Another Queer Jewish Buddhist

Get a heart-on

Back in 1981 when I was hired to work as a copywriter in Tokyo there was a story about the writer I replaced. He was a bit of a wild man, and he had written a headline for Dai-Ichi Kangyo, a Japanese bank that has since been merged out of existence.

DKB wanted to portray itself as a friendly institution. Its Japanese slogan was  "The Bank with a Heart." And its logo was a heart. Awww.

Well it seems that when the time came for DKB to run an ad in the local English language papers, this writer was assigned the job. And his headline read: Dai-Ichi Kangyo has a heart on for you.

And of course, none of the Japanese understood the joke. Until the letters started coming in after the ad ran. Which is one reason why there was a writer’s position open for me to take.

Of course, the Japanese continue to do this to themselves. There are lots of blogs and websites devoted to Janglish — a marvelous phrase that captures the jarring shock so many of these phrases cause native English speakers.

And so I wanted to share this latest little bit that seems in keeping with the old DKB debacle. Here is a photo of a store that sells used computer hardware. It may well be a cousin of the used bookstore known as Book-Off (one of which is on East 41st Street in Manhattan, midtown’s own little Tokyo). One can save money by purchasing used, and thus getting a percentage off the original price — thus Book-Off. And for used electronic hardware, well of course, Hard-Off. I suppose when the chain decides to sell anything and everything used, they will simply call it Get-Off.

Getting back to “heart-on” though, this is a phrase I like. It suggests more than simply a response below the belt. Except that like the response below the belt that seems to happen independently of intelligence, a “heart-on” could simply be a crush or romantic obsession. I’m not sure which is the best use for this neologism, but I’m all for seeing its use become widespread.

If I can’t dance, it’s not my apocalypse. (The B52s, Emma Goldman & Reverend Billy)

The B52s have always made the most infectiously happy dance music in rock and roll. It was just absolutely about feeling good and celebrating — even celebrating outsider status. Oh sure, there were some songs that were vaguely political — Channel Z, Bushfire — but overwhelmingly the music just made me smile, laugh and dance.

Well, the new B52s album is out: Funplex. And the title song is as usual, something that’s hard not to move to. Except it is anything but happy. This is "it’s-the-end-of-the-world-so-I’m-going-to-dance-anyway" music.

Funplex is what happens when the B52s meet Reverend Billy’s Church of Stop Shopping. It’s a searing indictment of mindless consumerism/materialism as a drug that numbs as us all as the planet goes to hell. This is seriously depressing stuff.

This is a song about drug addiction, sex addiction, shopping addiction. And the emptiness in our hearts that these compulsive behaviors try to assuage. It’s really sad.

And here I am listening to it on my ipod, bopping my head and wanting to dance. And cry.

And celebrate. Because rock and roll is also supposed to be deeply subversive. And this song certainly is that. Will it help wake America's youth from the trance — the George Bush lie that the most patriotic thing Americans could do in the face of terror was to go shopping. Shop your fear away.

This is the way of the Jester: speak the truth in a way that is funny. That isn't threatening. Maybe people will wake up. And certainly coming out of the trance is something to celebrate, even if one wakes up to a world that doesn't exactly inspire optimism at the moment.

Yes Fred, the world is going to hell. But if I can’t dance, it’s not my apocalypse.

Thoughts for a Jewish-Buddhist Purim

Ah Purim. It’s developed, at least in the U.S. into Jewish Mardi Gras: a wild holiday of costumes and drinking to excess. And of course, the telling of the great folk tale of Esther and the King of Persia.

So what is it about drinking so much that you can’t tell the difference between Haman’s curse and Mordechai’s blessing? It reminds me of the custom in Japan at Bonenkai parties — year end celebrations where office workers go out together and drink even more than they do during the year — and where they are given free reign to speak any of their pent up frustrations and hostilities. It is the one day of the year where it is permitted to drop the mask. The next day all is forgotten and forgiven. At least that’s the stated custom in Japan.

At Purim, the alcoholic haze also frees people from their inhibitions. But wearing a mask can also free someone who believes they aren’t recognized — here we aren’t dropping a mask and telling the truth, but wearing a mask to do so.

But if this is the day we are allowed to lose a certain measure of control, the story of Esther tells us what happens when the one man who is supposed to be in control, the king, isn’t in control of his own appetites.

King Ahasuerus was ruled by his lust. And when his wife Vashti refused to obey his desire to display her beauty to his attendants, he divorced her. He chose his next wife, Esther entirely based on her looks. Here the king is ruled by his eyes. This is a king who isn’t in control of himself — what does this mean for his kingdom? (You might be tempted to think this question relates to recent political events in NYC, but one can look at leaders in every time and place and see this very failing — leading back to the same question about control of others and self control)

Kabbalistically speaking, the sefira of Malchut, means both kingship and sovereignty. And this conjunction of meaning is important, because sovereignty means not only a ruler, but a kind of independence that comes with knowing how to rule oneself. King Ahasuerus didn’t have that. And both the Jews and the Buddhists agree on that the ability to rule one’s self is required to rule others.

In the Pirke Avot it is written:

Ben Zoma said…
Who is a strong leader?
One who conquers his passions and emotions

In the Dhammapada it is written:

Though thousand times a thousand
in battle one may conquer,
yet should one conquer just oneself
one is the greatest conqueror.

How can we best know ourselves? There are some who say in vino veritas. But using alcohol as an excuse to speak what you’re afraid of saying to others is cowardice. However if in letting down your inhibitions you discover you’ve got just as much lust in your heart (to use a phrase from President Carter) as King Ahasuerus, then you have learned something about yourself. You have to know your passions and emotions if you’re going to deal with them. That doesn’t mean acting them out, which alcohol can lead to.

Please don’t get the idea that I’m against alcohol. I am against its abuse. People used the same argument for using LSD — it was a tool of self-exploration. And for some it was. But it’s a dangerous tool that did damage to many.

The injunction to drink so much that we don’t know the difference between Haman’s curse and Mordechai’s blessing I take as the commandment to see that within me I carry both inclinations. I am no saint — but neither am I a devil. Both these men live in me. And when I can see both of them clearly, I can choose true action rather than blindly reacting to unconscious urges.

So put on your mask tonight. Down a glass of wine. Drop your guard.  See what you’re hiding from others — and yourself. Will we take this knowledge to engage the shadow or believe that by putting the stopper back on the bottle the genie is under control?

Does lust rule you? If you live white-knuckling to keep yourself under control, do you need a night like Purim to let go? Can you rule yourself with compassion and not as a puritan? Can the shadow be unmasked so that its energy can be used in service of the Whole? These are my questions this Purim. What are yours?

Barack Obama and Storytelling

In yesterday’s speech Senator Obama distinguished himself with an understanding of the universal power of story — and how essential it is in forging the identity of a people. He recognized how we all enter story and become a part of it. He used the examples of Biblical stories to point this out explicitly. But by using the organizing metaphor of the “more perfect union” he tapped into sacred/secular American story of the creation of the country and its founding document.

He spoke of the Constitution in the way Jews look at Torah — a document we are in relation to and that we’re constantly reinterpreting in order to live our lives to our best understanding of what the divine call us to be. Yet all the while always understanding that no one is perfect, that we all fall short, and that the only way to live with this understanding is with compassion for each other and ourselves.

Most commentators focused on what he said about race. I was taken by what he said about story — because that’s the real story:

“I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion's den, Ezekiel's field of dry bones. Those stories of survival and freedom and hope became our stories, my story. The blood that spilled was our blood, the tears our tears, until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black. In chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a meaning to reclaim, memories that we didn't need to feel shame about, memories that all people might study and cherish, and with which we could start to rebuild.”

This is the power of story — the great tradition of folk tales from all cultures shares this power. And the great storytellers know that when they tell, every listener is also a participant embodying every character and event in the story. Senator Obama is a great storyteller, and he is telling the story Americans most yearn to hear — and to live.

Narrative psychologists say that the story you believe is who you are. Politicians know how to use stories to create fear — certainly the Bush administration and the G.O.P. have made the use of scary stories the keystone of their approach. This is the power of story to divide. To create an enemy we can project all our shadow fears onto.

But story is best used to inspire and build community. Not at the expense of others, but in building connection between all. This isn’t done by papering over difference or division but by recognizing commonality and by peaking to real pain on all sides, transcending it. This is the power of storytelling that Senator Obama knows how to use masterfully. And it is what has made him a formidable candidate. Because people are hungry for this story. It is in fact the story nourishes us.

Senator Obama is telling the story I have always wanted to hear from a candidate. I still wish I liked his health care plans better than Hillary’s.

D'var Sutra: Pekudei — the place where you are standing is holy

Here we are at the last reading in Sh’mot, the book of Exodus. And the storyteller in me wants to think about this book, just the second of the five books of Torah, as one complete story to be read in and of itself. Except that it ends right in the middle of the journey. Or does it? Now I realize that the story calls for wandering for 40 years. That the generation that lived in slavery had to pass away before entering the land. But…

Remember, at the end of Devarim, the last of the five books, the people still have not crossed over into the land. This seems significant to me when looking back at the story in Sh’mot.

The book begins with our ancestors living in Egypt as slaves to a temporal power, the Pharaoh. They are unwilling builders of the Egyptian temples and cities, making bricks from mud and straw. Building structures that cannot move. And when Exodus ends, they have freely entered into a relationship with the Divine, building a portable tabernacle made of the finest precious metals, jewels, woods and hides they have been able to muster.

I suspect there is a teaching here about where holiness is truly found, and it isn’t connected to place.

When the people completed the building of the tabernacle, Moses blessed them. The Midrash tells us that his blessing was: “May it be God’s will that the Divine Presence rests upon the work of your hands.”

Similarly at the end of Devarim Moses says to the people: “The thing is very close to you, in your mouth and your heart, to observe it”

In the Torah, both at the end of Sh’mot and at the end of Devarim, the people do not enter the land. They are told that the Divine Presence is within, and can be expressed in one’s actions and in one’s work in the world. This simple and radical teaching is often overlooked in our desire to connect myth with history (please do not make any assumptions about my political leanings about Israel from this statement — I am speaking entirely about our relationship with the Divine as it is revealed through the story).

On Shabbat, we look back on the week before. We rest. But it does not mean we do not reflect on our work in the world. The question to ask when we stop running (which means we catch up to the Holy One, who wasn’t going anywhere) is whether the work we have done expressed our relationship with the Divine, so that the Presence will rest upon it, and among us.

When we can answer that question clearly on an ongoing basis the tabernacle will follow us wherever we go. And the Promised Land will always be beneath our feet wherever we are.  This is the experience of the unification of keter and malchut (and all the sefirot in between). This is the experience of the non-dual nature of peshat and sod. The recognition that Samsara and Nirvana are one: wherever you go, there god are!

The Tzohar, The Triple Gem and The Jewel Trader of Pegu

Both Judaism and Buddhism share an important metaphor — that of the jewel. In Jewish mysticism, the Tzohar is a jewel that seems to be lit from within. And indeed it glows with the primordial light of creation that it carries. Those who possessed the Tzohar possessed the light that is stored for the righteous, that particularly Jewish phrasing for enlightenment.

There are many folk tales about the Tzohar, some of which can be read in the collections edited by Howard Schwartz (one of my favorite stories, in the volume Gabriel's Palace, is called The Sunken Forest). The Tzohar, like the oral tradition it represents, is passed down from one person to another as is any esoteric teaching.

Some readers may wonder about the similarity to the word Zohar, which is the name of one of the most important books of kabbalah. I will simply note in this digression that zohar means brilliance or radiance. Tzohar means illumination. And kabbalah comes from the Hebrew verb root kbl, which means to receive.

In Buddhism the jewel is a central metaphor, much more than in Judaism, where it is merely a symbol in a particular mystical tradition.

In the Anguttara Nikaya the Buddha speaks of the diamond mind, the mind that is strong enough to cut through all delusion. And the of course there is the triple gem — the spoken formula by which all followers of the Buddha’s path take sanctuary. I have spoken the words of the triple gem every time I have started a ten-day meditation retreat. But unlike an esoteric tradition like that of the tzohar, the teaching of the triple gem is open and clearly explained to all. This is not the story of a hidden light, but one that is shared.

Why this long explication of jewels and Jews and Buddhists? Well, recently Jeffrey Hantover published a new novel, The Jewel Trader of Pegu, and one of its central images is a jewel that the main character finds.

The jewel trader is indeed a Jew, named Abraham, who wanders from his home in the Jewish Ghetto of Renaissance Venice to a small kingdom in Burma known for its fine gemstones. There he builds a small fortune as a trader of gems, and in his work he comes across a unique jewel that, like the tzohar, seems to glow with an inner light, that actually “pulsed with life.”

Indeed, Abraham does trade jewels when he settles in Burma. Having escaped from the confines of the ghetto, and of the calumny of Christians, Abraham begins to experience a freedom he never knew. And at the same time, he discovers a ghetto he never knew that he lived in — the ghetto walls that encircled his own heart.

In his talks with his Burmese business partner, he learns about the teachings of the Buddha. And he sees how these teachings are part of the lives of the people. This is a novel of culture shock. And one of the jewels Abraham trades is the tzohar for the triple gem. I do not mean to suggest at all that he becomes a Buddhist. But that his heart opens in a way that he experiences the Divine in ways that do not seem to him to connect with what his tradition has taught him.

Please don’t get the idea that this is a philosophical or religious novel. One could make the argument that it is historical romance, since the most important relationship in the book is between Abraham the trader and Mya, a young widow who is destitute. And the action is framed by the historical events of the time, an egomaniacal king who leads his country into ruin through his self-delusion. However, in the discussions between Abraham and his Burmese business partner Maung Win we see how each man discovers the beauty in each other’s tradition, the other facets of the jewel reflecting the one light.

As in any good novel, Abraham discovers that with freedom from the ghetto of the heart comes choice and responsibility. He realizes that “An ox yoked to the grinding wheel cannot claim to be virtuous for not trampling the crops in the field.” Freedom is no longer “just a prayer at Passover” for him, and he discovers its true meaning.

What is the true meaning of freedom? Reading The Jewel Trader of Pegu will give you a hint. It will also capture you in a story of people in love who are caught up in events beyond their control. Sound familiar? Of course, it is one of the few great stories in the world, and in this case it is told anew with masterful grace. Whether you are Jewish, Buddhist or another queer Jubu like me, you will find much beauty in this slim volume.