06/09/2024
On ABR’s Yahrzeit
As a twelve year-old I knew I needed to pull the Buddha into my Jewish heart. At that time, I’d started to learn about unimaginable suffering by being introduced to brain tumors in children. By the time I was 49, I had amassed a collection of books (a kind of adjunct to my psychotherapy library) which suggested to anyone who observed that I might be a Buddhist (I’m not). But Buddhist Psychology always superseded the answers I sought through Western Psychology. The “answers” about suffering. The witnessing of it. The experience of it. The intuitive force to resist it. The idea that I could resist it. The ridding of it for myself (and others). Until it finally clicked for me (somewhere in the decade of my twenties) that the counterintuitive answer was to allow it to just be there.
Because no matter what I did or where I went, there suffering was.
Still not quite grasping the Buddhist concept of how exactly to invite it to tea, I tried to incorporate it into my professional practice as best I could. And, of course, into my personal life. Which was tough because I was often perceived as a “downer”. Embracing the omnipresence of suffering is not exactly intuitive or the kind of conversation to have with someone you meet on the ferry to your every other weekend Fire Island share. Unless, of course, that person is willing to do mushrooms with you. Those people helped. Tremendously.
Finally, searching for something different to use in my private practice (after CBT, DBT, ACT and all the acronyms that came before and after), for my 50th birthday, I enrolled myself in a Mindfulness Meditation Teacher Training program. As Mindfulness was not a part of my upbringing, I couldn’t quite embody it the way I knew was necessary in order to transmit its potency in the service of healing.
Fast forward to successfully completing (and continuing) my training (because you’re never “done” with learning in this space). In order to hold the Dharma, you’ve got to keep it lively and didactic, such as through connection in Sangha (community).
And it is here where I find myself, post-brunch, sipping a skim decaf latte, writing a note to one of my Dharma teachers and crying.
Since 10/7, I’ve continued to swallow buckets of tears for the pain in my heart of being a Jew who doesn’t feel safe in a magical space where it always seemed possible. In Sangha, during this virulent Jew-hating tear in my universe, I no longer can be fully present.
Social justice is a foundational part of this community. And for good reason. The four Brahmaviharas are: love, compassion, sympathetic joy and equanimity. For me that has always translated into unconditional love and positive regard. And yet, I can’t say I’ve witnessed that in the way I’ve witnessed it for any other marginalized groups.
I’ve actually never been a proponent of affinity groups. The Abzug-esque part of me has always believed in confronting marginalization head on. Something about “safer” spaces seemed to be in opposition to ultimately actualizing inclusivity. Separating ourselves in order to come together?
Now, I’m just confused. And desperately looking forward to hearing from my teacher so that I can find some path to begin to repair this wholly unexpected rupture.
And grieving with a ferocity I know I will ultimately use to find my way back to holding the Buddha in my Jewish heart.
