 4 Jun 2005 @ 02:41, by Judih Haggai
Just read this article in today's Ha'aretz [link]. Fascinating account of a meeting between 3 Israelis of the Bayit Chadash (New House)movement of Jewish spirituality and H.H. the Dalai Lama. Fascinating, I'm posting it here for those interested in a very interesting conversation, and for my own safekeeping. Read and please comment. -(judih)
Why am I not a Buddhist?
By Gil Kopatch
Both Moses and Buddha grew up without a mother's love and apparently longed for it all their lives. Buddha was orphaned at an early age; the infant Moses got a one-way ticket for a Nile cruise. Both of them grew up in palaces as pampered princes. Both of them ventured out of the royal hothouse and were astounded to encounter the suffering of their fellows. Both of them turned to meditation for many years - Buddha under a tree, Moses in the wilderness of Midian.
So much for the similarities between these two spiritual giants. But what are the differences? And if there are no differences, why am I not a Buddhist?
article
I decide to pay a two-week visit to India. To find myself with alacrity. And to return as enlightened - and as delighted - as possible.
The king-god
On the day after Pesach, at 6 A.M., I pick up Rabbi Mordechai Marc Gafni from his beit midrash (house of study) in Jaffa's Ajami neighborhood. The rabbi is impossible to categorize. He is certainly not Reform. He is committed to Jewish law, but could not be considered classically Orthodox. He's spontaneous, ecstatic, profound, filled with joy - and embraces and loves everyone he meets. Gafni is among the most important of the new generation of religious leaders in Israel today, a profound teacher and thinker, a serious scholar and an original philosopher who addresses and provokes both mind and heart. He is much more of an Eastern-style spiritual master, a kind of Jewish Bodhisattva, than an establishment rabbi. Together with fellow scholar Avraham Leader and businessman Jacob Nir David, he founded Bayit Chadash (literally, New Home), a new national spiritual movement, which includes a research center and rabbinic certification program, and appeals to people who are dissatisfied with the world of the religious establishment. Many of his students are former India backpackers, who are now yuppies and part of the mainstream of contemporary Israeli society. The rabbi is also my good friend and partner on a Channel 2 program about the weekly Torah reading, in which he usually explains and I usually nod.
A few weeks earlier, he told me about a dialogue he had intended to hold with a friend he met at a meeting of clerics in Rome and asked if I wanted to be the moderator. His friend's name? Tenzin Gyatso, better known as the Dalai Lama - the great ocean of compassion, guardian of the white lotus, who looks down with mercy.
According to the tradition, the 14th Dalai Lama, who will turn 70 on July 6, is the reincarnation of the 13th Dalai Lama and, in fact, of all those who preceded him. He is a Bodhisattva - a soul who, because of his love and compassion, does not seek liberation from the cycle of human suffering, but remains within it in order to help others end their suffering. The Dalai Lama is the political as well as the religious leader of the Tibetan nation, and for his struggle to hold a peaceful dialogue with China, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1989. He is admired around the world and is sought out by Hollywood's top stars. For his believers, who call him "Kundun," he is more than the pope for Catholics: He is the king-god. He himself has said that he is "simply a human being and, incidentally, a Tibetan who chooses to be a Buddhist monk."
On the flight to Jordan, from where we will proceed to Delhi, are three Israeli Buddhists who are going on a pilgrimage to Dharamsala, the city in northern India where the Dalai Lama's temple is located. Rabbi Gafni immediately invites them to a kabbalat Shabbat (the ceremony welcoming the Sabbath) that he is planning to hold there. They recoil. It sounds too Jewish. They don't need it. They are already very spiritual without that; they have already done Vipassana and they have incense and everything.
"Rabbi, why the Dalai Lama? Why now?" I ask him.
"Today Tibetan Buddhism is flowering in the Western world," he replies, "and therefore a Jerusalem-Tibet conversation is the spiritual dialogue of the generation. Just as in the past there was the Greece-Jerusalem conversation through Maimonides, who dialogued with Aristotle in his writings."
And why Buddhism?
Gafni: "Tibetan Buddhism is, in certain dimensions, very close to some forms of kabbala [Jewish mysticism]. Both kabbala and Buddhism share some common language that speaks to the heart of the modern seeker."
But isn't it true that there is no god in Buddhism?
"It is true that the term `God' in Buddhism is different from our understanding according to biblical Judaism. It is not the God of the Bible who speaks in a thunderous voice and reprimands everyone. They do not have an external God who is above nature. He is not external to creation, but is interiorized. From this point of view, Buddhism is close to Hasidism - in terms of the internal work, the work you do on yourself, from which emerges your relationship to the world around you."
It's clear to you, is it not, that all the Haredi [ultra-Orthodox] rabbis will assail you for meeting with idol worshipers?
"Anyone who says that simply does not understand Buddhism; he is speaking from ignorance. The Buddha was a human being, he is not God, and therefore it is clear that his statue is also not God, but only a symbol. So there is no idol worship here."
Travel as thriller
Our hotel is situated in a good neighborhood of New Delhi, meaning that people do not live on the street, but in grimy, neglected apartments. Connaught Place, one of the most magnificent of the city's squares, looks like Kikar Hamedina in Tel Aviv and more especially like "Bread Square," the former protest site of the poor and homeless there. My fastidiousness surges. My only nourishment is nuts and hermetically sealed water.
At night we tour Old Delhi. It's not crowded here at night, only 7.3 Indians per square meter. All of whom are wandering the street in groups. No one suffers from loneliness here. In the West people feel alone in villas; here they sleep two-three to a porter's wagon and don't look especially sad. It's hard to find an Indian depressive who is hooked on Prozac or its ilk. They don't have the leisure for that.
Carpets of people are sleeping on the traffic islands. The drivers of the three-wheeled cabs sleep in their vehicles. It's astonishing, the balance that is needed to sleep on the seat of a bicycle.
The next day we set out in the most expensive taxi we could find; the important thing is just to get out of here. Traveling on the roads of India is like being in a thriller. You watch the developments on the road with disbelief, waiting for the catharsis that will purge you of your fear. It's a terrific movie. Anything can happen. Driving against the traffic, veering out of the way a split second before a bicycle holding an entire family splatters all over you.
To the drivers' credit, they obviously feel their car. They probably live in it. The car is part of their body and they behave on the highway as on the street, in a state of patient, moderate, smiling chaos. Not that there are no accidents. Here and there we see overturned buses along the road. But they, too, are accepted with equanimity.
Many of the vehicles sport a sign saying "Honk, please." In driving there is nothing like the sense of hearing. In Israel every honk can send the honkee out of his car and spark a blood-drenched incident. Here it's a happy thing - people merrily honk at one another. You could mistakenly think that driving here is an ear-splitting experience until you realize that honking is like saying "hello."
At a "workers'" restaurant by the roadside we are careful not to enter the stinking pit called a "lavatory." A large indifferent bull strides in. Guess who's coming to dinner. They feed it fresh chapati and in response it oozes a lot of spittle and strolls off, languidly escorted by an entourage of 200 flies.
Our driver Pablo, an Indian hunk who looks like singer Eyal Golan, travels this road every day for 13 straight hours. His favorite god, he says, is Ganesh, the mischievous Hindu god with the head of an elephant. Ganesh is the most popular god in India. He is responsible for pranks and intrigues.
We crossed the rich state of Punjab and the poor state of Uttar Pradesh and we arrive in the north, in the state of Hiamachal Pradesh, the paradise of India. The weather is far more pleasant. Which is to say, the air moves. In Delhi it's different: There the mosquitoes hold the air between their teeth.
We start to climb the Himalayas. Pablo is very tired - he hasn't slept in three days. Rabbi Gafni encourages him with sacred songs and some tunes by Simon and Garfunkel, too. Pablo has never heard of them but he wakes up, no doubt also aided by the light massage the rabbi applies to his shoulders.
The road bends sharply and the turns begin. Dharamsala is at an altitude of 2,000 meters. High, but still only considered to be at the foothills of the Himalayas. The turns are terribly sharp. Good thing it's been dark for some time. That way we don't see the potholes or the abyss alongside the road.
At 3 A.M. we reach upper Dharamsala. After the Dalai Lama fled from the Chinese and made his way stealthily across the Himalayas on the back of a yak, the Indian government granted him political asylum and this village, Macleod Ganj, adjacent to Dharamsala. Here, like our Yohanan Ben Zakkai, he reinvigorated the Tibetan people and its culture after the terrible destruction.
The Chinese killed more than one million Tibetans and destroyed some 6,000 monasteries. Holocaust is something else we have in common with them.
Your original face
Already during the tour of Macleod Ganj in the morning I was ripped off by shoe-shining Rajasthani kids. The rabbi hinted that I should upgrade my appearance before going to see the Bodhisattva of compassion. So I abandoned my shoes to the kids. They asked for 350 rupees, which is about NIS 35. I paid them a month's salary without haggling and got a serious scolding from the owner of a Tibetan store, who said I was spoiling the young generation. Fortunately it's Rajasthani youth, not Tibetan, so there isn't much to spoil.
There is tension between the different communities in the village. The Tibetans are angry at the Indians and call them slothful, while the Indians are vexed by the industrious Tibetans. They arrived only 50 years ago and already have developed the village and made it one of the major tourist centers of India. It's a small village, with a population of 6,000, of whom about 1,000 are Israelis.
There are three lanes in the village and they all lead upward. The homes snake their way up the side of a green hill and on the rooftops are cafes with a view that makes your heart go pitter-pat. In front of the central house of worship are cylinders on which are drawn colorful verses of prayer. When you turn them they create a kind of mantra, which is delivered to the ears of the universe.
There are fine restaurants in Macleod Ganj. Italian, Japanese, Korean and of course Tibetan and Israeli. True, the lanes are narrow and the cows crap, but it is clean here, the air is clear and the water fresh, direct from the Himalayas. It rains twice a day and the drops are heavy.
The Israelis are concentrated in the neighboring villages of Dharamkot and Bhagsu, which are less crowded. The view is a lot better there, too, but the monkeys are more impertinent. Surprisingly, most of the Israelis here have a busy schedule. A meditation course in the morning, followed immediately by a massage lesson, then cooking and drumming. They don't have time for shanti (total tranquillity) here - that they reserve for Israel.
The next day it was pretty clear that the hawks were looking for food. Because we are situated on the edge of an abyss, they fly pretty much at eye level, just meters from me. Today we have a meeting with Tenzin Geyche Tethong, the secretary of the Tibetan government, about the rules of protocol and the content of the meeting with the Dalai Lama.
Rabbi Gafni wears his special Hasidic garb. The Tibetan government has a special minister in charge of robes and they attribute great significance to this. We don't want to foment a diplomatic scandal because of mistaken fashion considerations.
In the government compound soldiers are playing badminton. There is a great splash of flowers here and their aroma accompanies us to the bureau. The secretary, formal but smiling, waxes enthusiastic over the rabbi's Hasidic robe. "The Dalai Lama is in the middle of writing a book," he says, "but he loves Rabbi Gafni and has specially made time for him. He has an interest in being in contact with the Israeli community. You are our neighbors here and we should get to know you."
He asks about the Israelis, why there are so many of them here. Rabbi Gafni replies that they feel a deep connection to the spirit of the place, perhaps because both the Tibetans and the Jews have suffered oppression and sought to maintain their identity in difficult conditions of exile. I ask why the Tibetans are always laughing. His eyes lighting up, he replies: "The original face of people, beneath all the masks, is a smiling face."
Amen.
The encounter
The Tsuglagkhang compound, the Dalai Lama's official residence, is a few minutes' walk from the center of the village. The morning of the meeting, a Friday, finds the rabbi in good spirits. He takes bills out of his pocket and distributes them to the lepers of the neighborhood. They smile, happy with their lot.
In the Namgyal temple, Tibetan monks are conducting a lively argument. They clap their hands vigorously to emphasize a solid point and snort mockingly to disparage their adversary's argument. Just like the hair-splitting debates that took place in the plaza of our Temple.
The conference room contains luxurious low sofas and silkscreen prints on the wall. Even though this is supposed to be an intimate encounter, a few Israelis who were born again in Indian ashrams have managed to infiltrate the gathering. They are on the verge of a mild orgasm at the meeting with their God.
The Dalai Lama enters. He has nice eyes, his presence is pleasant, that is clear. He and Rabbi Gafni embrace, bow to each other and place cheek by cheek, showing more affection than what is customary. Both the rabbi and the Dalai Lama laugh heartily; indeed, they seem to share a great love for laughter.
After the greetings the rabbi reminds the Dalai Lama that he gave His Holiness his skullcap in Rome. "I hope you still have it," he says. The Dalai Lama nods in affirmation. "I hope that one day it will be useful to me when I visit Jerusalem or Jewish institutions," he says in English, and laughs.
Following are some excerpts from the conversation.
"I represent not only Gafni, but the Jewish tradition," the rabbi said, "and I want to thank you for receiving us in your home. The subject we want to talk to you about is how the world of the spirit can have a practical influence and change the very real world of politics and economics."
Dalai Lama: "That is a good subject. It is very important."
Gafni, with a smile: "That is why I brought Gil with me - he's the Richard Gere of Israel [Gere is active in the movement to free Tibet], because he gets better ratings than I do."
"Your Holiness," I said, "I have a few questions that are bothering me. My first question is what love is, actually. And how do we teach people to love in a practical way?"
Dalai Lama: "I cannot say what the exact meaning of love is. But when I use that word, it means that something is very precious to me. I feel not only closeness, but also caring and respect. For example, I love my watch but there are no relations of closeness between us, we do not share the same experiences. Love is for people who have the same experience as mine - feelings, pain, pleasure. That is why we should respect others, because they are part of myself.
"We learn our first experience of love from our mother," he continued. "The infant wants to be close to its mother. Sometimes, unfortunately, there are unwanted children, but in general the mother sees the baby as part of her body. That is the height of closeness. This feeling is essential in reality for survival. This feeling becomes an important part of our life and it continues until our death. All the spiritual concepts speak about this being the most important feeling."
Gafni: "I want to offer from the kabbala a comment on the words of wisdom of His Holiness."
Dalai Lama: "So I can learn, very good!"
Gafni: "To learn from the tradition of our forefathers. The kabbala says that love, at its core, is not an emotion, but a perception, a way of seeing the world. The emotion then wells up from the perception. Once we understand that, we can train a perception, and we can also train ourselves to be lovers. Love is to see with the eyes of God. To love someone is to see them in their highest, most beautiful place. To love someone is to perceive their infinite specialness, with that divinity. The model for love in this sense is the way the mother sees her child. Even if the baby grows up and falls, the mother will always hold that at his core, he is beautiful and holy, and divine. This is why in Hebrew mysticism we call God `shaddai' - it is the divine breast of the mother who nourishes us all. And because we are all part of God. We are all divine miniatures. So we all have the ability to be lovers, that is, to access our divine perception and see others with the eyes of God."
The Dalai Lama was impressed: "Beautiful! The idea that love is a type of seeing, that it is possible to train it, is a good idea. It is hard to train a feeling, but sight is easier. We are all creatures of God. God is everlasting love. If I love God, I have to maintain a loving feeling toward all creatures, who are part of God. These feelings should be cultivated by logic, by meditation - there are methods for doing that. What is certain is that even people who do not have an interest in religion need a warm heart. A warm heart leads to inner quiet and to a tranquil and meaningful life. If the parents grow up in this atmosphere, they will educate their children accordingly. And that is the right way to change humanity."
"If all the religions talk about love of mankind and compassion," I asked, "how is it that so much hatred and wars are the fruit of religious education?"
The Dalai Lama laughed. "Religion has a big umbrella and under it you can do what you want," he said. "The spiritual tradition represents good values for the long range. When people are in a desperate situation, their emotions become more negative. When anger is strong, the long-range considerations are forgotten. Therefore it is easier to believe in the values of the spirit when you have a comfortable life, but the wisdom is to do that during hardships.
"There are people who use religion for political or financial purposes and manipulate human belief. In Northern Ireland, for example. The naive people have stronger feelings and it is easier to work them up. That is why certain conflicts in history happened because of religion. But if you look closely you will see that the real considerations were different.
"The fundamentalist believes only in his religion and is afflicted with lack of knowledge and lack of esteem for the other traditions. He feels sincerely that he is serving God - and destroys and lays waste. The method to dissolve this is by means of talks between the traditions. Knowledge should be increased. Harmony should be created between the faiths. I was in Jerusalem twice, not only as a tourist but as a pilgrim, and I spoke with Jews and Muslims and Christians. Despite the different philosophy, they all carry the same idea. A message of love, compassion, forgiveness and self-meaning. That is why I feel more contact is needed. More dialogue. I have friends from all religions. If I am ever exiled from here, I will have somewhere to go."
Gafni: "The most important idea I want to share with you is about why people who are deeply religious can behave in a terrible way. In what I call integral kabbala, and in modern integral thought, we say there are stages and states. States mean that which I achieve and lose - like an altered state or mystical state. A stage is a permanent achievement; I have developed to a particular stage of achievement and I do not lose it. In moral development, there are four major stages: egocentric, ethnocentric, worldcentric (feeling care and compassion for all people), and also the stage of being compassionate for all living beings and not only human beings.
"Now here is the deep idea. All states, mystical ones included, are interpreted through the prism of stages. If I am at one level - let's say, egocentric - and I have a mystical experience, I might think I am Jesus. If I am at the ethnocentric stage, then I might think that only my people is holy ... The secret is that all states are interpreted through the prism of stages, one's moral stage of development. Therefore, even people who reach genuine mystical states can behave in morally reprehensible ways."
The Dalai Lama listened carefully, nodding, seemingly excited to hear this new wisdom.
Gil: "Politicians and businessmen only want to be in control all the time, whereas one of the principles of the spirit is precisely to give up control. How is it possible to combine the two?"
Dalai Lama: "The success of the modern economy depends on other elements, such as clients. A good politician is usually voted into office in elections, so he depends on people. Therefore, they are not actually in control. Politics and the economy need a great many people. Religion, in the end, is the business of one person. Religion depends on the individual.
"If your belief is clean, if you have a healthy and true motivation, all your actions can be constructive, filled with compassion and beneficial to the world. It does not matter what your profession is - politician, scientist or teacher. If your motivation is to be self-centered, then every religion becomes dirty and destructive. All human activity depends on the individual who does it. Therefore, religion has an important role. To instill values in those who make the economy and the politics, to change the way of thinking toward compassion and love.
"Not long ago we had a state meeting with the government of India. And one of the country's most important ministers was there, too. Humbly he said that he is a politician and therefore does not have enough spiritual knowledge. I said to him that a person who is a public figure needs religion more than someone who lives alone in a remote place. Someone like that does not cause much harm even if he goes crazy [laughs loudly]. But the leaders, if they are not mentally balanced, if their brain is complicated and sophisticated, but their heart is poor and wretched, that has serious implications" (laughs in satisfaction).
Sexuality and divinity
Gil: "Let's talk about sexuality in Buddhism and kabbala."
Gafni: "I want to offer from Jerusalem a scientific method of how religion can teach the individual change. Because I do not have the courage to speak in my name, I ask all the angels and sages to speak through me and they will do it better than I can by myself."
The Dalai Lama listens attentively. Gafni concentrates silently for a few seconds and continues:
"In the Temple in Jerusalem, above the Holy Ark, were pictures of two angels. They were embracing in a kind of sexual tantric yoga posture. In the kabbala we call this `the secret of the Cherubim.' The secret is that one of the ways to teach personal transformation and love is through using the principles of sexuality as a spiritual model. Why? Because sexuality illustrates all the principles of religion.
"For example, giving up control, which Gil asked about. In sex it is not good to be always in control. Sex works only if we are willing at times to give up control. So sexuality exemplifies a spiritual principle. There is also another element in kabbala, which is called `the secret of the kisses.' Let's say I go to the bank and ask the teller to record that I as though deposited money. He will look at me as though I am crazy. In this world, after all, either you take or you receive. But in sexuality, giving and receiving are collapsed into one. So the sexual models the holy, the holy way of living."
The Dalai Lama was a bit surprised by what seemed to be a new approach, but listened carefully.
Gafni: "Another spiritual thing that is illustrated by the sexual: to do something for its own sake, not in order to gain some other advantage extraneous to itself. Sex according to the kabbala is meditation of the ordinary person. Because sexuality is for the thing itself. These are but examples of a core kabbalistic idea. The kabbala says that sexuality, which the whole world is afraid of, actually incorporates astounding spiritual principles that should be applied as the model for living in all the nonsexual areas of life."
The Dalai Lama laughs appreciatively. He bursts with laughter. It takes him time to calm down. Sex is something that Tibetan monks of his level are not supposed to take an interest in.
Dalai Lama: "It's complicated. Sex is mainly a matter of culture. That is its main role in nature. We cannot say that there is any religious meaning in it. Animals do it and we cannot say that they are religious."
Gafni: "But animals have a soul, too. You see? I am a good Buddhist."
Dalai Lama (laughing): "In the Indian tradition there may be something similar to what you are saying. But in Buddhism it is different. All the internal feelings and the sexual feelings are related to `internal air,' and we have to control this internal air, the movement of this internal energy. We use the sexual organs to create movement, to make the energy flow, not for the purpose of culture, but to achieve a deeper experience of consciousness. And then the sexual energy melts away. Only trained people are capable of this.
"Good and proper sexual relations are a way to get close to one another," he adds. "but they are also the source of a problem. You are happy for a few months and then the problems come up."
"There seems to be a lot of energy in envy, in ego and in violence," I ask, "and the energy to do well by others is far less powerful. Is it possible to learn how to channel the energy of evil toward the doing of good?"
Dalai Lama: "That is very clear. A negative feeling creates energy immediately. So negative feelings are stronger than positive ones. Through training, positive feelings can also give energy. Compassion, for example, by training one's thinking, can give endless energy. But it is not easy. You need a sharp mind and a developed consciousness to make these distinctions."
Gafni: "There is the story about the founder of Hasidism who was approached because an infant had fallen ill, and instead of going to 10 righteous men, he asked 10 thieves to pray for him. All the Jews were angry with him, and he said, `The gates of heaven are locked and only a thief knows how to pick the locks of heaven.' Maybe that means that we need the highest level of consciousness to access the energy of the thief in us in order to storm heaven."
The Dalai Lama laughs and stamps his feet. "God is nice," he says, "and he may be especially nice to the sinners. That is very true."
The rabbi takes out the fabric he bought in the market the day before, orange silk cloth such as the Tibetan monks use. He asked an Israeli woman named Idit to sew tzitzit (ritual fringes) in each corner and then he had a totally kosher tallit (prayer shawl). With much grace and decorum, he presents it to the Dalai Lama.
"Ho!" the Dalai Lama calls out, moved. "This is wonderful Jewish-Tibetan merger. How wonderful." After the rabbi explains its kabbalistic meaning to a very attentive Dalai Lama, he wraps himself in it, chortling delightedly. Then he gives us white silk scarves, as is the custom when parting - and gets a skullcap. He and the rabbi embrace and their love for each other is felt by everyone. Everyone bows to the Dalai Lama; he bows in return and leaves.
I was caught in the garden. Suddenly the Dalai Lama emerged from behind me, wearing the skullcap and prayer shawl, on the way to his next meeting. "I am a Tibetan Jew! A Tibetan Jew!" Pleased as punch he was.
The differences
The rumor of the visit spread through the foothills of the Himalayas. Dozens of Israelis, young people in search of serenity, arrive for the kabbalat Shabbat at the Hotel OM (symbol of the presence of the universal in the individual). On the porch, which seemed to be suspended in mid-air between the tops of green pine trees, Rabbi Gafni - warmly greeted by many travelers who knew him from Israel - succeeds in creating a moving experience for them, in part thanks to India, which has milked the Zionism out of them. During "Shir Lama'alot" (Song of Degrees), they all lift their eyes to the snowcapped peaks, knowing whence their help shall come.
In our last conversation en route to the airport, I talk with the rabbi again about the differences. Buddha said: Elimination of suffering is all. Suffering is my identification with this world. And this world perishes. The more I am attached to this world, the more I suffer. It is better to sit under the tree, concentrate on one's breathing, do stretching exercises and not identify too much.
Moses, in contrast, foments a political and cultural revolution that is called the Exodus from Egypt. He is a political activist. He operates in this world, influences history, repairs reality and not just one's personal karma.
And there is another difference: What a beautiful land it turned out to be for Moses here. Only when you get back from India do you see it. The streets here are so clean. I feel like getting out of the car and licking the road. Allenby Street never looked so polished. The houses are so white. The dogs are so sated and the flies are so lonely. More power to a sense of perspective. More power to Moses. More power to the Israel Defense Forces
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