(The summary is written by Mitch with inclusions from Adam.)

This is the fourth series of Zoom teaching initiated since the onset of Covid. The first three were limited by content.

• The first was a word of Torah from each parshah according to the calendar, so we did an entire Torah cycle and were done.

• The second was the letters of the Hebrew alphabet exploring the spiritual wisdom embedded in the graphic form of the letters as inscribed in a Torah scroll. It was an adventure from Aleph to Tav, but ended with the Tav.

• The third was on the order of prayer, a difficult work because it describes a process of change. Change is not welcomed easily. But this series, too, was self-limited, because the prayer service has a beginning and an end.

• This fourth series is more difficult, because it doesn’t seem to have a beginning or any apparent end. It is an exploration into the process of story creation. Where do stories come from?

We are learning that stories don’t erupt into a vacuum, rather into a community, and then to meet an expressed need within that community. This applies not only to stories, but to creative expression in most any discipline.

I recalled once at a National Havurah Institute there was a workshop for scientists only. I was not a scientist, but begged my way in on the basis of a few years at MIT. I was admitted but cautioned only to observe, not to participate. I had expected some scientific talk about the process of creation, but instead all had the same question. Each had had moments of insight and discovery in the process of their work. Each wanted to know where insight came from. Each wanted to encounter it again. It evolved that insight came through the interaction of one’s expertise and a community of peers. It happened not so much in isolation, but through interaction.

Similar might be the work of a minyan. One might pray alone, but praying in a community allows one to penetrate more deeply.

After this introduction, I told the story we had developed in the last session, TO DWELL IN THE HOUSE, as it appeared in the last summary. The story stretched out the polarity of Pride vs. Gratitude. It’s copied here, should you want to see its current rendition.

To Dwell in the House

The disciple’s son, young as he was, could answer Torah questions that might have puzzled scholars, and his father burst with pride. The Baal Shem Tov saw this. Indeed the boy was a prodigy, but – pride?

When he was alone with his disciple, he remarked, “I see how proud you are of your son. He is indeed remarkable. But your pride is overwhelming everything else for which you might be proud. Other than your son, what are you proud of?” The disciple thought and said – his wife! She was remarkable, not only the way she cared for the children and the household, but she, too, was exceptional in Torah. “And what after your wife?” The younger children, each of who showed promise for his or her age. “And then?” My students – that I have so many and they stay close to me. “And then?” My house, that I have such a beautiful house. “And then?” My community, my minyan that welcomes me each day. “And then?” Of the songs I sing as I walk to shul. “And then?” That I’m blessed to have fine and appropriate clothes. “And then?” That at my age I can care for my family and myself. “And then?”

The disciple was silent.

The Baal Shem Tov continued, “And are you proud that you have ground to walk on? Are you proud that there is a sun to illuminate your path? Are you proud that the earth turns on its axis? Consider, what is the smallest thing you might be proud of?”

And with that the disciple’s silence became deeper, and deeper still, until he disappeared and was no longer mindful of himself.

After an unknown period of time, he heard a faint and familiar tune – Ahat sh’alti – One thing I ask from Adonai, one thing I do request. To dwell in his house…

He came back mindful that he had descended so deeply he had dwelt in that house, that he had bathed in the Presence, and slowly he came back to awareness.

He did so with gratitude for the ground beneath his feet, and the sun above, and the constancy of the earth rotating on its axis; with gratitude for his clothing and his walking and his ability to sing; with gratitude for a community and minyan that welcomed him without reservation; with gratitude for children who were healthy and growing, and for his wife who tolerated him through all these years. And with gratitude for a son who was a prodigy, who would open for him and others worlds of Torah.

We began our descent in search of a new story within a community that expressed concern about the uncontrollable elements of nature in light of Hurricane Ian that was ravaging just north of us. With that concern in mind we opened Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim to Vol 11, p. 140.

The Renewed Soul

Rabbi Hirsh once said to his Hasidim:

“When a man rises in the morning and sees that God has returned his soul to him and that he has become a new creature, he should turn singer and sing to God.

My holy master Rabbi Menahem Mendel had a Hasid who whenever he came to the words in the Morning Prayer: ‘My God, the soul you have placed in me is pure,’ danced and broke into a song of praise.”

Those of us participating in person divided into pairs and on Zoom into breakout rooms of two to ponder the story in hevrusa – one on one interaction – after which we reformed as a community to receive feedback.

A participant opened: After an uncontrollable event, our only option is to renew our souls and move forward. For the survivors of the hurricane, there might be an expression of gratitude for survival. Take what has happened and do our best with what we have left.

Another related the stories to the opening line of the daily liturgy, Modah ani… If you’re alive be joyful; if joyful be dancing – and then related that to the discipline of reciting 100 blessings a day.

Another began to distinguish between the two statements in the story, analyzing the first sentence before proceeding to the second. Mitch compared this to Talmud study in which one first must understand the opening statement before contemplating the second. Hasidic teachings are better taken as a whole, allowing the piece to play through you even if you might not understand the beginning, seeing the whole before analyzing the parts.

Adam considered the upcoming fast day, Yom Kippur, in light of the story. The connecting thread is the notion of the soul, the exposure of the soul because of the uncontrollable elements of nature, attaining a state of vulnerability. The vulnerability one experiences on Yom Kippur continues into the festival of Sukkot when one surrenders and experiences joy from even the smallest things.

Another participant compared the story to “the moveable feast.” All of life is a rolling feast, and we are to delight at every course.

Another allowed for analog and digital approaches to the manifestations of nature. One could feel the abundance of the moveable feast, or one could feel each element of loss as one encounters the disaster.

Mitch returned to the observation that the story does come in two parts. The first might be from a mitnaged – a rational opponent of the Hasidim – who senses an obligation: he SHOULD be joyful. The second experienced it differently. He was part of the wave, going with the flow. Whenever he came to the words Modeh Ani – he spontaneously experienced joy. For the first it was pointillism; for the second the flow of a water color.

So a story might develop emanating from different approaches to the same stimuli. In both one hunkers down and trembles at the destructive force passing overhead. But as they emerge, one recognizes how awful the destruction is and is moved to express Modah ani because she is still alive. The other emerges to see beyond the destruction the beauty that is still in the world. It is her nature, because she has expressed Modah ani every day of her life, when things have been going well and when things have not. For her life is the flow of a wave, for the other a series of particles.

Mitch says this is not a quite a story. Adam asks why it is not a story. Mitch says it is the kernel of a story. It needs work to deepen it, so when it is told, it draws the listener into the experience. (After the session Mitch returned to the emerging story. The latest version is appended to the end of this summary.)

Mitch finished with a parallel tale of a restaurant in Florence he learned from a travel agent, Marshall Harris, of blessed memory. Marshall said there was a great restaurant in Florence, but it did not take reservations. It had communal seating and there was always a long line waiting to get in. What to do? He said one of us should remain in line, the other go around the corner to a wine shop, buy a chilled bottle of white and have it opened, take a stack of paper cups, hand the cups forward into the line and back through the line that had gathered, share the wine, become a community, become a part of the wave. Within the wave one ceases to be a particle chafing at all the slow moving particles ahead. Then when one enters the restaurant, one is joyful and has a community to share dinner with.

………………………….

Below is the latest version of the story emerging from this session:

AFTER THE STORM

Moshe and Miriam were neighbors.

Moshe considered himself religious. Upon awakening he knew he was to say Modeh ani which he understood to mean: I am thankful before You, a living and present King, that You have compassionately restored my soul to me; great is your faith. He always recited the words unerringly. He always, unwittingly, emphasized the first person: the I and the my and the me. It never occurred to him to question that last phrase: Great is Your faith. Great is Your faith in what?

Miriam did not consider herself religious, but she too said Modah ani upon awakening which she understood to mean I am thankful before You, a living and present King, that You have compassionately restored my soul to me; great is Your faith… After many years of reciting Modah ani, she added some words: Great is Your faith…in me. But even though her expression resolved into an awareness of herself, her emphasis was always on the You and the Your.

The neighborhood suffered a massive hurricane. All night the winds roared as they both hunkered down fearful for their lives. Upon surviving the night they each recited Modeh (modah) ani, each thankful their bodies were still intact. They emerged from their homes to witness the devastation.

Moshe was overwhelmed – trees down everywhere, homes damaged, vehicles overturned. His initial response was – for this I should be thankful? How are we ever going to recover from this?

Miriam also witnessed the destruction. Her initial response was – there is much still for which to be thankful, and together we will recover from this.