After several meetings and a month's time, my NewGround cohort had its first retreat. Under masterful guidance we developed skills for listening and engaging in constructive conflict, we learned the maps of one another's lives, and we shared sacred prayer space with one another.  Friday night, I selected to explain the context and meaning of Psalm 29 (and bring us into a circle dance together.  Here are the words I shared.  I am thinking of them in light of the events in Jerusalem last week, and as I wait for the Ferguson verdict to be released:

"My little Shtibl (Yiddish for "little synagogue"; pronounced “SHTEE-bul”) meets each Saturday, and when we take Torah out of the ark, we dance with it in a circle before placing it on a special stand for the weekly reading. Following the reading, we dance again, returning the Torah to its resting place in the ark. The Psalm we sing to return the Torah is this same Psalm we will sing now because it is part of both the Kabbalat Shabbat service (the opening service to welcome Shabbat on Friday night) as well as the Torah service during the Shacharit (morning service) of Shabbat.

This circle we create each week binds our community together.  It creates a fabric which keeps us strong – collectively and individually – through celebration and through mourning. Whenever someone leaves the community because they've finished grad school, a job opportunity arises which takes them away from Los Angeles – or in the case of one dear friend, they are no longer in the world – it’s clear to me that although their physical presence won't be with us weekly, a bit of them always remains in our circle. Whatever unique step they brought helped to create the circle and strengthen it, and their after-image is still present in our dance.

And we sing.  We sing what is called a “niggun” (you can put the emphasis on either syllable – up front it’s Ashkenazi pronunciation; on the back-end it’s Sephardi).  A niggun means “tune” – often without words – so when we are done singing the words of the psalm, we keep singing anyway; it’s the more transcendent part of the experience.  A niggun goes around in a circle.  A good niggun goes up and goes down and comes back to the beginning.  It’s hard to know exactly where it stops.  It’s different every time.  And it holds you differently each time you sing it and it sings you.

The Psalm we sing when we put the Torah away is about the strength of God’s voice in creation. God’s voice makes the hills skip like rams, God’s voice lights flames of fire, God’s voice causes gazelles to give birth.  It’s awesome. No, not that kind of awesome. Actually awesome. And then, one verse near the end has two different translations: God sat enthroned at the flood, or alternately, God turns back the flood. As a former English major, one of my favorite parts of the interpretive Jewish tradition to which I adhere is the idea that the text can mean many things (and even better, sometimes opposite things) simultaneously.  I may connect to different parts of the Psalm each time – or different translations or interpretations depending on the context and upon my state.  When I get to “Adonai hamabul yashav” – the verse about God and flood – it might be a joyful celebration of order in the universe – or, it might be a consolation for the disorder and shakiness I am feeling in the world.  In the moment of singing the niggun in the circle that my community has carefully woven, I realize that in connecting to creation by connecting to one another, we have built a safety net for ourselves and our community (and hopefully the world beyond our small community) which will allow us to weather whatever floods may come our way.

The final verses of the psalm read, “May the Lord grant strength to His people; May God bless His people with Peace.”  Again, this verse can have several simultaneous interpretations.  We can think about it in its particular sense – either referring to ancient Biblical Israelites or to later Jews who worked it into their liturgical lives in a specific way. We could also think about it in its universal sense: in a psalm about God’s evidence throughout creation, “God’s people” are clearly all people. 

With the more universal interpretation in mind, I would like to invite everyone to witness or participate in our niggun and in our dance in whatever way feels comfortable.  It might be just to listen to the singing and read what I have written. It might be to stand on the side and watch and clap.  Anyone who would like to can come into the circle with us – you can sing with us, just “yi – dee – di” or clap, find your own version of the rhythm, even if you don’t know the words.  The tune will come around again, and if it catches you, you can catch it.

This past week, listening to the news from Jerusalem, and also the news from Washington last night, I have been thinking a lot about the Biblical concept of “Cities of Refuge.”  The Torah speaks of six cities set up as a way of cutting into the cycle of revenge killings.  If a person committed manslaughter, the law of the land was for the family to avenge the blood of the one who had been killed – even if it was unintentional.  The cities were mandated, and a law set that the avengee must be allowed to run to one of these cities and once there, the law of vengeance would no longer apply. So I am thinking about what it might mean to revive the idea Cities of Refuge.  But in a more general way.  How do we create spaces beyond vengeance and beyond fear, where we don’t blindly and instinctively strike back – with words, weapons or actions?  Where we can invite people different from us in and harbor them in safety?  I do not yet know what the boundaries of this new land are, but I believe its shape will be a circle.

I am grateful to be with you in whatever circle we might be weaving over the course of the weekend and the year.  This space feels to me as if we are forging a City of Refuge.  I am so looking forward to seeing – and being part of – the community we create together.

Tonight is a beautiful confluence of Yom Kippur (the last of the 10 days of repentence) and Eid ul Adha (the celebration at the end of Hajj). Each is a celebration of an important journey of transformation. If you click here, you can see two Israeli boys - one Jewish, the other Muslim - choosing to celebrate together -- and send us the challenge, "if we can do it, so can you!" 

Andrea and Tasneem are celebrating together, and we offer our thoughts as well:

Tasneem: 
Hajj is an annual pilgrimage that is obligatory on all Muslims to perform ONCE in their lifetime IF they are physically and financially able. The fact that Hajj is one of the 5 pillars (thus a foundation of the Muslim faith) speaks to its importance in one's spiritual journey. And yet, the condition of it being obligatory is IF one is physically and financially able. This speaks to the mercy of God and the intent behind it. Hajj is not meant to be a burden but a way to come closer to Allah, closer to oneself, and closer to the community as all forms of discrimination are crossed out during this pilgrimage. It is an opportunity to repent, reflect and realign one's priorities. Many Muslims (family and friends) who come back from performing Hajj report a change of heart, discovery of greater strength and patience, deeper self-awareness, feeling of inner peace, desire to return, and more! Each ritual performed in Hajj has a specific significance that can be traced back to Prophet Abraham who first built the Holy Kaaba with his son.

What about the other millions of Muslims who cannot? I have not had the opportunity to perform Hajj or Umrah (lower pilgrimage that can be performed anytime of the year) myself yet. So, what does Hajj symbolize to me? It is indeed an opportunity to pray, fast, and reflect on the teachings one learns from exactly where he is. And Eid-ul-Adha is an opportunity to rejoice and celebrate...celebrate life with gratitude, humility, & faith. 

I remember one time when I was younger, and in Pakistan for Eid-ul-Adha. A few days before Eid we went to the market & brought home 2 goats. My siblings, mom & I took care of the goats. I would pet it & feed it. When eid came, my uncle came to do the sacrifice (based on Prophet Abraham's near sacrifice of his son). It was heart wrenching to watch & even harder to eat anything after that. While we are not asked by Allah to sacrifice a loved one, Eid is an opportunity to realize our priorities-- to serve & live life with joy, letting go of attachments & as a result of it come closer to Allah in humility. Trials & hardships come & go but what keeps us grounded is our faith. I love how Hajj would be incomplete without Eid! 

Andrea: 

In the month of Elul, before Rosh Hashanah, we begin to awaken ourselves, again, to the process of Teshuvah ("turning" "returning" "repenting"). We start individually, and by Rosh Hashanah, the "Birthday of the World," we are coming together to collectively to acknowledge and remember God as Creator, and therefore Judge, of all the world. And the 10 day-journey of intensely inspecting and correcting one's course begins.

For me, this time - especially between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur -- is a time to reflect on which ever-present parts of myself I have not properly evidenced in my life and in my relationships. What changes have I been able to make in the past year that I want to habituate and bring forward? What do I need to repair before I stand before God - as each of us do - as the High Priest during the Avodah service on Yom Kippur afternoon? As part of that service, we recite the sacrifices which were made deep in the heart of the Temple when it stood - and we remember that once the sacrifices were complete, the High Priest would emerge, and everyone would declare "Cleansed!" I love that we have to go through the process of Teshuvah very intentionally and specifically, but there is also a notion that "the day itself atones" - this is the Midat Rachamin - the essence of God's Mercy - to which Tasneem alludes above.

For me, the word that has become most important during this time is "Integrity". This time of year is an incredible opportunity to ask oneself essential questions: have I acted in the world the way I had hoped to? Have I expressed in my relationship with others and the world the things that I know to be true in my heart of hearts? What do I have to correct, and what steps to I have to take in the next year, to get closer to this path? Can I stand (at least for a few minutes), with my community and say with them "We are cleansed?" Before the work begins again?

We are wishing everyone a good journey -- and a good celebration at the journey's end! May this year bring peace, understanding and healing to us all.

Yom Kippur 5775 - 2014

There are moments when everything aligns.  For me and the Sinai and Sunna project, there have been a series of wonderful alignments over the past year, and especially over the past several weeks. Sinai and Sunna was already shifting -- from a performance conveying the parallel stories of one Muslim and one Jewish woman, to an ensemble-based project with an array of stories -- when I had the opportunity to share a piece of it in the New Ground Spotlight last December.  New Ground: a Muslim-Jewish Partnership for Change has been an organization quite close to my heart for a while.  My daughter participated in the first high school cohort of their MAJIC program (Muslims and Jews Inspiring Change) and I have been a supporter, from the sidelines, of the Young Professional Fellowship.  Their annual Spotlight event is an opportunity, Moth-style, to hear stories from Jews and Muslims around a particular theme. 

Last year’s theme was “Standing Up for the Other.” I was already in the process of developing a piece I was calling “Smart Jewish Woman in Search of Smart Muslim Woman for Conversation and More” in Stacie Chaiken's What's the Story? workshop.  The piece would help me explore and articulate my reasons for engaging in this project – and in its finished form, a way to advertise the project to potential collaborators and partners.  As I spoke about the piece with a friend, she said, “I’m on the Spotlight committee and we’re looking for stories!” (Alignment #1!) I couldn’t imagine a better place to find people for this project than at a storytelling event drawing Jews and Muslims interested in the intersection of culture and dialogue.

The evening was a great success – both for New Ground and for Sinai and Sunna.  I made wonderful connections with other storytellers, and we got some good footage of the performance. (Please click and watch if you haven’t seen it yet!) But the MOST important part of the experience, as far as the development of Sinai and Sunna is concerned, was the session where the storytellers gathered to see, support and comment on one another’s work.   The evening reminded me in my kishkes (guts) of something I already know:  as powerful as it can be to hear someone else’s story, it is even more powerful to watch him or her craft the story – to voice it and embody it in an increasingly powerful way – and even MORE powerful to be a part of that process with him or her.  As you get inside people’s stories, you can’t help but begin to understand them with increasing complexity and you can’t help but fall a little bit in love.

In our rehearsal session we watched one another’s work unfold and develop, and gave one another feedback to strengthen each piece.  I happened to sit down next to the sweet, smart and enthusiastic Tasneem Noor who told her story about moving from India and Pakistan to Los Angeles during high school, and landing in Culver City High where the diversity allowed her to find her place, settle in and begin asking important questions about American society.  Although we had never met, Tasneem and I both responded to the evening’s theme similarly:  not feeling so much the pressing need to “stand up for the other,” we both articulated a stronger desire to “stand next to the other” – in almost the same words (Alignment #2!)

Before this rehearsal, I thought my next step was identifying women to create an ensemble performance about how we conceal, reveal, discover and recover who we are; this performance would act as springboard, to help audience members engage with one another. As the effects of the rehearsal evening settled in on me, however, I realized the power of simply witnessing one another’s stories and helping one another to flesh these stories out.  It became clear that the inter- and intra-faith engagement work of Sinai and Sunna should begin as workshops for women who want to come, share and craft stories about who they are with one another -- without having to perform for anyone accept those who’ve chosen to join them in the room.  There’s a lot of work to do right there, from the get-go.  (Alignment #3!)

After many conversations with women involved in Muslim-Jewish engagement, it was time to pull together some folks I know and value to do a “focus-group” version of the workshop.  I had the vision and skills to design the crafting/storytelling portion of the workshop, but was feeling I needed some help facilitating the discussions after the art-making was done -- not only did I need a Muslim voice along-side mine as part of the facilitation crew, but I also needed a Jewish facilitator on board as a consultant; in hearing about the skills in engagement and conflict resolution that my friends had garnered during their time in the New Ground Fellowship, I felt I had things to learn and experience before facilitating this part of the conversation.

Tasneem and Eliana Kaya were wonderful consultants before the workshop, helping me to think through both the arts workshop itself as well as the post-workshop reflection. At the end of August, eight of us came together to give the workshop a spin.  We had a blast learning new tools for expression together, and beginning to get to know one another in a different way.  People who hadn’t done this work before were able to see the power of finding our own stories in our bodies, and then putting our embodied stories next to one another’s . . . but it was a frustrating scratch of the surface.  Clearly this work needed much more time. We would need a part-two.

It was great to draw on the support, wisdom and skills of Eliana and Tasneem, but I was realizing I wanted to deepen these skills myself.  Too old for the NG Young Professional Fellowship, I started searching for other ways to get more training.   About a week later, I received an e-mail from Aziza Hasan, Interim Director of NewGround:  NewGround was reconsidering the age limitation.  Did I know anyone who might be interested, or would I consider applying myself?  I started my application that weekend. 

A couple of days later I noticed the American Assembly’s 2001 report, “Religion in American Public Life” lying around (one of those things that happens if you are married to Aryeh Cohen).  Reading through the conclusion, I came across this paragraph: “We call on representatives of religious communities to engage in outreach education about their own faith with other faiths and the larger society in order to combat stereotypes, increase understanding, and invite cooperation on shared issues of civic concern.  We should be cautious about attributing a single voice to other religious traditions since we are aware of different voices within our own.” This was it:  “This is the work New Ground is doing.  This is the work I want to be doing with Sinai and Sunna. As an artist and activist, this is the work I want to be pushing forward in the world, and I’m potentially well-positioned to do it.” (Alignment #4!)

I wrote the quote into my essays, and submitted my application.  And the next day, something even better happened. 

I received an e-mail from Aziza, “Can we talk today or tomorrow?”  “That was fast,” I thought, assuming she was calling to interview me for the fellowship. “Actually, I’m following up on a comment you made in one of the program committee meetings,” she said. “We are hoping to create a more robust stable of facilitators, and you mentioned you were interested.  We’re wondering if you want to start now.”  The MAJIC program was in need of a Jewish facilitator, they were interested in bringing me on board as a participant in the Professional Fellowship and simultaneously as a facilitator for the high school students.  And . . . they were hoping to infuse the program with the appropriate integration of some theater and movement work. An opportunity to see the program from the inside and offer my expertise as an arts educator – all precisely in the setting of my current project.  It did not take long for me to say, “Yes!”  Seldom does the universe seem to align with such clarity.

While my work with New Ground and MAJIC this year may prove to slow progress toward a public performance of Sinai and Sunna, I have no doubt that every part of the work – the arts-based workshops with individuals, the performance itself, as well as the post-performance engagement with audience members – will be infinitely deeper and stronger as a result of the skills and relationships I will build this year.

I stand grateful for these alignments as the year comes to a close.  And one final alignment as a blessing for us all. This year, the Aseret Yamei Teshuvah – the 10  Days of Repentance from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur – align closely with the dates of the Hajj – the annual Pilgrimage to Mecca.  Both of these times in the calendar may be seen as an opportunity to “realign” and reorient one’s self with great intention.  May this be a year when each of us finds his or her path, and from this place meet one another with intention and integrity.

Shana Tova - Happy New Year and Eid Mubarak – a Blessed Festival,

May we all be sealed for good,

Andrea