Mitch Chefitz & Adam Gindea

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

We are engaged here in the process of bringing new stories into being. If you have read The Seventh Telling, or should look into it, you’ll find the process described in some detail. Our technique is to use two initial points which may or may not be related to each other. One point is a kavannah, an intent to begin the process. Does anyone have one to offer? (Knowing I’m going to ask this each week, you might come prepared with a question or intent to offer.)

A participant asked for examples of kavannot from previous sessions. The previous session began with an inquiry into the Book of Life which opened a path to what might become a substantial story.

Another participant asked about the opening two words of Psalm 27 read during the month of Elul in preparation for the Holydays. She noted that the psalms have different introductory words. Those opening words vary from psalm to psalm and are most often instructions to the choir master, informing him this psalm comes in a particular form, in this case a “for David” style, and should be sung appropriately. Regrettably, we don’t have the music. But we do have the psalm. I noted my favorite verse, 27:4 – Ahat sha’alti… one thing I’ve asked from Adonai, and this thing I do request: to dwell in the house, the house of Adonai all the days of my life… Another participant quoted 27:7 – Lichah amar libi…. My heart asks for Your Presence; it is the Presence of Adonai I request.

This psalm became the first point in our pursuit of a new story. We needed a second point, and for that we turned at random to the first volume of Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim, page 72, and found a very short story titled Love:

The Baal Shem Tov said to one of his disciples:

“The lowest of the low you can think of, is dearer to me than your only son is to you.”

A participant asked that we interpret the story, but we admitted we had no idea at the moment as to its meaning. The story elicited in the person who selected it a deep experience of love. It had a personal resonance for her. But the composition of the Baal Shem Tov’s statement was confusing. It wasn’t our task to resolve that confusion or to interpret the meaning of the story but rather to use it as a point to connect with the expressed kavannah, with Psalm 27, and find a straight line that might produce an original story.

We began a meditative process that began from the perspective of the Baal Shem Tov. It’s clear his intent was to reprove the disciple for his behavior. What behavior was the Baal Shem Tov observing? It might be that the disciple’s son was a prodigy in Torah, and the disciple was expressing his pride. Pride is worthy of reproof, and it’s there our story began to develop.

We sketched a rough outline of a disciple who was bursting with pride for his prodigy son, then asked, other than for the son, what might he have been proud of? And we descended layer by layer to matters smaller and smaller until the disciple lost track of himself. When he became mindful again, he expressed his gratitude in reverse over – gratitude rather than pride – and returned to be thankful for such a son who was such a prodigy.

With that outline, we divided into hevurta pairs, breakout rooms of two on Zoom, two together in person, for about ten minutes to develop and ponder the story.

We returned from our one-on-one process to hear the story once again, this time a bit more deeply than the original outline. Then we were quiet for a while.

A participant noted that she had been blocked by the statement that the Baal Shem Tov loved the lowest of the low more than the disciple loved his son. I cautioned lest we be blocked by an objectionable meaning within Buber’s story. Our intent is to use what we can find in that story as a platform from which we might dive to discover a new story, and then our concern would be not with Buber’s original, but with the story we might develop. The story we develop becomes a vehicle to carry us someplace new and leave us transformed, no matter how slightly, for the better.

I have the knowledge of kabbalah and Hasidic tradition to impart information, but the process of story creation and storytelling results in transformation.

The story has continued to develop after the session. This is its current rendition.

To Dwell in the House, the House of God

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 whom 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 I can care for my family and for 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.

A participant commented that Buber’s story was not so much a story but a wise insight. Might the Baal Shem Tov be contrasting the comprehension of the lowest place one can get to with the innate pride that a father might have in the accomplishment of his son?

Adam noted our goal at the outset was to connect two seemingly disparate points connecting our kavannah to our story selected, to the story that continues to unfold before us. We started in silence before the first kavannah was expressed. That silence brought forth a question about the introductory words to Psalm 27 which led to a a short overview of the various types of Psalms, their calls of introduction, and the noting of how these introductions conduct and direct the particular psalm, its intent, and its emotional tone both from the author and for the reader. We are now at the entryway to the High Holy days, and the question we started with is – what are we trying to experience here? The story led to another story which brought us to the deep exploration of gratitude – even for the smallest thing. The season calls us to recognize the tremendous gratitude of each aspect of being alive – that the Baal Shem Tov is open to that, and he is inviting the disciple to participate in that with him, and that around our table as we enter into these days of awe, we too were being called to the depth and power of gratitude for being a part of this wonderful thing called existence.

The purpose of the story – whether the Baal Shem Tov intended it as such, but surely in the story we are producing, is to make us ever more grateful for every aspect of being alive. The story is a meditative vehicle that transforms pride into gratitude.

A participant: Each of us is worthy of love. One need not be a prodigy; even the lowest of the low is worthy of love.

Tradition teaches there is only love, blessing, goodness… Everything in the universe receives it. Humans have the ability to turn our backs to it, but we can always return.

A participant: Revelation and the days of awe – God reveals itself to us; we reveal ourselves to God. It takes preparation to strip away the layers of self so we might be open to revelation.

A participant: Approaching the holy days one needs to carve out space without distractions, to be in the moment, in the present and take joy. There are some real lows – we are living them.

Our story in development can be helpful, even if Buber’s original presents difficulty.

Adam shared a teaching. The depth of despair is the starting point of redemption. Once you are at the bottom one can appreciate the wholeness of everything above you. Bnei Yisrael finds God buried in the depths of Egypt. Opposites are necessary to experience the heights of their counterpoints. Stagnancy in joy is no joy at all. The Baal Shem Tov calls his student to appreciate everything in all its facets and complexities.

There’s nothing so whole as a broken heart. When one surrenders, then the love that always flows has access.

A participant: Can’t we get there through contemplation and meditation without descending to the lowest low?

Adam shared another teaching. The Nazir is one who abstains from specific things in dedicating himself to God. After his term of Nazirut comes to an end, he is required to offer a Korban chatat-a sin offering. There is a hasidic teaching that questions why he must make a sin offering after dedicating himself so wholly to God. An answer given is that by abstaining from certain items, the Nazir abstains from possible avenues of divine connection. He chooses to take an oath and abstains from specific acts, foods, and practices. In that choice to abstain, he misses out on the opportunity to experience and connect with God through those channels. The teaching is a deep lesson when we think about experiencing the wholeness of life-with all its ebbs and flows and ups and downs. It is in the wholeness of our experiences where we can most deeply encounter the Infinite Holy One and all the facets of existence. It is in the darkness, pain, and lowest of the low that gives access to the Oneness that is all.

We concluded with the singing of Rabbi Julie Jacob’s Lulai, the last line of Psalm 27, sung for us by Rabbi Julie Jacobs.