakom, which literally means The Place, and is also understood as a name for God, was found numerous times throughout the reading.

Jacob awakens with awe in his heart and says, “There was sacredness here and I didn’t even know it!” And then he says מַה-נּוֹרָא, הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה Ma nora hamakom hazeh, “How awesome is this place!” We wondered together why Jacob was given such a profound vision and blessings, and why we are called Israelites, as descendants of Jacob who later becomes Israel. I mean, he wasn’t such a great guy-stealing blessings from his brother Esau, lying to his father, running away from Esau who wanted to kill him, and more.

According to Rabbi Jonathan Saks, one possibility we are called Israelites is because at the time of his dream vision Jacob was alone, scared and away from home. He wasn’t in a good place. And yet, he awoke to the consciousness that God was present. He felt God accompanying him and offering him blessings.  Even in our worst days, even in the days of despair and hopelessness, we are invited to know we are never truly alone.  This is what we learned from Jacob’s experience, and why we are his descendants. Maybe, this is what it means to be a Jew.

This Shabbat was unique. We could feel the impact of Jacob’s dream in the room.  We experienced the sense that we are never alone. That’s what it means to be a Jew, an Israelite.  I could have cried, but I didn’t. Not yet.

The heart was open. The love in the room was strong.  The community was feeling it. And we sang, “MA NORA HAMAKOM HAZEH”, How awesome is THIS place!  If we could have, we would have sang and danced for 10 minutes.  But we had healing blessings to offer and people to remember who had died.

I sent healing to a young child I knew recovering from serious surgery. We sent love to friends we knew with COVID, ALS, Parkinsons, a broken rib, dementia, extensive dental work, etc.  And we remembered our loved ones who had died.

During this time I was surprised to learn about the death of a beloved teacher I hadn’t seen in 40 years.*  While holding space for others, the tears unexpectantly began to flow and flow and flow.  The gates opened to memory and grief.  The tears sang their songs of love and transformation. There was no stopping them. The heart remembered a 25-year-old learning and growing, passionate and creative, finding her way, guided by this teacher. Now he is in a new Place, finding his way.

I hadn’t known how much he had meant to me. I certainly would not have expected such a strong response to this news while I was leading a congregation. Normally I would have been able to stay focused and save my bigger tears for another time.  But, like Jacob’s encounter, I was surprised to be swimming with the Sacred. This time, with Sacred Memory.

Even though it was awkward to have such big public emotion while leading a service, the surprise was in fact a blessing, held by a Sacredness beyond time and beyond words.  The congregation was so supportive. I came to feel, very personally, “How Awesome is this Place!”

מַה-נּוֹרָא, הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה

*Peter Gabel, Zichrono livracha, may his memory be a blessing.

 


Filed Under: Prayer, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings
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“May You be Inscribed in the Book of Life.” The High Holy Days are over, so what can this still mean to us?

During the Jewish High Holy days we pray to be inscribed in the Book of Life before the gates close, either at the end of Yom Kippur or some believe not until the end of Sukkot on Hoshana Rabba.  If taken literally, there is something that doesn’t seem right about this. Does it mean anyone who dies during the upcoming year or even during the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur hasn’t prayed hard enough or hasn’t done enough teshuvah? Or their mistakes outweighed the good they did?

As someone who has worked as a chaplain for many years and is close to numerous people struggling with life threatening diseases, this model can seem to cause harm by blaming the sick for their disease or death.

So why do I still pray my heart out during the holy days and still use this language? This year I experienced this strong message as an intense imperative to invite me to start the new year with the important lifegiving themes of the High Holy days, every day, not just during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur:

  • Facing our mortality and fragility of life every day. This helps me increase my gratitude and be more mindful of every moment I am alive.
  • Turning our direction towards becoming our better selves. How can I begin to find moments of forgiveness/compassion for self or others?
  • Leaning on our ancestors and our sense of God/the Mystery. I do this through prayer, reflection, and acts of remembrance.
  • Giving tzedakah. This helps me be aware of more than just myself. I also notice the unmet basic needs of so many, as well as the myriad ways to contribute to help affect change.

“May you be inscribed in the Book of Life” means to me “May you be engaged with life fully, always, not just during the High Holy Days”. With the Torah beginning this week with Breishit, let’s embrace a new beginning, and harvest the lifegiving learnings from the High Holy Days going forward.


Filed Under: Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer, Torah/Life Writings
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Rosh Hashanah Day Two Teaching 5783, Kehilla, hybrid service

Reb Zalman Schachter Shalomi, of blessed memory, used to ask us rabbinical students and rabbis how we were being deployed.

The underlying concept was that there was a someone deploying us to a somewhere. Our job was to listen to that still small voice and not ignore it. Was it Congregational work? Spiritual direction? Jewish education? Chaplaincy? Being a talmud chacham/scholar, or devoting ourselves to tikkun olam, as an activist.

The prophet Isaiah says, Hineini, shelachayni.  Here I am, send me!  This is a similar idea.  There is a someone sending us to a somewhere.

Many of us have a deep connection to our own Judaism or other spiritual medicine. However, Reb Zalman’s concept of a someone sending us to a somewhere might be quite alien.  And yet, the prayers we recite, and sing, and inhale are asking us to turn towards Ata, or At, meaning You. Baruch ata, At brucha, Blessed are You. You are Blessed.

Kehilla’s theme this year is mutuality and reciprocity. It might be wise for us to explore the YOU we are invited to be in relationship with.  As R. Marcia Prager says, we call out to the Oneness where there is a potential for intimacy. Or better, all relationships have the potential for us to experience the Oneness within them. The great Jewish philosopher Martin Buber teaches about the I and Thou relationship.  We call out to God as You because we experience an awareness reflected back to us from the world, when we are willing to enter into relationship with it.  You is personal, and in the language of relationship.

The truth? I have no clue what or who the You is, but I do think bringing the concept of relationship into our inner spiritual life can be transformative, expansive, and dare I say even delicious?

Until this year the closest way I experienced the You was through the concept of God we find in the Kaddish: Shmei Rabba.  Shmei Rabba means the great name.  As Rabbi Arthur Waskow says, Shmei rabba is the name of all creation: every color, sound, frog, blade of grass, cloud. Every animal, every insect, ever sea creature. The all of existence.  Mitziut.

Being in a mutual relationship with Existence, past, present, and future. That’s the You I want to show up for.  That’s what I mean when I say Hineni, here I am. I am yearning to show up for You.  All of existence. Or as Barbara Petterson taught, the thread that connects us all.

And then there was 2021.  The year I questioned everything and felt spiritually lost. I dove deeply into my experience of a rabbinic ancestor from whose lineage I was ordained. 18th century  R. Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev.  He was a Chassidic rebbe from Ukraine who lived at the time of the third generation of Chassidic rebbes.  He loved our people and he loved prayer.  But he didn’t just love God.  He was in a very intimate relationship with the You he prayed to. So much so that his prayers included great arguments with God during prayer services, during davvenen.  He defended us, cried out for help, and fiercely scolded God.  It was said that the people who davened with him often had to wait for some time while he engaged in great arguments with God out loud before the prayer service could continue.

Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, the Berditchever, was also very human and suffered greatly because he was thrown out of many towns for his radical ideas. It was reported he was seriously depressed and nonfunctional for a year of his life.  He eventually recovered and became the rabbi for the town of Berditchev for more than 25 years.  It was partly his struggle that drew me to him, as I also was struggling.

His niggun spoke some of his story, both his grief and his resilience. His despair and his recovery.   I wonder if you can hear it?

(Sing niggun in different ways (slow, somber, deep and uplifting)

This niggun became the path to regain my own spiritual strength.  How he came through his period of depression, I do not know, but knowing how engaged he was with God, I imagine it was a result of this relationship that helped him recover. In his commentary on the Torah portion Shmot from the book of Exodus, the Berditchever taught about a time when we cried out to God to save us because of our suffering in Mitzrayim (known as Egypt). Our cries were only for ourselves.  He commented that God acknowledged how our minds and bodies were in an oppressed state at the time, so we could only cry out for ourselves.  However, God heard our cries, but also heard what was underneath them. God heard our larger yearning for the healing of all of humanity.

Maybe during the Berditchever’s year of depression, he felt heard by the God he was in relationship with. So much so, his prayers for only his suffering were eventually expanded into prayers for a greater healing of humanity. This may have put him in relationship with something bigger than himself. Having this feeling of connecting to something larger may have helped Levi Yitzchak out of his pit.

Also, his unique and special connection with God was demonstrated in one of the famous songs he wrote in Yiddish, called Adudele, meaning for You. Du means You in Yiddish.  He sings: Ribbono Shel Olam (The Great Oneness of the world) let me sing you a You song.  where can I find you, where can I not find you? You, You, You…The song demonstrates his feeling of being completely surrounded by and connected to God at all times and in all places.  Especially from the six directions.  The words in the song also resonate strongly with the ritual of shaking the lulav and etrog during Sukkot.  We shake the 4 species: the palm branch joins with three other species and we connect with the energy of the 4 directions, and the heavens and the earth.

There are many stories about Levi Yitzchak’s total devotion to Sukkot, including begging the angel of death to let him live through one more Sukkot. Which he did.  Maybe during his year of depression, he was also able to draw on his love of Sukkot to help him recover.

As I sing Adudele in English, allow yourself to experience the You meant just for you…(notice the faces around you, in your mind or heart, or on the screen. Can you experience the You? Or go internal and see what arises. And as is in Kehilla’s tradition, let your imagination, your body, your heart move, and dance, or stay quiet).

Ribbono Shel Olam  4x

Ribbono Shel Olam, I will sing you a YOU song

You x 4

Where will I find You?

Where will I NOT find You?

Where can I find You?

Where can I NOT find You?

You x 4

Wherever I go, You

And wherever I stay, You

Just You

Only You

Again You

Nothing but You

You x4

When something’s good, You

When God forbid it’s bad, Ah You

Ay, You x 5

East, You

West, You

South, You

North, You

You x 9

In Heaven, You

On Earth, You,

Above, You

Below, You

You x 9

You…..

Where I turn

Where I go

Voh ich kerh mich

Voh ich vend mich, du du

You, You

I don’t know anything about God or if God exists.  I don’t know whether the You is all of existence like how Rabbi Arthur Waskow describes it,

the Mystery,

the Shechinah,

the King,

Creation itself,

the Master or teacher of the world,

the Thread that connects us all,

or Hamakom, the place where everything dwells.

It isn’t important to me.  What is important is, here I am, in relationship. With You. And You and you and you

Here I am, send me…Hineini, shelachayni.  What You do you yearn for this season?

And let us say, Amen.

 

(To read more about my encounter with the Berditchever and hear his music click here.)

For the youtube of the service click here.  This teaching at minute 56.  (you may need to rewind to minute 56.)


Filed Under: Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer
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Dare I say even delicious?

Rosh Hashanah has always been a time of deep reflection for me.  I often struggle with some of the tough issues of the year until they surprise me as they become food for nourishment.  This year for Rosh Hashanah I am exploring (or facing) the YOU (ata, at) we find in our Jewish prayers.  (“Blessed are You…..”)

The truth? I have no clue what or who the You is, but I do feel bringing the concept of relationship and intimacy into our inner spiritual life to be transformative, expansive, and dare I say even delicious?

If you are interested in hearing some of my contemplations and heart on this and other juicy thoughts, please consider joining me and Jen Myzel (Musician/Educator) for Kehilla’s second day morning, reflective, Rosh Hashanah services in person or online.  Oh, and Jen has some beautiful new music she will be sharing with everyone that touch the heart, so perfect for the New Year.

Fellow travelers, if you have little or a lot of experience with Jewish tradition, you are welcome to sink into a reflective and meaningful space.  And as usual, shofar blowing will happen! I can’t wait.

I wish you an early Shana Tova!  Much love to you and yours…

For more information, COVID protocals, and to get tickets, go to Kehilla’s website. http://kehillasynagogue.org/


Filed Under: Healing, Prayer, Writing/art prompts and art
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Notes from a Rabbi Posing as an Artist: Working with Color

When there is a surprise of a combination of colors speaking from the soul, it is like finding the right niggun, melody, for the occasion. A melody having traveled through many generations, it guides us towards release, calm, or tears. Sometimes a yearning.  The colors come together often reminding me of the eulogy that came forth and spoke the truth, helping others grieve, remember, let go, and/or hold on.  The color creation stirs me, like the unexpected words flowing through me as I taught a class. There was an awakening of awareness, the Neon Yellow broke through all that was planned.

Color and flow are the Creator Herself. The Still Small Voice guides me to pick up Coffee instead of Cranberry, or Pool Blue instead of Turquoise, or Sunbright Yellow instead of Forest Green. And then add a touch of Gold, and to never forget the shades of Violet and Purple.  Except when Sunset Red or Flamingo is calling to join.

Other times I am disappointed. I didn’t listen to the voice telling me to stop, and I turned something stupendous into a mush of clashing colors.  I had to try one more color, one more technique, a little bit more alcohol, and now it’s ruined.  Sometimes when accompanying someone on the path to Home, I can’t stop talking. The opportunity for inspiration is missed.  Or there is the time when a meal is so delicious, I want more, and get sick from eating too much.

Less is more, but more is tempting.

I made five abstracts. One touches the soul, one is interesting, and three are dull and chaotic.  I am cranky.  Somehow, I forgot how much all the playing, listening, making mistakes, and trying again kept me alive. All of it.

And then there is the discovery of composition.  Something I “ruined” is transformed by changing its shape from a rectangle to a heart. A simple cropping, enlarging, or adding one color in the corner turns a collection of colors on the page to a story that draws you in.  Once again, when I think I have ruined the moment, there is an opportunity for recovery. I come back to the Sacred through a different door. As it is when I choose to sing a different prayer or melody, take a breath, and return.  I say I’m sorry, and bring myself to begin anew.

Each time I enter the world of creating, I encounter prayer, longing, and the Still Small Voice invites me to listen. Even more deeply.

And let us say Amen….


Filed Under: Healing, Prayer
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Fire Poem

It is chilly, the air smells delicious,

Sitting on the hard, wooden chair in front of the cold, wood stove.

The smell of yesterdays’ fire is a remembrance of the poem it was.

Weaving strips of newspaper, some are crumpled into balls,

I add kindling, designing a piece of art no one else will see.

Large pieces of soft fur come next. Then hard almond.

As I kindle this fire, I pray for an easy one, nothing dramatic, not smokey, just warmth.

I pray for the light and a gentle crackle.

 

My soot hands are the remembrance of today’s poem.

The fire begins to speak the language I learned when I was living on the land.  19 years old.

 

Crackles, and splats, the whoosh of the wind in the chimney. Sparks that sing.

I feel more than the heat.

 

 

 

Can you taste the remembrance of my ancestors’ poems as they wrote, sitting near the fire

As they prayed for their children?

 

Little did they know I would join them on this chilly day,

With my fire poem, praying for their healing and freedom.


Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Grief Writings, Healing, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Spiritual Direction
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We Can Dance

We can’t always be brave, but we can get out of bed in the morning, even when the demons of the night have held us captive in clammy moments of terror. When sleep is a foreign concept.

We can find reasons to live when our mind screams otherwise.  Yes, this is brave.

We can sit with another as they face the end of their life with regrets, grieve their unrealized dreams, and cherish their memories.

Without words, we can gently hold the hand of the young mother about to lose her child. Our hands touching, being the strength allowing her to be present for one more moment.  Yes, this is brave.

We can’t always be brave.

We can go to the street where a fire has devastated homes, and bless the survivors with words spilling out from the throat, from the heart, from the precious sanctuary of this moment.  Only this moment. Yes, this is brave.

We can’t always be brave, but we can sigh deeply as we slowly breathe our way into forgiveness, even when bitterness and anger feel more comfortable.

We can love with the music of the wind on our faces, and create a new life when climate change is burning, wars exploding, and the future uncertain. Yes, this is brave.

We can’t always be brave, but we can speak the truth about injustice when doing so is bigger than our own safety.

We can continue to breathe, go to the grocery store, eat a meal, and get dressed when our hearts are broken and shattered.  Shattered and broken.  Yes, this is brave.

We can’t always be brave, but we can cry out for a witness, for accompaniment on the journey of despair. We can take the hand offered. And hold on.

We can sway, moan, groan, wail.  We can sing.  Yes, this is brave. All of it.

We can’t always be brave, but we can dance.