aria
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tia
11:1, haramsala, a
small town in
northern
India, shelters
a community
of several
thousand •
Tibetan
refugees. It's where
my life changed dramatically in 1990
when I witnessed a dialogue between
religious Jews and the Dalai Lama.
Going back to a place where your
life changed is risky. Especially if it
changed for the better. Suppose the
magic isn't there? Suppose it was
invented in the first place? I knew one
thing: I wanted to make up for the
last time I met His Holiness.
At the end of the 1990 dialogue,
the Jewish delegates lined up to give
him gifts. I hadn't brought one, so I
hastily pulled out a paperback copy of
Terra Infirma from my knapsack. A
photograph shows me grinning and
handing him the book: It happens to
be one of the stupidest moments of
my life. I am saying to this wonderful-
ly humble Buddhist master, "I read
your autobiography. Here's mine."
I hoped to do better this time.
It was two weeks before Passover
1996. I'd been traveling a long way to
this moment. In the past six years I
had learned something of Buddhist
meditation and Jewish renewal. My
brief encounter with the Dalai Lama
had opened a door to a new inner life.
I wanted to thank him.
Now I waited eagerly in his com-
fortable meeting room. He smiled as
he entered from the back, bowed
slightly as I bowed to him, and sat in
a yellow armchair. My friend, Dr.
Marc Lieberman, introduced me,
explaining that I had written about
the Jewish Buddhist dialogue in The
Jew in the Lotus. Then it was up to
me.
"Your Holiness," I said, "people ask
me, why did I have to go all the way
to Dharamsala to look more deeply
into my Jewish tradition? Why did I
have to meet with a Buddhist master
to see Judaism more deeply? I heard a
story from Nachman of Bratzlav, a
great Chasidic rabbi from the last cen-
tury. May I tell it to you?"
He nodded slightly and I began. A
poor rabbi, Reb Yechiel, wants to
build a new synagogue for his town.
Every night he dreams of a certain
bridge in Vienna. Hidden gold lies
under it. Finally — the dream is dri-
ving him crazy — he makes the diffi-
cult journey to Vienna. He finds the
bridge and searches around it. A guard
asks what he's doing. Reb Yechiel
explains his dream and the guard
laughs.
"Oh, you Jews are such dreamers.
I'll tell you what dreams are worth.
Every night I dream of a Jew, Reb
Yechiel. And hidden behind his stove
there's gold."
As I gave him the story, the Dalai
Lama's face captivated me. Every emo-
tion, every nuance registers there. He
samples the feeling in your words and
gives it back to you: This is sadness,
this is joy. He listens with his whole
being. I came to the punch line. "So
Reb Yechiel returned home, looked
behind his stove, and under the floor-
1/2
1998