View full issue in PDF - The Mindfulness Bell

Jewish Holidays
by Anne Rogal Winiker
B
ecause the Jewish year is based upon an ancient lunar
calendar, Jewish holidays are never on the same date
from one year to the next. Thus, my nonrefundable plane
tickets were already purchased when I realized that our most
sacred holidays overlapped the time period of "The Heart of
the Buddha," the September retreat in Plum Village. I felt
conflicted, but stuck to my decision to spend Rosh
Hashanah and Yom Kippur far from home. My rationale
that "spiritual work is spiritual work" did not appease my
family. As I departed, my younger brother hugged me and
hissed into my ear, "Have a safe trip, happy holidays, and
don't ever do this again!"
The day
after my arrival
at Plum Village
was also three
days before the
first of these
holy celebrations.
There
was a group of
Jewish
retreatants, and
written recognition
from Thfty
about the
importance of
this time "for
our Jewish
brothers and
sisters." But
how would we
celebrate
without rabbi,
services, or synagogue? The Jewish group numbered about
40, and most of us were now sitting in a big circle by the
linden tree, trying to figure out how to create our own
ceremonies.
"I feel like crying," one woman said. "I can't believe
nothing has been organized."
"I'd like to develop something accentuating Buddhist
themes."
"We have twenty-one days of Buddhist themes. I want a
Jewish service."
"We need a bell. Someone please ring a bell."
"Maybe we should just go find a synagogue in Bordeaux."
"Can we talk about process before content?"
"My name is Shalom," said Shalom. She extended her
hands, and one by one we connected our circle, closing our
eyes, breathing, and finding ourselves united, after all.
The days passed, and a small group worked to .c omb~ne
stroncrly-held philosophies and opinions, ceremomal objects
and ;ritings, and favorite songs and traditions. My sense of
mission expanded abruptly when Ruby, a non-Jew, insisted
that the celebrations should be offered to everyone at the
retreat. "What a wonderful opportunity to experience our
true interbeing," she said. Startled, I realized the image I
held of our Jewish group celebrating unobtrusively in some
quiet corner. To share the significance of this time with non­
Jews was unprecedented in my life.
As the holidays approached, we prepared our texts so
that an "outsider" would be able to understand them. We
made announcements and public invitations. When we
gathered by the bamboo grove to rehearse our music, we .
were joined by new people, strangers to us and to the Jewish
traditions. A large circle of singers formed, standing and
swaying as our ancestors have done in worship through the
ages. The
newcomers
approached the
unfamiliar
Hebrew words
and haunting
melodies with
incredible zeal.
Emanuele, a
non-Jewish
friend from
Italy, said, "I
feel as if I have
always known
this music."
The 60-
strong German
Sangha loomed
large for me.
They circled us,
Celebrating Yom Kippur at Plum Village
clearly wanting
to participate. Eulysia, gentle and self-effacing, had joined
our first planning group. "I'm not a Jew, I don' t know if it's
all right for me to be here, may I help with something?" I
felt the sincerity of her intention, and a pain behind it. W hy
did I also feel a sense of annoyance, as if I wondered, "What
could you do anyway?" The next day two handsome, blond
men approached us, politely offering, " May we share with
you?" in German accents. As they sat down, I fe lt an
intangible sense of threat, and could not get the phrase
"perfect Aryan specimens" out of my mind. Several of my
new Jewish friends were children of concentration camp
survivors. I wondered if the religious services could
somehow serve as a vehicle for German-Jewish reconciliation.
But I didn't know how to reconcile these visceral
feelings that came from a time before many of us were even
born.
Friday evening arrived, bringing the Sabbath and Erev
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