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Norman Fischer - "Sailing Home" at Nishmat Hayyim, July 2008
by Sara Shostak, Reggie Silberberg and Bobbi Isberg
August 2008

Norman, Cantor Sheila Clein and friend
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Nishmat Hayyim was honored to join with TBZ, MIT Hillel, and the MIT Buddhist Community in hosting a series of events with Norman Fischer, the renowned Zen Buddhist priest, poet, and author.
Norman began his time with us by observing that metaphor is not a mere figure of language. Rather, metaphor can be thought of as a sense organ and a way of apprehending the truth of our lives. Skillfully working with the great metaphors of religion and myth, then, is one means of doing spiritual work.
The metaphor at the center of Norman's new book is "sailing home." In this amazing book, Norman uses the story of Odysseus as a means of understanding the spiritual journey. This journey is always a journey of return, or, to invoke one of the most beautiful metaphors in the Jewish tradition, of teshuvah.
On Shabbat, we sat together and Norman invited us to share the thoughts and questions that arose from silence. In these questions one can see some of the contours of the journey home, which inevitably involves challenges and disasters. Based on notes taken by several attendees, we offer here some of the questions that were asked, and the answers given by Norman. Especially as many questions centered on meditation as a practice for homecoming, we hope that they will help you on your journey.
What is home?
Home is wholeness, belonging, being connected and right exactly where you are. It's not a physical place, though for many people there are physical places that foster this sense.
Is there a particular time in ones life for sailing home? Or, is homecoming something that can be done even in the midst of all of life's busy-ness?
This question points to the paradoxical nature of homecoming. On the one hand, the desire for homecoming may be tied to the arc of one's life course. Once people have gone forth, had their careers and their families, etc., they often turn more intensely to their spiritual life. However, it's not as if you want to wait until you're 50 to attend to your spiritual life, because then you'll be way off course. The great gift of life is that each moment holds the possibility of coming home. We can always, with every breath, come home, at any moment in the life course.
What is the difference between Buddhist meditation and Jewish meditation?
Norman responded that this question is actually impossible to answer. There have been so many brilliant thinkers in Buddhist and Jewish traditions, over thousands of years, and there are so many different approaches to Buddhism and Judaism, that there is not one Buddhist meditation practice to compare to one Jewish meditation practice, he explained. Nevertheless, it is possible to be aware of some trends in current practice. It is clear that today's Jewish contemplative practice has been influenced by the Eastern meditation techniques that many Jews have learned by studying with Buddhist teachers. It is less often noted that Jewish Meditation is also influencing the way Buddhist meditation is practiced. When Buddhist meditation is practiced by Jews, in preparation for prayer, or as part of a contemplative service, the meditation is influenced by the Jewish context. The Jewish history of tragedy and loss brings emotions more directly into meditative practice. The feelings of sadness, as well as joy, are more present in Jewish meditative practice, because of our historical context and our traditions of commemorating tragedy (Tisha b'Av) and celebrating life (Simchas Torah) with our holidays and prayers. While it is not clear where this will lead, it is clear that the infusion of this emotional experience into meditation practice will result in some new developments in the practice.
Why not learn only traditionally Jewish meditation practices as described in Jewish texts that have been preserved?
The great tragedy of the Holocaust disrupted the direct transmission, from teacher to student, of specifically Jewish meditation practices. In the Talmud, we are instructed to meditate for an hour before praying, in preparation for prayer, as well as an hour after, for integration of sacred intentionality into our daily life. While Judaic scholars have been able to learn a great deal from texts describing specific meditation practices, there is a limit to what you can learn from texts.

Norman and Rabbi Sam of MIT Hillel
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Norman repeated a story that Reb Moshe had told him in relation to this: A student of the Baal Shem Tov saw a tightrope artist performing, and wanted to learn. Studying the tightrope walker's every move, this student wrote down exactly what he did: "lean to the right, then to the left" and so on. He then took these instructions and tried to walk the rope by doing exactly what was written, and of course, he fell. The only way to learn how to walk a tightrope is to find one's own balance, with the help of a teacher who guides you in finding your own balance. This kind of personal interaction with a teacher and a community provides the context for discovering one's own balance in meditation. Norman and many other meditation teachers have been able to learn the practice in the context of a relationship with teachers and community. Because the Holocaust severed the direct transmission of Jewish meditation practices from teacher to student, we do not have this same opportunity to learn Jewish meditation directly from a mentor.
Finally, it is a Jewish tradition to learn and integrate the wisdom and wise practices of the surrounding culture. Like any living creature who needs to take in nourishment from the environment in order to stay healthy, Judiasm remains vibrant by integrating practices which are enriching.
How can we understand the violent, vengeful representations of God and other heroic Jewish avengers, like Pinchas, in the context of a humanistic and compassionate spiritual practice?"
It felt like both a curse and a blessing to read parashat Pinchas on the Shabbat when Norman visited. In this parashat, we see the jealous, vengeful aspects of God. Pinchas is rewarded for his violent murder of idolaters by being granted the priesthood, along with God's "covenant of peace." We asked Norman how this could be understood in the context of a contemplative practice that holds compassion at its center. Norman calls upon the Hasidic tradition of interpreting Torah as a representation of our inner, psychological conflicts and experiences. In this way, we can understand the killing of the idolaters as a metaphor for ridding ourselves of our own demeaning impulses. However, this does not solve the problem. Others may read this story as a justification for their own religious fanaticism. Even if we do read it as a story of our inner landscape, violent destruction of certain aspects of ourselves is not a helpful strategy for self-improvement. So, Norman commented, the "avenging God" is still a problem. He then noted that God is described as "The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, of Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel and Leah: "God is understood and interpreted through relationships with humans, who give God all of their human characteristics, including the tendency to seek revenge. Indeed, vengeance and religious zealotry do exist in our world, and it makes sense that we have to deal with it. One could hope to meditate in a context free of violence and destruction, but this would not be the world we live in. So, Norman explained, it makes sense to him that we do not leave out these stories about violence and vengeance, as these are aspects of the world we live in, the world we are trying to heal.
As we all sail home, both as individuals and as a community, may we continue to be strong, committed, mindful and joyous. May we continue to breathe as Norman described: as we breathe out God inhales and as we breathe in God exhales and, so that we touch the Divine with each breath.
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