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Rabbi Chaya Gusfield

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

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Spiritual Direction

September 18, 2022
Filed Under: Healing, Spiritual Direction
2 Comments

What Does It Mean to Be Deployed?

I have just been deployed to serve a new congregation, Or Shalom Jewish Community. I will be their half-time Interim Rabbi for about 10 months while they search for their “settled” rabbi.  I wasn’t looking for this service, but I followed the bread crumbs. From job description, to interview, to a second interview, to a Shabbaton, and then to discernment.  An adventure I was not previously seeking arrived in my life. I felt as if I had been sent to them, and them to me. To turn away at any step didn’t feel like an option.  I would have been ignoring the mystery of the process.

I am not just celebrating a new position, I am celebrating the Mystery of how it came to be and my ability to listen carefully to the still small voice, and respond.

May we all listen for where we are being sent, during this season, and seasons that follow.

February 24, 2022
Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Grief Writings, Healing, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Spiritual Direction
3 Comments

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.

January 22, 2022
Filed Under: Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer, Spiritual Direction, Torah/Life Writings
5 Comments

Returning for a Second Helping (Encountering the Berditchever for the second time)

There are two kinds of eaters.  Those that stop after one serving because they might think it is excessive, greedy, or rude.  And those that go for a second helping.  That’s me. I go for a second helping.   I love the taste of the different flavors on the plate, the discernment of what smells good, how it feels in the mouth, how I feel nourished, and what I want more of.  I anticipate the journey of the return for a second helping. What will I take more of, what will I skip?  An eagerness has joined the moment of the return.  Experiencing the meal once again, in a new way contains a certain excitement and even depth.

I recently discovered that’s true for my rabbinate, too.  Sixteen years ago I was honored to have family and beloved rabbinic mentor, Rabbi Lavey Derby, fly to Colorado in the middle of winter to participate in my ordination. As witnesses, as qvellers, as support, and in Lavey’s case, as part of the ordination (smicha) ritual.

The journey wasn’t easy for them: there was the ear ache, the aging, the beginning stages of my mother’s dementia.  There was the cold and the snow. And there was my families’ curiosity.  All were proud Jews, but all this religious experience was a bit foreign for them. With each struggle, they all still came.  I knew my drash (short sermon) bringing Torah to the difficulties of my sister’s death during my youth, would bring heartache to my family. At the same time, I knew it was the right teaching for the moment, for me, for my community, and ultimately my family. The anticipation was palpable.  I felt clammy, nervous, jittery, excited.

Before the powerful ordination ceremony Lavey took me aside privately to share a few words.  With words of blessing he passed onto me the spiritual lineage of the chassidic rabbi, Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, lovingly referred to as the Berditchever.  Lavey is his direct descendant. I was honored to receive this extraordinary blessing.  I had studied about him in rabbinical school.  I knew he lived in the 18th century and was one of the early Chassidic Masters. He was a student of the Maggid of Mezeritch and a friend of Rebbe Nahman of Bratzlav. I knew he had been run out of several towns by the mitnagdim, those who opposed the movement of the chassidim.  When he landed in the town of Berditchev in the Ukraine he was well received and served his people for over 25 years as their rabbi. I knew he was thought of as very kind and compassionate, always giving the benefit of the doubt to his fellow Jew.  He was the Great Advocate and Defender for the Jewish people before God.

Although I had learned about Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev and I had studied his Torah on the parshah (Torah portion) and holy days written in his book Kedushat Levi, I had not connected with his legacy or allowed it to influence my life. Receiving his legacy at smicha remained a dormant mystery to me for many years.. Yet, the seeds had been planted.  I had tasted my first serving of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev.

In the Fall of 2021, in the heart of the coronavirus pandemic and political turmoil of our country, I found myself spiritually bankrupt.  At our second zoom High Holy Days, I couldn’t feel anything.  No matter how great the davvenen (prayer) was, the sermons, or the Torah, I felt empty and unmoved. Even when I was leading.  (I felt like Diana Morales in the Chorus Line who when asked by her theater teacher, “”Okay, Morales, what did you feel?” She responded, “Nothing, I’m feeling nothing”.)

Through a chance encounter, I heard a colleague share that Reb Zalman, z”l, had asked all of his students to immerse in one chassidic master as part of our training.  I had forgotten that direction and realized I had yet to complete this task.  In the midst of my spiritual crisis, I made a decision.  I could languish in my spiritual bankruptcy, or I could go back to the Berditchever for a second helping and try to understand his role in my life and my rabbinate.

I went back to the moment when R. Lavey Derby conferred the spiritual lineage of the Berditchever on me.  I started asking questions.  What did this mean?  What is my responsibility now?  I was driven to understand why I had received this blessing 16 years ago. To understand the concept of spiritual lineage I made lists of my ancestors, my mentors, my teachers, my spiritual influencers, my family. Through this early part of my immersion with this inquiry, I found some healing and reconnection with parts of my own family.  I also started to value, honor, and learn more about the indigenous ancestors of the land we live on.  And, the people of Torah felt closer than ever.  My house started to feel crowded with the number of ancestors who influenced my life.  I started to feel more alive and less alone.  By connecting with so many ancestors, I felt as if I was a Time Traveler.

I didn’t have any quick answers to my inquiry about the role of the Berditchever in my spiritual life, but I committed to learning his Torah again and keeping the inquiry fresh. I studied weekly with a partner (thank you Sue!) everything I could about the Berditchever.  His life, his death, the tales/legends about him and of course the Torah he wrote in his book Kedushat Levi.  I was surprised at how much I had learned before, evidenced by the notes in the margins of my books, and the files I found in my computer.  Yet, I barely remembered anything from that time.

Once I started this second helping with a new focus, it was his life story that initially impacted me, especially his hardships and resiliency.  Because he had been opposed so many times, he had a mental breakdown that lasted a year.  He also may not have had domestic bliss. The only story I could find about his wife, Perel, was that she sued him for lack of financial support.  And yet he started again, recovered and became the Berditchever.

I began to get excited when I learned about his almost ecstatic love for Sukkot, our holiday that comes four days after Yom Kippur and lasts a week.  Some say Sukkot was the original High Holy Day that Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were preparing us for. Rosh Hashanah with announcing it with the Shofar blowing, and Yom Kippur with our rituals of atonement.  During Sukkot we are invited to live in fragile huts (called a Sukkah), to invite in our ancestors and friends, and to shake the lulav and etrog.  The lulav is a date palm joined by myrtle, willow and an etrog. We shake it to the East, South, West, North, up, down, and then bring the lulav and etrog to the heart.

The Berditchever would always move into the Sukkah as soon as he could and it was said he bought the first most beautiful etrog he could fine. There is even a story that one time when he was run out of town, he left with only his etrog and lulav in hand!

If you look at the famous Yiddish prayer/song he wrote, A Dudele, it speaks directly to God who is found everywhere, in every direction, plus heaven and earth.  I never heard anything about the song being connected to the lulav and etrog, but given his love of Sukkot, it feels as if he wrote this prayer while shaking the lulav and etrog.  This connection inspired me to plan to put a photo of him up in my Sukkah next year as one of my ancestors and to learn A Dudele in Yiddish.  Shaking the lulav and etrog has always felt as an invitation to feel the unification of life all around, and to feel God/Shechinah everywhere we turn.  It will now include my connection with Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev.

https://rabbichayagusfield.com/wp-content/uploads/English-Dudele.m4a

A Dudele, English version, translation by Rabbi Zalman Schachter Shalomi, z”l

sung by Hazzan Abbe Lyons, http://abbelyons.com

Listen to Hazzan Richard Kaplan, z”l, singing the Yiddish

I was also deeply impressed with how the Berditchever approached his death. During the end of Yom Kippur, at the time of the Ne’ilah prayers, he saw the Angel of Death standing before him. He was told he was going to die.  He was so sad to miss another opportunity to fulfill the mitzvot (sacred obligations) of the Sukkah and the Etrog, so he pleaded for more time.  He said his last viddui prayer (either for Yom Kippur or for his end of life, or both) and the Angel of Death disappeared.  He was granted the extra time he had pleaded for in order to have his last Sukkot. On Simchat Torah, which comes at the end of Sukkot, he danced and sang with abandon, and was called to the Torah as Hatan Torah, the Bridegroom of the Torah. He died the next day.  His connection with Sukkot once again touched my heart.

I loved his passion in prayer, and with his very personal relationship with God.  Not only was he seen praying from one end of a room to the other with fervor, but he was a man who would freely argue with God!   I was slowly opening and connecting to him, but still not connecting with his written Torah.  It didn’t seem to match who he was.

I woke up one morning and realized there must be a Berditchever niggun (melody).  Many chassidic rebbes had passed down a niggun. I found his sweet and deep melody without words attributed to him.  Learning this niggun was the portal I needed in order to open my heart to his Torah.

The Torah we had been studying from Kedushat Levi started to touch me deeply. His teaching on parshat Shemot clinched it.  Commenting on the sentence where the Israelites cried out to God for help because of the oppression of the Egyptian taskmasters,  (Exodus 3:7-9), the Berditchever teaches that God not only helps us deal with what we are crying out about, but understands that in moments of oppression, we can only cry out for ourselves because of our suffering. Yet, God hears our cries as a cry for more than help from our taskmasters, but also as a yearning/longing to feel close to God.  God is the ultimate spiritual director/chaplain/deep listener here, listening for what is the immediate pain we feel, but also for what is underneath our pain.  Our longing.

I couldn’t stop singing the niggun and I often cried as I sang it through many times.  I knew I was on the right path. Chanting the niggun was an invitation to listen to what gifts were being offered directly from him. When I sang, I would ask him what he was saying to me.  I finally made a soul connection with him and his Torah. He was saying many things:  “yes, come close”, “from sadness arises joy”, “keep seeking and traveling”, “you are not alone with your grief”.

There had always been niggunim I loved, sang, and had brought me and others to deep places.  However, I approached his melody not just as a melody, but as a connection to him.  The niggun also opened a hunger to learn more niggunim from chassidic masters in order to hear their Torah woven within them.

In the process of returning to the Berditchever for a second helping, I found his niggun, a new study partner, and a doorway to once again feel the spiritual life I had that had been buried. I don’t have more words to explain how.  I just keep listening as his Torah speaks my name.

Is there something in your life worth returning to or taking a second helping?

I bless you to hear it when it speaks your name.


The Berditchever niggun:

https://rabbichayagusfield.com/wp-content/uploads/lyb-niggun-jan-22.mp3

October 5, 2021
Filed Under: Healing, Prayer, Spiritual Direction
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The Rest is Just Dance

I have been deployed to listen and accompany others to help them feel the presence of something unnameable, unpronounceable, something Timeless.   To deepen and find meaning in those moments.  To cry, to laugh, to wonder, to appreciate. To feel.

I call myself a Spiritual Midwife or Accompanist, but in a way, I am a spiritual voyeur. I think “oh, what a beautiful moment of God”, or “how she is uplifted by the Sacred, or “how I love to witness the journey, the movement, the aha”.   And then I feel it, too.  Through their experience.  How delicious.

And then it happens to me. It sneaks up on me, surprises me with a whisper or a melody or a movement.  It is indescribable, but I know.  I know I am having one of those moments myself.  I want to share it, but somehow, I know it is just between me and the Shechinah.

A voice argues with me.  If I can get you to feel what I felt, maybe something indescribable will happen to you, too.  And then I remember each moment belongs to the moment, not to a different one. Yet, I give in. I will try to describe it anyway.

I have been shaking/waving the lulav for many years now during Sukkot.  In my sukkah, made from colorful items, photos of our family and biblical ancestors, solar lights, with homemade and found objects.  Like straw walls or screens, or the large palms that fell from a tree.

I know how to say the blessing for waving the lulav, to stand facing East, to shake the lulav 3 times each time I wave it. I wave it towards the East in front of me, then to the South, to the right, then towards the West, in back of me, then to the North, to the left, then up to the Sky and Heavens, and finally down to Earth. I end with the lulav close to my heart. Six directions, and then always arriving home at the heart.

I know different kavannot that remind me there is meaning to this ritual. Of unification, feeling the Presence, acknowledging the fragility of life, dreaming of the possibility of rain.  I know when we shake the lulav during the prayer songs of Hallel we are to bring the lulav close to our hearts whenever we sing the name of God (Adonai).  Hodu ladonai ki tov, ki l’olam chasdo, or Ana Adonai Hoshiana, or other psalms containing the name of God.  We sing, we shake to the rhythm of the phrase, always to return the lulav close to the heart at Adonai.  In the past, shaking the lulav during prayer songs has always been an effort.  I fumbled, not knowing how to divide up the shaking to fit each word with the melody.

This year was different.  Alone in my sukkah with the Pandemic Hallel Sukkot zoom service on my Ipad, this time Something happened.  I focused on only one thing. When we say the name of God-Adonai, the lulav must be brought close to the heart. I discovered that’s all that matters.  Once we bring God to our hearts, everything else falls into place and the dance of the shaking does its magic.

There is no effort, just God, close to my heart.

Once I feel God close to my heart, the rest of life is just dance. 

 

September 10, 2021
Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Healing, Spiritual Direction
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Kehilla Rosh Hashanah Teaching (on Zoom), Sept. 8, 2021/5782, Rabbi Chaya Gusfield

 

Shanah Tovah!

The book “Why we Swim” reports this story from Iceland. There was a fishing boat with 5 fishermen on a routine fishing trip.  The seas were very cold, but they were prepared for the cold. The seas were rough, but they were skilled in navigating rough seas.  Yet this trip turned out different than they had expected.  The storm was bigger than they could handle and their boat capsized.  Each fisherman struggled for his life, but four of them eventually succumbed to the cold sea.  Everyone knew that you had to get out of 41 degree water within 30 minutes or you would die of hypothermia.   Yet Guolaugur Frioporssons (“Gudleger Friososon”) swam and swam, 3 miles through pitch darkness.  He swam for 6 hours and then hiked barefoot an additional mile across jagged icy terrain. He came to land and appeared at the door of the first home he found, barely alive.  He spent a month in the hospital recuperating.

Every day of those 30 days his father came and sat at his bed as he listened to his son tell the story of his survival over and over.  I imagine the conversation he had with his father.  That he shared about how scared he had been and how he didn’t understand how he had survived.  His father listened to his grief about losing his buddies.  He listened to his pain and his gratitude and he watched him sleep. He brought food and fed him. He listened as his son repeated his stories over and over until he had the koach, the strength, to get out of bed, and finally go home.

Gudleger became famous. Scientists all over the world wanted to know how he survived and after many tests, they discovered he had an unusual thick fat layer that protected him from hypothermia.  They called him “the human seal”.  What happened during his time in the hospital is what really interested me.

His dad brought him the gift of PRESENCE.  Showing up, day after day, sitting by his side, and listening.  No advice, no problem solving, no accolades, just accompaniment.  A joining, a listening with devotion.  For some of us, to show up without trying to offer a fix would be like crawling across jagged icy terrain on our bare hands and knees.

At times, our habit to fix, to problem solve, even to offer blessings and encouragement with praise will override our ability to offer the gift of a non-anxious presence.  To accompany.  To be silent when no words suffice. Our habits of convention often fill up the spaces that would otherwise be filled with depth/mystery and wonder.

We are in a particularly unfixable time. We need to especially find ways to accompany one another that don’t try to fix that which is unfixable. This requires a slower than usual communication pace.  Not so easy. And yet, if we can embrace a slower pace, a gentle quietness, and welcome the uncertainty of the moment, even just a little, we can begin to listen to the kol d’mama dakah, usually translated as the still small voice. Translated more literally as the voice of a thin silence, a whisper or an utter silence.    Imagine-listening to the voice of silence.  

(Taken directly from the KINGS (Kings I 19:12) , “Kol” is a voice (Exodus 19:19). “Dak” means thin (Isaiah 29:5), and Damam (Exodus 15:16) is silence or stillness.)

As a spiritual director, rabbi and hospital chaplain I immerse in Talmud texts about visiting the sick, healing psalms and liturgy both in Hebrew and English, and I find the best niggunim for healing blessings that match my voice and heart.  Ultimately, however, I have learned through experience, it isn’t about technique, or the right music, or the right psalm.  It is about whether I show up and listen for the silent voice within, ready to embrace the unknown, the unexpected, and the uncertain.   Also, sometimes by showing up in this way I receive images or thoughts that I may not understand, but may become important.

For example, when serving a woman with end stage cancer, I saw an image of a tall mountain I thought might be a symbol of challenge.  When I shared the image with her, she saw it as a symbol of strength and resiliency and she found the image very helpful for the next part of her cancer journey.

And quiet accompaniment cannot be overstated.  I sat with an elderly woman in the hospital during her lunch. After a long silence, a very long silence, I would slowly get up to leave, and more than once she would say, “please don’t go, I am really enjoying our visit.”   I came to understand how much communication, accompaniment, and comfort happens between people without the need for words to fill the space.

The Talmud  (Bava Metzia 30b) also speaks to us about the importance of presence as a healing force between people. When visiting the sick as a peer the Talmud teaches we have the potential of reducing their suffering by 1/60th.   To have an effect.

We might apply this sacred obligation to every person we encounter, whether they are physically ill, emotionally struggling, in mourning, the target of systemic oppression or violence, or the survivor of some other trauma like a worldwide pandemic. We all need presence and accompaniment by others that reduces our suffering.

With support, we can learn how to do this.

I have been exploring ways to show up for ourselves, and for each other through Spiritual Direction group work.  Together we accompany each other with devotional listening, a practice distinct from active listening or even empathic listening. The goal of devotional listening is to help each other deepen our awareness of the Divine or Sacred in our lives.  In our everyday, including our stuck, grieving, wounded, and confused places.  Where we yearn, or where our heart needs tending.    We are not trying to figure anything out.  We ask ourselves, do our responses expand rather than restrict a person’s arena of exploration?  After several weeks of practice, we found this awareness got easier. Being the recipient of devotional listening offers us a profound restfulness.

We are going to take a few moments to reflect on where we are in our relationship with the Sacred today. Please, notice if you need to remove any distractions that might be in your environment. Feel free to lay down, close your eyes, doodle, or move your body to get more comfortable.   I am going to ask you a few questions to reflect on during our precious time together.  You might not find answers today.  And that is fine. This is just a taste.  The answers may come later.  Sometimes just asking the questions is enough to create an opening.

What is on your heart that needs tending to right now?  Bring that into your mind. Bring it into your heart.   Is there a prayer or image that is emerging? An image might arise today or over time as it incubates.  Quiet and spaciousness might become its friend.   Is there a yearning?   Consider if you want to share what came up for you later with someone or keep it private.  Please come back into the room and if you want, take a look around in gallery view at the fellow travelers here, and quietly greet the sacred in one another.

Developing spiritual friendships where we can share what is truly on our heart, and know we will be accompanied by another, is precious. Pirkei Avot and the Chasidic traditions both strongly encourage spiritual friendships. Let’s study this together!

My hope for you for this Rosh Hashanah is for you to find a sacred place where you can offer and receive devotional listening.  It may mean developing a spiritual friendship with someone or joining a group focused on spiritual listening.

By showing up for others through devotional listening, listening to the silent voice within, and embracing the unknown or uncertain, our habitual instincts to fill up the empty spaces will be slowly replaced with more sacred and meaningful connections. We might even get to experience deep rest for ourselves in the process.

As Leonard Cohen says, in one of his poems, truly a prayer:   “Not knowing where to go, I go to you. Not knowing where to turn, I turn to you. Not knowing how to speak, I speak to you. Not knowing what to hold, I bind myself to you. Having lost my way, I make my way to you.”

Shanah Tovah!

 

June 28, 2021
Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Healing, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Spiritual Direction
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A Prayer for a Friend

She came to me in humility

In humility I respond

As I connect, or yearn to connect, with something greater than anything we know in this earthly plain.

Let the yearnings of my sister friend be felt, through a sense of easing.  Let the breath release, let the inner and outer match, and medicine flow through her body and spirit.

I pray that what she eats and where she walks and her moments of sleep bring her shalem-wholeness.

May the sky and the earth and the waters hold her.

She came to me in humility.

In humility I respond.

 

(I was honored to be asked to write a prayer for her when she was in need. Maybe it will help you, too.  When I have the opportunity to pray like this, it is also healing for me.)

June 22, 2021
Filed Under: Healing, Prayer, Spiritual Direction
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Rest in Her Wings

The questions never stop.  So many attempts to answer.

The words the healer speaks, just for you

Songs of healing-delicious, intentional, with tears, with smiles

The remedy-or is it an incantation?

Just the right herbs and spices

Prayer-alone, in community, in dreams, in dance

Forgiveness-self, forgiveness-others

Yearning for more, always a yearning for something else

Meditation, sitting, standing, walking, swimming, eyes open, eyes closed

Fasting

Purging

Unraveling the grief

Rituals of surprise, rituals of fixing

Letting go, letting in.

Don’t you know that Shechinah’s wings are big enough for all the questions?

There is no problem needing a fix

Rest in her wings, let her accompany you.

Rest in her wings

June 6, 2021
Filed Under: Healing, Prayer, Spiritual Direction, Writing/art prompts and art
4 Comments

Flying

 

She decided to let go of the ground she stood on.

I’m not sure why.

I don’t believe

She knows how to fly.

Not yet

I imagine she clings every day, but not today

She let go of her grasp

It was choking

Learning to fly she saw much more

Letting go of the ground she stood on, she walked into the sea without drowning

She saw the sounds that had been quiet

And felt the purple, gold, and orange erupt on her skin

Sometimes neon yellow or sailboat blue 

When she touched someone, they too found their unique colors

Bright, dull, opaque, merging, soft, interwoven, blended.

At times bursting with the flight of the red hawk or brown pelican.

Flying

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