• Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer

Rabbi Chaya Gusfield

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

  • Home
  • Meet Chaya
    • About Chaya
    • Videos & Publications
  • Chaya’s Garden
  • Art Gallery
  • Spiritual Direction
    • What is Spiritual Direction?
    • Group Spiritual Direction
    • Design Your Own Group
  • Offerings
    • What Chaya Offers
    • Events & Classes
    • End of Life, Grief, Mourning
    • Torahscope
    • For Chaplains
    • Favorite Resources
  • Get in Touch
    • Contact
    • Payments

Torah/Life Writings

December 14, 2022
Filed Under: Healing, Torah/Life Writings
Leave a Comment

Torah portion Vayeishev, Breishit/Genesis, 5782

This drash was given in November, 2021, on zoom at my cousin Ann Brown’s synagogue Beit Haverim, located outside of Portland.  She serves as their beloved Cantorial Soloist.

Who are we?  and whose voices do we carry in our bodies, in our spirits, and in our actions, whether consciously or not?

Before we delve into this question and our discussion of this Torah portion, we divert for a moment to ask, what is Torah? 

The Chernobler Rebbe (Me’or Aynayim, d 1797), says that the Torah is not a historical document but rather a garment of God’s light. It is a blueprint that defines who we are!

The way I see it, Torah is our collective dream and our job is to ask what do the stories, the text, guide our lives today and every day.  Where is our life embedded in Torah?

It will always be different for each person, and different for each of us every time we engage with Torah text.

This portion is filled with intrigue and adventure, drama and challenge.  With four chapters that are so rich with events – Joseph’s dreams; Jakov’s love for Joseph; the rivalry of the siblings and Joseph being sold to slavery; Yehuda and Tamar; Joseph in Potifar’s home and Joseph in prison, the dreams of the Baker and Wine Butler and Joseph interpreting those dreams.

YET: The first verse stopped me in my tracks:

Vayeishev Ya’akov b’eretz megurei aviv be’eretz kena’an

וַיֵּשֶׁב יַעֲקֹב, בְּאֶרֶץ מְגוּרֵי אָבִיו–בְּאֶרֶץ, כְּנָעַן.

Jacob dwelt in the land of his father’s sojourn, the land of Canaan  (Gen. 37:1)

This portion begins with Jacob’s conscious return to his father’s land.  Note, he is not returning to his father who died in last week’s parshah.  He is returning to the land.  The rocks, the mountains, the sky, the creeks, the animals who live there.

Just as right now we each are on land that was stewarded for many years by the people indigenous to the land.  Here, in Northern California where I write this, ut is the Coastal Miwok also called the Olamentko who still live here and still steward her.  We offer gratitude to this land, the coyotes, the bunnies, the quail, the deer who prune our plants, the sea that bring the winds and is home to the sea creatures, the sky that offers fog and rain.

Jacob returning to his father’s land invites us to ask ourselves, Who are our ancestors and where do we feel connected? What land do we feel connected with?

As I began, Who are we? whose voices do we carry in our bodies, in our spirits, and in our actions, whether consciously or not? 

 I hold this question every day about the voices of my ancestors, my spiritual lineage, my teachers, and the influence of family in my life.  I try to notice how these relationships guide me, and when I feel lost, I try to remember to ask for guidance from them.

Ordained in the Jewish Renewal movement I take seriously my spiritual lineage of what the Chassidic rebbe’s have to offer, as much as I take seriously the relationships I have with my parents who are no longer alive, or my chaplain mentors, or even the teachings I receive from the tragedies I have experienced or witnessed.  I inherited it all.

Let us return to the first sentence of Vayeishev.

Vayeishev Ya’akov b’eretz megurei aviv be’eretz kena’an

וַיֵּשֶׁב יַעֲקֹב, בְּאֶרֶץ מְגוּרֵי אָבִיו–בְּאֶרֶץ, כְּנָעַן.

The Hebrew of the first sentence has a word that interested a Chassidic rebbe of the 18th century.  Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev. We usually translate this verse to say that Jacob returned to the land where his father sojourned or journeyed through.  Instead, Levi Yitzchak read the sentence that Jacob returned to the land of his father’s fear.  He came to this because the word here in Hebrew for Sojourning, megurei is also a synonym for fear or Pachad.

Jacob understood that his father Isaac was a man who served God with the quality of this fear.

We might think of fear as bad, but Levi Yitzchak says Jacob does not have a morbid fear of making a mistake, rather, he feels an invitation to see our unique role in the subtle and intimate connection with all others who suffer.  And thus to act with caution.

Levi Yitzchak offers the possibility of a productive, positive awareness of our actions. To develop a fear of God is not to be afraid, but to develop the quality of self awareness and mindfulness.

Jacob is taking on this quality, or middah, of fear, as a gift inheritance from his father Isaac.  Not an inheritance of burden.

I wonder if Jacob might have been working through his guilt of how he treated Esau, or how he tricked his father.  He might be grieving because both his father and the love of his life, Rachel, had just died.

So Jacob leans on his father Isaac’s quality of serving God with fear in order to feel him, to learn from him, to be like him, and maybe to be comforted by him.

Jacob reminds us that what we inherit is of great importance.  We also lean on our ancestors to feel them, to learn from them, to be like them, to be comforted by them.

When officiating a funeral I often invite the mourners to make a list of gifts they have inherited from their departed.  By doing this myself, at my mother’s funeral it was the first time I noticed how much I was like my mother.  In the hospital where I worked as a chaplain I was often mistaken for a medical social worker like she was.  To this day I notice more and more how every movement I make, especially with my hands, reminds me of my mom.

Even the tragedy of losing a sister who took her life when I was a young teenager, taught me the gift of resilience and how to make meaning from tragedy. This tragedy, resulted in years of me working in service of others as a public interest lawyer, mediator, chaplain, rabbi, spiritual director, and teacher.

Trust me, tragedy is not a gift, but what has transformed our lives in ways we did not have asked for, may over time, become surprise gifts or teachers.

Jacob was telling us to go back, there is something there to look at, even if we don’t know exactly what it is.  This doesn’t mean that inheriting fear is always good. Our people have surely inherited a collective trauma we need to address, but as Rabbi Zalman Schacter Shalomi, z’l, would often say, while driving, don’t forget to look in the rearview mirror.

There is something else that jumped out to me.  This portion is the beginning of the Joseph stories.  My father’s name was Joseph. It’s not an accident I am here with you today.  I can’t ignore that.

It was the merit of my parents Joe and Irma, and Ann’s parents, Sylvia and Murray, zichronam livracha, may their memories be a blessing, that brought me here today to be with you. Ann is my second cousin, our grandmothers were sisters.  In our adult years, one could even say our aging years, we found each other again through Torah and music, across cyberspace.

And through the study of this portion, I noticed for the first time that I also follow in my dad’s footsteps, not primarily as an academic, but by making art in my recent years, as he did seriously in his last.  He is definitely smiling about that.

Something else worth paying attention to is the shalshelet that appears in this portion!  A shalshelet is a rare musical note, a trope sign, that is only used 4 times in the 5 books of Moses. Shalshelet means chain and is sung in three parts.  Shalshelet also includes the word shalosh/three. When Joseph was accused by Potipher’s wife (who was not given a name) of trying to seduce her, there is a shalshelet on the word that means he refused. VaiyaMEyn.  Genesis 39:8

We are taught in the Zohar that Joseph leaned on his three ancestors:  Avraham, Yitzchak, and his father Ya’akov to strengthen him to not engage with, let’s call her, Mrs. Potipher.

I invite us all to take a look at the ones who came before us, including those who show up in Torah narratives, and ask what gifts or qualities did they give us, we might want to return to?  Even if the gifts might be painful, surprising, or slow in coming.

 I end with a nonrhetorical question.

Who are we? whose voices do we carry in our bodies, in our spirits, and in our actions, whether consciously or not?

 

 

 

 

December 10, 2022
Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Grief Writings, Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings
2 Comments

The Crying Rabbi (Inspired by the Torah portion Vayetzei)

https://rabbichayagusfield.com/wp-content/uploads/the-crying-rabbi.mp3

 

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.

 

October 16, 2022
Filed Under: Prayer, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings
1 Comment

“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.

September 29, 2022
Filed Under: Healing, Music/prayer, Prayer, Torah/Life Writings
3 Comments

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.)

February 15, 2022
Filed Under: Healing, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings
Leave a Comment

Crowded Rooms*

There is no reason to feel lonely. The room is crowded with those that have shaped, guided, and offered me gifts, whether they were invited to or not. Born into a Jewish family I was literally shaped with the thighs of my people.  Ashkenazi Jewish thighs.  Yiddish, secular, Reform Hebrew School, and stockings the morning of Christmas.  I swam in the culture of an assimilated, middle class, 1950’s Jewish American pride.

From our gay elders I was gifted Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual pride which expanded into varied gender nonconforming expressions.  Living on lesbian land as a young adult, I floated in the Eel River, learning from and connecting with Mother Earth and her creatures.

I was ordained as a rabbi by Rabbi Zalman Schachter Shalomi, z”l,  and his students. I was brought into their chassidic spiritual lineages of the Baal Shem Tov, the Lubavitcher rebbe, Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev and the women mystics we uncovered.

As a hospital chaplain, I was held with love under the loving tutelage of beloved Buddhist/Baptist, AME church, Unitarian Universalist, and Presbyterian supervisors.  I became a hospital rabbi for Muslims, Christians, Sikhs, the atheist and the spiritual but not religious. I prayed with Jews who had never prayed in their own words before.

The Mercy Center Catholic nuns taught me how to listen with devotion and how to pray outloud, getting quiet in order to let the voice of God emerge, serving as a Spiritual Companion to those seeking to find the Sacred in their lives.

With my partner, I know joy and play, struggle and return, and dream for more days together. Always  finding the unexpected.

With my beloved study partners I pray the text and inhale it into my soul.

Through my writing teachers I unleash the creative unconscious through words. Listening to the still small voice.

From my parents I learned how to think, how to question, how to use my gifts to help others, how to receive the pain of others without dying, and how to care for the elderly.

From my sister who died too soon, I experienced tragedy and made meaning from it.  I accompany others who have experienced something similar in their families.

From my daughter there is the eternal dance of closeness and space, and the unspoken connection that has no name.

From Torah, I inherited many ancestors deep within our collective dreams, conflicts, and celebrations.  I do not turn away from the difficult reflections of our lives found within our wisdom tradition.

From niggunim, I listen into and feel my heart, and sigh.

The room is full and more keep squeezing in.

Welcoming each guide, I accept their gifts.  There is no room for loneliness.

*who is in your crowded rooms?

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

January 11, 2022
Filed Under: Grief Writings, Healing, Prayer, Torah/Life Writings
1 Comment

Each Day We Choose the Dip

Everything we know leads back to the river of loss and the lessons woven within her gentle ripples and harsh currents.

Each day we choose the dip.

Some days the dip is forever tears.

Other days the tears become a mikveh, we step gently into the waters of the womb of God, offer a blessing, and emerge with a New Name.

Another day comes. We begin again.

December 31, 2021
Filed Under: Chaplain Reflections, Grief Writings, Healing, Kaddish Musings, Prayer, Reflections on Love, Torah/Life Writings, Writings on Suicide
2 Comments

Celebrating Rabbinic Ordination

https://rabbichayagusfield.com/wp-content/uploads/chayas-smicha-drash.mp3

This is the drash (sermon) I gave at my rabbinic ordination in January, 2006.  It is still relevant today. As I celebrate my 16th year as a rabbi, I share this with you.  The Torah portions mentioned were read in synagogues during the prior two weeks during 2021/5782.

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi, Jacob blesses his son Joseph, by giving Joseph’s sons Maneshe and Ephraim a blessing.  He says “y’varech et hana’arim v’yikare b’hem shmi v’shem avotai avraham v’yitzchak .” (Genesis 48:16)  “Bless the young ones, may MY name be called through them and in the name of my forefathers Abraham and Isaac”

Simply stated, “May the memories of the ancestors be upon them as a blessing.”

We also see in Shmot, next week’s parashah, God says to Moses, “Ze shmi l’olam, v’zeh zichri l’dor dor.”(Exodus 3:15)   “This shall be My name forever.  This is my memorial from generation to generation.”

Once again, the name is used for a blessing.

In our tradition, we say of loved ones who have died, “Zichronam livracha” “May their memory be a blessing.”

Sometimes we say, “alav or aleha shalom”…May peace be upon him or her.

This is one of our most precious meditation practices.  When we mention the dead and stop to say zichrono livracha, or aleha shalom, we have the opportunity to continue our conversations with them, to receive blessing, and to offer them blessing, through the process of remembering them.

One day, I received an unexpected call from someone I didn’t know from New York who was trying to reach someone else at Kehilla Community Synagogue and stumbled upon my name and number in the process.  She told me that she knew my family from when I was a child.  My whole family.  And then she said, “I knew your sister Julie, zichrona livracha.” She said that they were the same age.  It made me stop.  The fact that she said her name and then followed it by zichrona livracha took my breath away.  I don’t believe I had ever heard anyone say Julie’s name with that blessing before.  I asked myself, what was the blessing that I was suppose to receive by remembering her in this moment?  I thought about it for many days.  What is the blessing?  My sister died a tragic death and for most of my life remembering her did not always feel like a blessing.  It was a difficult memory.  It brought great pain and suffering to our family.

I suspect that there may be people in your families who have died for whom remembering them wouldn’t always feel like a blessing.  And yet, our tradition asks us to remember them as a blessing EVERY TIME we mention their name.  Is this a mean trick–a way to ignore reality?  I believe it offers us an opportunity.  An opportunity for healing.

Reb Marcia invites us to see a bracha (a blessing) as the process of humbling ourselves by bending the knees (birkayim), reaching into the pool (breycha) and  experiencing the fountain of blessings as ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES.

Zichrona livracha –“may her memory be for endless possibilities”.  Whether you are the survivor of someone who experienced a tragic death, whether you have only difficult feelings about the person who died, or whether all you can remember are sweet moments, by saying zichrono livracha, we open the door to endless possibilities.  To anger, radical amazement, deep grief, a softening of the belly, the warmth of our heart, deep humility.  The key is that there are endless possibilities…The door is open to those who have died, and to our own healing process.

“Zecher tzaddik livrecha l’chayei haolam haba” “Remember this good person for a blessing for life in the world to come.”  By saying this expression when we remember someone who has departed, we send blessings to them-endless possibilities-in the world they inhabit.

We come together today in sacred community, a day filled with many brachot, many blessings.  A day that offers us endless possibilities from the deep pool of blessing.

Please join me in dipping into that pool by bringing into your heart and mind someone in your life who has died, to remember them for a blessing of endless possibilities.

The door is open to continue your conversation with them.  We may think we know what this conversation should be, but just for today, just for today, allow the conversation to arise on its own-in the quiet and sacredness of this community.

Zecher tzaddik livracha   —  May their memories bless our lives….

.

 

 

 

Next Page »

Primary Sidebar

Categories

  • Cancer Reflections (32)
  • Chaplain Reflections (49)
  • Grief Writings (100)
  • Healing (130)
  • Home page post (1)
  • Kaddish Musings (20)
  • Music/prayer (13)
  • Prayer (79)
  • Reflections on Love (64)
  • Spiritual Direction (17)
  • Torah/Life Writings (32)
  • Uncategorized (7)
  • Writing/art prompts and art (9)
  • Writings on Suicide (10)

Footer

Join Mailing List

Follow Me

  • Facebook
  • LinkedIn
  • Instagram

Copyright © 2023 · Rabbi Chaya Gusfield · Log in

  • Home
  • Meet Chaya
  • Chaya’s Garden
  • Art Gallery
  • Spiritual Direction
  • Offerings
  • Get in Touch
 

Loading Comments...