Rabbi Chaya Gusfield

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

Prayer


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Still: no words coming

I am making art, listening to panels about Palestine/Israel, reading articles, but don’t have much to say yet.  Please stay in touch.

Again, I am posting a few offerings that have inspired:

1.

https://www.allmep.org/about-us-allmep/

ALLMEP is a coalition of over 170 organizations—and tens of thousands of Palestinians and Israelis—building people-to-people cooperation, coexistence, equality, shared society, mutual understanding, and peace among their communities. We add stability in times of crisis, foster cooperation that increases impact, and build an environment conducive to peace over the long term.

 

2.

(From the Reconstructionist Movement)

As the war in Gaza continues into the second month, our list has grown to over 2,100 people from Reconstructionist congregations and beyond. Over 450 people joined us last night – an all-time record. In this email we are sharing our recording of the November 8 panel, “A View from the Israeli Left” as well as several other items.

 

Panel: A View from the Israeli Left 

Recording

Passcode: Xc^R7N^J


Filed Under: Grief Writings, Healing, Prayer
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Truthtelling, October, 2023

 

 

The events since Simchat Torah reminded me of the crisis in Texas, when Rabbi Charlie and a few of his congregants were held hostage in their synagogue in January, 2022.  I was of course thrilled that the hostages were not killed, but horrified to hear in the press “no one was killed.”  The truth was no hostages were killed, but the man who kept them hostage was killed after Rabbi Charlie and his congregants escaped.  I felt it was honest for us to acknowledge the loss of his life.

 

It is the same in war. I need to acknowledge the loss of all life.  This doesn’t reduce the horror of any specific acts.  That’s why I mourn for those killed in Israel and Gaza.  That’s why I pray for the hostages’ release. That’s why I want to see a stop to the invasion of Gaza by Israel.

 

So when I heard Or Shalom was offering a collective shiva (Jewish mourning ritual) for all lives lost, I jumped in my car and drove over the bridge to join.  We sat shiva for all the lives lost. We sat shiva for the loss of our own sense of safety and security. We sat shiva for what the Jewish community was before this moment of rupture. We sat shiva for the death and destruction that is inevitably to come.

 

We sat in a circle in a room lit mostly by candles. We didn’t need to invent new liturgy. We had the evening service our tradition has gifted us. We spoke about our grief.  I could finally breathe.  All week I had felt afraid, anxious and alone.  Even within the Jewish community and with friends who were not Jewish. Many people jumped to politics and asked questions and made statements, when I felt it was too soon for words.  I felt heartbreak, only heartbreak. All I wanted to do was to sit shiva.

 

I wondered whether it was smart for me to wear my kippah.  I heard talk about people saying mezzuzot were dangerous. I worried every time I went to synagogue. I made sure I knew where the exits were and I brought my cell phone in when I might not have in the past.  I seriously considered the Zoom option, even when I wanted to see and touch my people.  Anti-semitism just got racheted up a notch in this country.

 

There are also thousands of Palestinians and others in Gaza (and elsewhere) who have been and are suffering, displaced, and have been killed. Their future is frightening. Whenever there is a flare of violence in Israel or Palestine, Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian/anti-Arab rhetoric and actions rise in the U.S. I believe this is also a time for all of us to be especially tender with our friends, colleagues, neighbors and their loved ones who are Muslim, Palestinian, or otherwise from Arab populations.

 

Many people asked if I knew anyone in Israel.  The worldwide Jewish community is tiny for many reasons, including genocide and pogroms (anti-Jewish riots) occurring within our living memory or the memory of our parents or grandparents. This is why, in addition to reading the news many are reading, most of us are also learning on our personal networks about funerals, people missing, people kidnapped, and bodies of people identified. This is true whether we are closely connected to Israel or not connected to Israel at all.  Whether we are horrified about and critical of the government of Israel, or whether we would do anything for it. Whether we are against the occupation and pray for a time where Jews and Palestinians can have peace as the cousins we are, or whether we are primarily concerned about the security of Israel.

 

At the collective shiva we were asked to make a commitment about something this moment was asking of us.  For me, it was truth-telling.  The truth is I mourn the losses on all sides of this conflict and grieve what will come from continued fighting.

 

I am not the rabbi who is also a political expert, but I believe violence isn’t the answer to this conflict and it never has been.  There must be another way.  There is a lot of suffering needing to be validated and seen. There are narratives needing to be heard.  There is grief needing to be felt. And there is historical trauma needing healing. Violence is not the answer.

 

My friends remind me to hope, even if peace doesn’t come in my lifetime. Truthfully, I don’t know how to muster the hope, but I will lean on those of you who do.

 

Ken Yehi Ratzon, may it be so.

 

 

 


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Shabbat Chazon: The Shabbat of Vision (Parashat Devarim)

I had never been to this synagogue.  My friend was the new rabbi and I wanted to attend.  It was supposed to be over 95 degrees and I didn’t know if they had AC.  I hadn’t slept much the night before due to my mind which wouldn’t turn off.  What if I fell asleep during the lengthy Torah service? Surely, I didn’t have the right clothes for shul (synagogue), and I wasn’t sure I could sit for 2.5 hours. Who knew if anyone would be masked or if I would be the only one sticking out like a sore thumb, telegraphing “don’t get too close to me.”

I decided not to go. But there I was, pressing the doorbell of the synagogue, my rabbi bones craving some good old-time religion. I was met by a very friendly woman who gave me a quick tour of the small historic building.  I soon discovered she was one of the very competent lay leaders who lead davvenen (prayer) beautifully and chanted lots of Torah as if she were born to fulfill this sacred task.  You knew she understood every word and possibly many of the interpretations.

I chose a seat and greeted those around me with a customary “Shabbat Shalom”. A few minutes later someone kindly said, “Please take your books off the chair next to you. That’s where Jules sits.”  “Of course,” I replied, wondering who Jules was.  I imagined he must be a longtime member. After services began, Jules arrived with his light large print siddur (prayerbook) and his many years of life.  I soon learned I was privileged to be sitting with the Jewish history of this synagogue, ever so wise and gentle.

I’m not sure he even needed the siddur. It seemed like he had every word and melody memorized, with his Ashkenazi pronunciation.  I’m not sure if he heard me singing under my mask, but slowly we were davvenen together, almost as if the services were just for us.  Praying with him felt like medicine.

During the Torah service, I took out my chumash (Torah) and followed each word with my finger, sometimes chanting along quietly. Jules seemed to be following my fingers. After he returned from his aliyah (honor at the Torah), I shook his hand and gave him the appropriate greeting, “Yashar koach”. He smiled. My heart melted and we exchanged names.

During those 2.25 hours of Hebrew prayers given to us from the rabbis, dramatic choreography during the Torah service, familiar and new melodies, and Torah, I entered the world of our People, experiencing our tradition as fully whole. And the fact that it took about five people to help me dress the Torah felt unnecessary, but so familiar! (How many Jews does it take to dress a Torah?)

I forgot about the mask, the sitting, the clothes, the sleeplessness, and left with a smile in the 95 degree heat.  I took with me a renewed love of our People, our resilience and our history. Today was the true Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbat of Vision.  I can’t wait to return to see my new friend, Jules, and maybe even dress that Torah again!

 

 


Filed Under: Grief Writings, Healing, Prayer, Reflections on Love
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All is Well with You?

She was celebrating in a room filled with hope, pride, Shabbes, and connection.  Flowers, hearts, and song dancing with the smells of delicious food, Torah, laughter, and tears.  There was truth shared over bagels, about pain, dreams, visions, how to cope with disappointment, regret. And joys spilled forth over lox and capers.  Whispers of family.  The salad was delish. The sun was hot, very hot. She had forgotten her hat and sunglasses. Someone shared the frosting of her cupcake. Another shared her memories of Italian gelato as if she were sharing a deep secret no one else could ever have known.

When he asked her, “All is well with you?” the air was surprised to hear, “No, I am feeling some despair” and the tears began to flow.  Despair had made an appearance.  Not willing to be ignored in the colors of the day.  Received with care as if it was normal to show up at a moment like this.

A pensive walk home, a nap, a drive, ice cream for dinner, and a sunset.  Despair had made her appearance.  Received with care, and life continued.  The next day there was a long walk to the beach, a bialy, another nap, and fabulous fried rice with homemade brownies.  Despair had made an appearance, and life continued as life does.


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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.)