A Call to Be Here & Now

“Are we there yet?” was a popular refrain I howled from the backseat during long car rides as a kid.  If the 18-mile drive from my hometown synagogue in North Hollywood to break-the-fast at my cousins’ in Calabasas on Yom Kippur seemed forever long then you can only imagine how I did in the backseat of a Dodge Caravan during rides up the coast of California or the Eastern Seaboard during family vacations.  And yet, I can recall many times when I let go of the burning curiosity over our proximity to the destination and relaxed into the joys of family car time.  While the Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, and Linda Rondstadt blasted from the tape deck we played 20-Questions, counted license plates, and my upper arm is still a shade of black and blue courtesy of the number of Volkswagon Lovebugs my older sister claimed to spot.  To be honest, the memory of simply being together and enjoying quality time fills me with warmer nostalgia than Hearst Castle or the many (!) cemeteries my parents insisted we visit.  (that’s a different article) 

Most of us fly through life in a constant state of flurried distraction in our rush to get where we think we want to go.  I am as much a goal driven person as the next.  I form an image in my mind of how I want life to look, smell, feel, and taste and put up blinders to the people, places, and things that seem irrelevant to that trajectory.  Much of my time is spent looking backward through the review mirror of life and forward through my GPS router so that I don’t notice the passengers right next to me or what is out the side window.  The pull of the past impacts my ability to form brand new perceptions.  In the mad dash to the future I miss out what life might teach me today.  I am anywhere and everywhere at all times … except I am so rarely here.  What might happen if I take a moment to stop, look, and listen?

“Okay, campers, rise and shine, and don't forget your booties 'cause it's cooooold out there today … That's right, woodchuck-chuckers - it's...GROUNDHOG DAY!”

– Punxsutawney Morning Radio DJ

The value of being present was made crystal clear in the 1993 classic Groundhog Day featuring the brilliant Bill Murray as Phil Connors, a disgruntled weatherman forced to repeat the same day over and over and over again.  Each day he goes to bed and wakes up to the same radio banter and the cycle repeats.  At first Phil’s focus is entirely on getting past the day and to greater interests.  When he succumbs to the reality of being trapped Phil’s narcissism takes over prompting him to focus only on how we might manipulate the day to serve his own needs in greed, lust, and fame.  On these days even Phil’s acts of kindness are nothing more than manipulative ploys to get what he wants.  He completely ignores the realities around him, blind to the power of the weather and the opinions and needs of other people.  Only when Phil grows aware of the people and forces of nature around him, widens his perspective, dials back his ego, and lets go of his obsession to move forward can he relax into the day and then move forward.  Groundhog Day actor Stephen Tobolowsky, who portrayed insurance salesman Ned Ryerson, points to three key shifts in Phil’s attitude:

1.     Humility - towards other people and forces greater than he, such as weather and death

2.     Outward Facing – the ability to listen and honor the needs of others

3.     Kindness – a pivot in attitude from disrespect to kindness

By the end of the movie we see a new alignment of attention, attitude, and action in Phil.  When Phil is present he changes. 

It turns out that Phil was given an incredible gift that most of us never receive by being forced to grow in such an explicit manner.  There is much debate about how long Murray’s character was trapped in Groundhog Day.  Technically the film depicts 34 versions of the same day, but the film’s director, Harold Ramis, imagines it spans between 10 to 40 years.  Holy moly!  Each year (heck, each day) I make resolutions for self-change but lack the luxury of a do-over and the patience to wait up to 40 years. 

Enter Rosh Hashanah 5777

We will soon encounter an extraordinary opportunity to open our minds, bodies, and souls with the possibility of an uplifting and transformative experience through the High Holy Days.  When Rosh Hashanah begins I have a choice.  I can allow previous experiences of Rosh Hashanah and Jewish ritual – positive or negative – to override my celebration of the present one.  I can tighten my shoulders and question what can possibly be gleaned from my yet another pass at Rosh Hashanah services.  I can close my eyes until the experience is over or flee to the bathroom frequently to see what’s up on Facebook while the cantor leads Avinu Malkeinu for the umpteenth time.  I could even decide to skip it altogether.  Alternatively, I can open myself to the possibility of change embedded in a new year.  Easier said than done.  This requires that I lower the volume on the chatter in my mind, allow each exhale to push my To-Do-List further and further away, and immerse myself in the music, imagery, stories, and community that will surround me.  I can enter my prayer space as if it is my first experience and see where it carries me.

Jewish ritual has the potential to nourish the mind, body, and soul and stimulate growth for anyone who shows up.  Our tradition includes a vault of stimulants to trigger emotion, reflection, and growth, and there are many brilliant Jewish leaders, teachers, and artists who are making the old new and the new holy to optimize engagement:

·      Music, poetry, and stories help us to be expressive

·      Text, liturgy, and words of wisdom prompt us to be reflective, joyful, humble, and grateful

·      Apples and sweet honey, round doughy challot with plump tart raisins, and savory chicken soup (meat, parve, vegan) satiate our hunger for warmth and familiarity

·      Our diverse community of family, friends, and even familiar strangers generate and exude a palpable energy that has the power to lift us up

If this feels hard to do it is because we are trying to engage our minds in a manner different than how they function scientifically.  The human brain is divided into two hemispheres.  Brain scientist Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor explains that the left brain is dominated by language, logic, math, and memory.  It is like a serial processor, devoting much time to looking back and making calculated decisions on how to move forward one step at a time.  The right brain is a highly sensory environment where sight, sound, touch, smells, and movement rule the day.  The right brain absorbs all this energy at the same time, impacted by the energy of those around us, and explodes into feelings and impressions that represent our here and now.  Each hemisphere of the brain has value, but can we use this Rosh Hashanah as an opportunity to step from left to right in the hope that we can truly immerse ourselves in the start of the year and the energy of those around us?

Tekiyah: The Call to be Present

Built into the construct of the Rosh Hashanah prayer service is an alarm that can guard us from the risk of a snoozing right brain.  Throughout the service a talented (or aspiring, as the case may sometimes be) musician is appointed to blow the shofar, a biblical trumpet-like instrument made of a ram’s horn.  The blasts of the shofar originally served as a signal to gather together.  The great commentator Rambam suggests a deeper meaning in Hilchot Teshuva 3:

It is as if it tells us: Sleepers, arise from your slumber, and those who are dozing, awake from your lethargy. …Those who forget the truth with the passing of time and who waste their years pursuing vanity and folly that is purposeless and cannot save you - look into your souls and improve your ways and your deeds. Let all abandon the ways of evil and thoughts that offer no benefit.

Perhaps Groundhog Day would have been a much shorter movie if Rambam was the DJ on the Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania radio station, blasting the shofar instead of playing “I Got You Babe,” and rousing Phil Connors to action on day #1 of 1.  In the movie Phil had the luxury of time standing still until he caught on to how being present is a prerequisite for change.  We cannot slow down time and take a do-over on any one moment, but surely we have the ability to step into Rosh Hashanah with the intention to open our minds, bodies, and souls, be present, and see what happens next. 

Seeing Clearly to Effect Change

“Get out of your own way.”  The day I sat down to write this article at my favorite L.A. coffee house I ran into my buddy Harold, an honest and hard working guy with a playful and blunt manner.  Harold asked what I was working on and I told him an article on how leaders could effect change.  Harold’s response: “Get out of your own way.” (statement censored for purposes of publication)  Bingo!  Since Harold politely turned down my offer to swap seats and laptops so that he could espouse his wisdom to the Jews, I’m left to plow forward.  Here it goes…

Sometimes you have step back in order to step forward.  Jewish leaders stand in an exciting time of societal change and innovation that carries an opportunity to steward organized forms of Jewish life and learning in directions that will impact the next wave of generations.  Shifts in technology, commerce, science, and education promote the vital importance of critical and creative thought and also open up new ways of relating to others through redefined conceptions of teamwork and partnerships.  Passionate activists are mobilizing an inspiring number of communities and institutions to work towards social acceptance and equality, and while there is still great progress to be made, more individuals feel a sense of belonging and respect.  Within the Jewish community, there is a cadre of emerging and seasoned leaders who are at the forefront of experimentation to engage members of our tribe in meaningful experiences rooted in Jewish thought and practice.  Exciting – indeed!  Easy – not at all.

A good portion of my career is devoted to the cultivation and support of professional and lay leaders in Jewish education.  Many are in the midst of noble attempts to position their organizations at the forefront of the emerging Jewish future and try hard to reflect on their work with an objective set of lenses.  The ability to “see clearly” is excruciatingly difficult, especially for those of us who are rooted so deeply in our work – physically, socially, emotionally, and – dare I say – spiritually.  Wouldn’t it be nice if your local Target sold a pair of special x-ray/night vision/problem-solving goggles that allowed you to assess your work, aim an arrow, and shoot a bullseye of change with mighty confidence?  Patent pending.  In the meantime…

Blurry Vision

Imagine that you are standing at the edge of a lake.  You peer down and see a reflection of yourself on the surface of the water.  Below that reflection, anchored at the bottom of the lake, is an image of change.  If you could just peer down to the bottom of the lake the idea would crystalize and you could move towards action.  The challenge is to see through the elemental factors that distort the image at the bottom – your reflection, ripples, floating objects, and an engulfing amount of darkness in the depths of the lake.  Without the aforementioned goggles, how can you calm the water in order to see clearly?

I’ve experienced the pangs of standing at the lake and straining to see clearly many times as a Jewish educator.  One prominent example is the bittersweet success of the counselor-training program for rising 12th graders at the camp I directed.  The blessing was that the program attracted up to 90 applicants each year.  Imagine- 90 teens approaching the end of high school vying to return to their Jewish home in the outdoors for a summer of intense leadership development and friends!  The curse was the limited number of spaces and high demands of the program ultimately led to about 20-25 rejections each year.  That’s 20-25 teens whose camp journey ended with a note that read “There is no longer a space for you in your Jewish community.”  For years I struggled to see a viable solution at the bottom of the lake (and by “lake” I mean the bottom of the swimming pool in Southern California).  I see now that I was in my own way.  Let me explain…

Get Out of Your Own Way: Five Obstacles to Seeing Clearly

One source of inspiration for my Jewish leadership is yoga, a practice through which individuals create space for self-reflection and growth.  Similar to the dilemma described above, the ability to stretch, twist, bend, invert, and breathe is a challenge as is the opportunity to be self-reflective about how your disposition on the yoga mat relates to how you approach issues of tension and stability off the mat.  The postures are often more accessible than they seem if the yogi could get out of her own way.  Sound familiar? 

Sages of yoga point to five particular obstacles that restrict our ability to see clearly, but which can be overcome when the practitioner operates with intention.  Jewish leaders and yogis share much in common and each can sharpen their vision through a mindful attempt to overcome these obstacles.

1) IGNORANCE

We all get caught up in a lot of guesswork and assumptions and do not allocate enough time to being observant (no, not that kind of “observant”).  We can heighten our awareness by tapping into our inner anthropologist and observing human behavior before affixing a caption to it.  I must be present, acknowledge that I arrive to my work with biases, ask questions, listen, and open up to changing my opinions.  To overcome ignorance I push out of myself and investigate alternate ideas in both expected and unexpected places.

2) EGO

The second obstacle is our sense of pride and self-importance.  I am not the object of my leadership; my purpose is to do right by the people I lead.  While it is certainly important that I conduct myself with self-respect and keep my own soul nourished, I must be willing to take risks, embrace constructive feedback, and let go of those ideas which speak more to my interests and pride than to the interests and needs of others.  This points to the value of collaborative work, asking for help, and pursuing the best idea regardless of whether it is your idea. 

3) ATTACHMENTS

I believe it was Tevye who proclaims, “Here in our village of Anatevke we have a tradition for everything – how to eat, how to sleep, even how to wear our clothes.”  Traditions can be a source of inspiration, a positive bridge between generations, and a sensible way to avoid reinventing the wheel.  At the same time, most of us latch on to programs, models, and ways of working out of nostalgia, fear of rocking the boat, or because “that’s how we do it.”  I must routinely ask myself what elements of my work reflect a sense of unhealthy attachment and are counterproductive to my goals.

4)     AVERSION

If attachment lies on one end of the spectrum, aversion is at the other end.  It is important to be honest with myself about the territory of my work that I avoid because it doesn’t interest me, it open doors I prefer remain shut, and/or it forces me to confront discomfort that is more likely a temporary growing pain than chronic and ongoing.  My guess is most of us can name our aversions quite easily, which is the first step towards a healthy and positive confrontation.  It can be quite telling to consider the new tunes I avoid because they are not the ones I’m used to using in prayer, the person I hide from in the hallway because we just don’t see eye to eye, or the item I eliminate from a meeting agenda because I don’t want to go there.

5)     FEAR

The final obstacle that clouds our ability to see clearly is fear, a force that can be a thread that weaves together the previous obstacles.  I am worried about what I might hear when I ask certain questions (ignorance), scared of putting myself on the line (ego), nervous of stepping out of my comfort zone (attachment), and frightened of what lies inside the Pandora’s box I’ve sealed shut (aversion).  The truth is that leaders face greater risk in stagnation than in experimentation.  Fear can be notably reduced when leaders mobilize their stakeholders to be partners in transformation and share the joy and burden of effecting change.

Looking back at the problem of the counselor-training program I see in hindsight how these obstacles were my stumbling blocks.  The future of the program needed distance from my memories as an alumnus and I needed to confront the issue head on to push past my fear of experimentation.  How might I have better served my camp community if I listened more closely to the experiences of acceptance and rejection that my teens reported and their hopes for the next leg of their camp journey, put aside my attachment to the tradition of the program, and formed a team committed to identifying no fewer than five solutions.  Incidentally I’m pleased to share that the next leadership team of the camp took these very steps and is en route to trying a new model.  Bravo!

Seeing Clearly for a New Future of Congregational Learning (or any organized form of Jewish life and learning)

 There are many creative thinkers who are giving thought to how they might retool Hebrew school to be more engaging and impactful.  Whether the model had ever been successful is a question with a range of answers.  I know some Hebrew school graduates who attribute their Jewish literacy and positive identity to their school experience and others who feel differently.   Regardless of the past, we stand now among a national movement to reframe congregational learning. 

In the forward thinking podcast, Judaism Unbound, Dan Libenson relays a story of a person who sets out to create a new hammer because the one he is using is uncomfortable.  As Libenson points out, the goal here is somewhat misguided.  The design of the hammer is secondary to the objective of getting a nail in the wall in a safe and efficient manner.  Perhaps the solution is to put down the hammer and engineer an entirely new system for getting nails into the wall.  We are limited in our perspective when we confuse the vehicle for the goal. 

Hebrew school is one type of vehicle, but not the goal?  What is the purpose of congregational learning for our kids?  Take a huge step back.  Is the current school model the right tool?  Perhaps it is and perhaps it is not.  I encourage our leaders to work with intention to overcome the obstacles of imagination – ignorance, ego, attachment, aversion, and fear.  The solution might become clearer through honest self-reflection and conversations with your clergy, lay leadership, faculty, and learners.    

From Chair Pose to Congregational School Poised for Change

This summer I was in Cleveland teaching a course on Jewish education, and after days of sitting, my legs yearned to stretch. A nearby yoga center piqued my interest, and nervously I entered the studio. I’d only been practicing for 18 months, and at home managed to overcome my insecurity as one of the least coordinated individuals by sticking with a few particular instructors. In Cleveland I was out of my comfort zone – new location, new class, new teacher. We proceeded through a series of poses to which I was, thankfully, accustomed. Standing pose. Chair pose. Plank. As I settled into the core Downward Facing Dog pose my nerves melted into confidence. I could walk into any yoga studio, and feel at home in my practice. How do they it? …and why does this question feel all too familiar?

How can we inspire our Jewish children to go out anywhere in the world, establish for themselves a Jewish community, and be active in their practice? The question of how to guide learners to embrace a set of rituals and beliefs is central to my work. Settings of education may vary, but most aspire to cultivate some type of lifelong commitment to Jewish living and learning. An example of success be a school/camp/youth group graduate who seeks out a prayer service in college, feels at home in the pews, and even stands up and leads now and then. If my experience with yoga in Cleveland became a college student’s story with Kabbalat Shabbat at Ohio State, then daiyenu!!

Currently I am exploring how congregational schools can be strengthened to cultivate within learners a positive Jewish identity and a commitment to a set of Jewish values, practices, and beliefs. The stakes are high. The majority of non-Orthodox children enrolled in a program of Jewish learning is in a part-time setting. Fortunately, congregational learning is receiving a lot of attention from Jewish professionals and parents who are not satisfied with the current level of engagement. Folks are working hard to try out new ideas. In fact, the purpose of my trip to Cleveland was to teach a course titled “The Best of Camp in School Settings.” As I settled into the next Chair pose my mind raced to how Jewish educators can learn from the practice of yoga.

How is it that many kids sit through 2-6 weekly hours of instruction on Hebrew language, prayer, values, and holidays and retain very little, and yet, as an adult, I’ve logged a similar number of hours learning yoga and can enter any studio and participate?

Children are like sponges with the capacity to learn a tremendous amount, yet there are challenges to congregational schools. Hours of instruction decrease as schedules grow busier. Trends in 21st century secular education are veering from a focus on content towards skills in critical thinking, team work, and the ability to ask questions and self-navigate to the answers. Regardless, there remains an expectation for congregational schools to focus on b’nai mitzvah preparation, and a laundry list of subject areas. Important conversations are taking place about the goal of these schools, and my focus is on the support we offer educators to succeed.

Yoga instruction includes a range of goals from the mechanics of the poses to the life benefits of breathing and mindful intention. As an adult I learned that when a yoga instructor calls out “Ardha Chandrasana” my mind translates “Half Moon Pose” and my body topples over as I balance on my right hand and leg with my left hand and leg extended up (photos omitted on purpose). I can even explain the benefit of this stretch. In the meantime, when congregational teachers call out “lulav” and ask about the four species, too many students are like deer caught in the headlights.

I attribute my strides in yoga to a particular teaching style. Enter a yoga studio for your first class and you will not see a desk, book, or whiteboard. Your tools are a mat, blocks, and a blanket. When class starts you engage in the “practice” of yoga. We need to “practice” or “do” Judaism with our learners in the same way that they put their hands to piano keys to learn music, dribble on the basketball court to become athletes, or dissect a frog as young biologists. How is it that the same kid who struggles to recite the Amidah prayer can shine on the basketball court and recall statistics for players and games? Of course, part of it is motivation. I am self-motivated to take on yoga. Still, we spend a lot of time with kids on mastering the Amidah. How can we be more successful?

The simple answer is to engage kids in the many different forms of prayer and guide them towards opportunities in which to be prayerful, rather than stick them behind a desk forced to recite the words from a photocopy or textbook. Fortunately, many congregational schools are already moving past overly frontal techniques. The more mindful answer is to strategically employ the approach of experiential learning, currently at the center of many conversations about Jewish education. For years we have seen the fruitful impact of this approach in the setting of Jewish summer camp or through organized trips to Israel. Current debates question whether experiential methods can be integrated more prominently in non-immersive settings where educators lack the luxuries of residential living, lakes, and fields.

Fortunately, experiential Jewish education is a broad approach, and not restricted to one particular environment. Dr. Jeff Kress, an expert at The Jewish Theological Seminary, explains experiential Jewish education as a combination of several attributes that involve relationship building, entry points for a variety of learners, engaging a person’s emotions, providing opportunities for reflection, and connecting with other life experiences. The practice of yoga is quite experiential – relationships are formed with instructors, emotions are engaged, there are several opportunities for self-reflection, and instructors connect the practice to issues confronted outside the studio. While individuals interested in yoga can certainly attend a retreat, most learn within a limited number of weekly hours in a studio near home; conditions which are similar to the congregational school.

Conversations about an experiential approach to congregational learning often start with the question “How can we make Hebrew school more like camp?” This is a fine way to start the conversation, but we need to be careful as we experiment with answers. People who expect to enter a school and see the exact same magic that can occur in a Jewish camp are doomed for disappointment. We cannot extract individual activities from camp, replicate them in a school, and expect the same total outcome. A Jewish cooking activity is effective at camp because the hour spent kneading challah dough takes place in a larger context. The camper also sits near his cooking instructor during prayer services or joins her for Israeli folk dancing before lunch, or he might use his baked challah during Shabbat dinner that night. An experiential approach is more than “hands on learning.” There is a risk that a cooking elective in a congregational school will exist in a vacuum. It becomes “culinary education” and not “Jewish education.”

I am constantly struck by the incredible skill set of yoga instructors. They are authentic experiential educators. As pedagogues they are knowledgeable about the mechanics of yoga, appropriately challenge students while scaffolding us to success, assess progress and offer feedback, and draw connections between our practice of yoga and daily lives. As classroom managers they are generally patient and nurturing, and bring us together as a group while also offering individual “hands on” support as needed. Much of this success can be attributed to their training. A minimum standard in the industry is that yoga instructors receive 200 hours of training in areas ranging from alignment and anatomy to the science and art of sequencing a class, and as well as how to offer hands on adjustments. Many receive a total of 500 hours to deepen their abilities and benefit from a larger amount of mentoring and practice teaching.

If we want congregational schools to adopt an experiential approach, then our top priority must be to prepare teachers to integrate these techniques into their pedagogy and classroom management. The profile for congregational school teachers varies greatly from emerging adults who teach while in college to adults for whom teaching is a secondary avocation. Most bring some combination of interest, personal experiences in Jewish education, and varying levels of content knowledge. However, few arrive with any formal training in experiential learning. Those who have benefited directly from experiential programs have strong instincts, but need guidance on how to explicitly modify for settings that are not residential.

I am eager to continue my exploration of this approach, and giving thought to the art of yoga helps clarify some immediate needs. Leaders in Jewish education must allocate resources in time and funding for the preparation of experiential educators on a local or national level. This preparation should certainly include the school educators, but must also include other professionals in the synagogue community so that the school is truly embedded in a larger community. In turn, our educators have an obligation to collaborate internally and externally to ensure that schools, camps, and youth groups take advantage of opportunities for joint training, programming, and communication as we steward families through an increasingly wide network of experiences.

Tapas: A Vital Ingredient for Jewish Continuity

By: Zachary Lasker, Ed.D.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose (yes, I’m serious). Let the breath out slowly through your mouth. Repeat this action twice and with each cycle of breath feel your mind start to quiet. Turn your gaze inward and take a moment to answer the following question:

What inspires your Jewish practice?

Judaism is hardly a passive way of life and demands that we act with intention through the range of practices we choose to take on. There are laws, customs, and behaviors related to prayer, holiday observance, cooking and eating, self-care, tending to the environment, and how we relate to other human beings and to God. As an active Jew and a committed Jewish professional I know that I must ignite my motivation and passion for Jewish living and learning each day that I wake up. To press “snooze” is not really an option. My ability to sustain my practice is dependent on my ability to collect and tap into a healthy supply of energy and heat for why I find Judaism a meaningful way of life. When I have clarity on what inspires and motivates me about Judaism I flow naturally through my practice and feel a sense of confidence in my work.

What is the source of inspiration? I want to suggest that the answer is not found in numbers. While our tradition is marked by a custom of counting (censuses in the Torah, eight nights of Chanukah, seven days of the week, six orders of the Mishnah, five books of Torah, four Matriarchs…), I worry that too often Jewish leaders rely on numbers to motivate actions or to dominate our conversations about Jewish life – statistics on the Jewish population, fundraising targets, enrollment/attendance reports in organized activity. The numbers in Jewish communal service and education are important, but not a sustainable and ultimately compelling source of motivation.

There are a couple of reasons why we might gravitate towards quantifying rather than qualifying our Jewish practice. Items that can be counted – people, behaviors, dollars – are often visible. It can appear easier to count and to stand behind these data as objective. Socio-psychologist Dr. Bethamie Horowitz (2015) cautions against our over reliance on the counting approach as evidence of vibrant Jewish life:

… the main way of defining and tracking the Jewishness of American Jews by the organized Jewish communal world has been to focus on adherence to traditional or conventional Jewish practice, without a more direct consideration of the person’s own experience, understanding or motivation. The phenomenon of what being Jewish means to the individual has typically not been investigated. We don’t learn much about why people do these things and how they feel about it.

Horowitz’s wisdom underscores the importance that we take a step back from the questions of “What is your Jewish practice?” or “What are the numbers (behaviors, enrollment, etc.) you aspire to achieve?” and pivot towards questions of “What inspires your Jewish practice?” and “What does being Jewish mean to you?”

The answer to the question of what inspires or motivates Jewish practice can be found in the idea of Tapas. Many of us know of tapas as an array of hot and cold small plates in Spanish cuisine. While trendy food can be inspirational, I’m referring to the Sanskrit definition of Tapas, meaning “fire,” and which conjures the image of an internal flame that motivates action. I draw this concept from the philosophy of yoga, a mind-body-soul practice that is quite complementary to Jewish practice. In yoga Tapas is the determination and discipline that fires us up about our goals and dreams. Reverend Constance Habash (2007) explains:

When we undertake the practice of yoga, or any spiritual practice, the flame of Tapas needs to burn brightly within us if we are to achieve anything more than a little light exercise. Tapas helps us through the uncomfortable sensations, motivates us to try difficult maneuvers, and also pulls in the reins when we become a bit full of ourselves or risk injuring our body. Without that inner discipline and determination, we’d be unlikely to look at the finer practices of yoga that, through rigorous self-awareness, bring inner peace and open us to greater oneness.

The idea of Tapas is just as relevant to Jewish practice as it is to yoga, and both learners and leaders can benefit from this concept. As Jews we need the flame of Tapas to continually embrace and embody the dimensions of our practice that we enjoy, to confront the ideas, rituals, and customs with which we struggle, and to take risks. Tapas is a universal concept that can benefit Jews of all ages and circumstances, from younger to older people, singles to couples, and those born into Judaism to those who choose it. The value of Tapas is particularly poignant for leaders who steward others towards Jewish practice. I find that the most inspiring Jewish leaders are leaders who are authentically inspired by Judaism.

The idea of Tapas is vividly pronounced as we recall the story of our tribe during Chanukah. Confronted with religious oppression and a desecrated Temple, the Maccabees led a revolt against the army of Antiochus IV. Beating the odds, the Macccabees won and our holiday celebration draws its roots in the legend that enough oil was found to keep the flames of the Menorah lit for eight nights. It seems to me that the heat of Tapas filled the Maccabees with clarity on their sense of Jewish self, motivated them to action. Tapas is a midrashic explanation for why that Menorah shined brightly for an astounding eight nights.

I think it can be easy to draw on Tapas in the face of oppression when the flame of our inspiration is (literally!) threatened. The bigger challenge is to maintain positive heat whether in a state of threat or strength. Many of us who struggle with self-discipline know that the more regular you are in your practice – exercise, friendships, writing, diet, playing an instrument, working on a puzzle – the more likely you are to sustain the practice and to elongate from strength to strength. Getting started, or igniting an extinguished flame, is way more difficult.

It is fitting for us as Jewish leaders to take a moment during Chanukah for self-reflection: Do I have enough oil stored to sustain the light of my own Jewish practice? If my answer is “yes,” what is the source of that inspiration? It is easier to see that source clearly when the flask is full and to imprint it on your mind and soul for when the flask starts to run low. If the answer is “no,” what steps must you take to reignite the flame?

The responsibility for Jewish leaders to cultivate and protect their inner flame is shared:

1. Funders, lay leaders, and senior professionals can allocate the gelt of time, encouragement, and funding to enable Jewish leaders to be active in their personal Jewish practice.
2. As Jewish leaders we must accept ultimate responsibility for our inner flame. That means using our resources, however robust or limited they might be, to claim space for our Jewish practice and to be reflective practitioners about the meaning of Judaism in our lives.