boards he found gold." The Dalai
Lama's rich deep laughter filled the
room. Behind him I noticed the gold-
en statue of Avalokiteshvara, the
Buddha of compassion.
"Rebbe Nachman told this tale," I
said, "to explain why a person might
journey far away to find a teacher,
who will show the student what is
already close at hand. For me," I said,
looking into his eyes, "and for many
Jews, you have become such a teacher.
By making us look more deeply into
Judaism, you have become our rabbi."
Cupping his hand, the Dalai Lama
reached for the dome of his shaven
head, laughing, and said, "So you will
give me a small hat?"

Hard Traveling

The phrase "afflictive states of
mind" was new to me in 1990. I
understand it now as the anguish that
keeps us awake at night, the gnawing
within that makes life difficult, the
fresh pain, or the old pain, each carries
in the heart.
For many reasons — the prospects
for peace in the Middle East, the
changing of generations — Jews today
are turning from issues of identity and
politics and are looking more deeply
inward. Through accounts of the 1990
dialogue, including my own, the Dalai
Lama's curiosity about the Jewish
inner life stimulated thought and
debate. I told him Jews were very
grateful for his questions.
Which Jewish practices foster "gen-
uine transformation, or spiritual devel-
opment"? I remember vividly in the
1990 dialogue when the Dalai Lama
asked the delegates about the inner life
of Jews today. He held his right hand
in the air and turned his wrist, as if
opening a door.
In the six years since, I've traveled
hard, seeking Jewish teachers who
have passed through that door. I asked
questions about their inner life — and
mine. I sought secrets of Jewish medi-
tation and deep prayer. I studied
Torah and debated its relevance. As a
frankly heterodox, somewhat anarchic,
and self-educated Jew, I was asking
not only for myself, but for others
who might feel excluded, alienated, or
on the margins. I wrestled with
authenticity, my own and my teach-
ers', wondering whether there's an
entry level test for being a good Jew,
or whether the rich language of kab-
balah and Chasidic teaching, or
Chasidut, can properly be understood
in the context of a liberal Judaism.

1/2
1998

66

A Guided Path

My questions are not academic;
they rise from the confusions and
struggles in my own life. Challenged
by the beauty of a frankly mystical
tradition like Buddhism, I could no
longer maintain my Judaism as a
carefully preserved nostalgic monu-
ment to my immigrant grandparents.
I wanted direct experience — to
know what is useful and real about
Jewish practice today.
Such questions prompted my
round-trip journey from Dharamsala,
from 1990 to 1996, and back and
forth across the United States, from
Beverly Hills and Hollywood to
Philadelphia and Boston, learning
from teachers of a Jewish inner life.
Like Reb Yechiel I have journeyed
far, stalking a dream. In the, end I
also found gold hidden behind the
stove — in basic Jewish texts, prayers
and practices. The trick is to bring
them inward, to take them to heart.
The Tibetan Buddhist path pre-
sents itself as a lam rim, a guided
path to enlightenment. My own path
has been more like a roller coaster,
with lost luggage and airports, and
intense teachings crammed between
the sound of video games and honk-
ing horns. My teachers are not serene
monks, but vulnerable, busy, intense
women and men with financial bur-
dens and personal problems to wres-
tle with, and sometimes complicated
households. But that's the American
way, and the Jewish way, I suppose: A
Jewish path cannot be apart from,
but must be in, life.
In life, the Jewish path to God can
seem no more certain than a flash of
lightning. Yet, it is my path, some-
thing I first realized early one morn-
ing, in Dharamsala, in October 1990.
A month before, I heard two years of
excruciating work go down the tubes
in a five-minute rejection over the
phone from a tough New York editor.
Books get rejected all the time, but
this tore open a wound that the writ-
ing had been meant to heal. My
manuscript told the story of my
infant son's death and of how my
wife, Moira, and I struggled to have
another child. Now the manuscript,
too, was dead.
The rejection left me in a delicate
state of mind to be flying halfway
around the world, a writer certain he
couldn't write.
One night, lying in my room in a
Tibetan guest cottage, a familiar
gnawing voice spoke, a frequenter of
many nights of insomnia over the five

Eat
Your Dessert '
This week, Rodger Kamenetz appeared at Pikesville's Bibelot bookstore to

promote his new book Stalking Elijah. While in New York Monday for his
book tour, he spoke by phone to the Baltimore Jewish Times about his work
and spirituality in the 1990s.
J.T. — Why was it important for you to write this book?
Mr. Kamenetz — The short answer is I was under contract [he laughs].
After The Jew in the Lotus, many people asked me how Judaism could lead
them to a more fulfilling Jewish life. They didn't know their practices were
tools to enrich themselves from within. My encounter with the Dalai Lama
showed me that people will stay with their traditions if it benefits them in the
long run.
How would you respond to those who say Judaism is rich enough that
we don't need to go to other faiths to seek answers?
I went to other faiths to seek questions. Either we have a conscious dialogue
or an unconscious dialogue with other faiths. You learn the questions one way
or the other. Why not hear them clearly and intelligently? What do we have to
fear if what we have is rich and beautiful?
Why are so many Jews and non-Jews these days turning to Judaism's
mystical aspects?
The language of Jewish mysticism is so rich and appeals to the senses and
the body. We're not just intellects — we have bodies and souls and hearts.
Kabbalah is Jewish soul poetry. What's really surprising is that it's been sup-
pressed for so long.
Why is that?
The non-Orthodox Jews felt maybe it wouldn't be authentic for them to be
involved in kabbalah, that it was for the [religious] right. But for some of
them, they're now seeing kabbalah has a reality map of what we're addressing, a
language that brings us closer to God.
And there's this idea that you're eating dessert before your peas [when learn-
ing kabbalah before intense Torah study]. But I think the sophistication of the
average person in our society allows us to go into that door more quickly than
in the past. We have a richer depth and consciousness. I say eat your dessert.
Why do you think some Jews fail to embrace the richness of Jewish
tradition?
We live in a free society, and people have many choices. Young people
sometimes need to go a long way away to get back to where they're going. The
Torah's all about spiritual seekers who wandered and met teachers and had
ecstatic experiences. We need to understand what's beautiful about what we
have to offer and present it in a beautiful way.
Why do you call yourself an "under-constructionist"?
Judaism is under construction, and we all need to bring our contribution.
We're building the final product. In my own life, I wear a hard-hat yarmulke.
I'm happy to daven [pray] with Orthodox, Conservative or Reform. We need
to stop dividing each other and work together. There are serious Jews across
the spectrum. We have a lot to learn from each other.
Why do you feel so many Jews turn to Buddhism for answers?
Buddhism doesn't start off on what you must believe; it says here's what
Buddha says, how about you? That appeals to Jewish sensibilities. For many
Jews, the relaxation of clinging to an identity is a relief. It can feel like a bur-
den if there's no inner context for you. You need to know why you're doing
these things.
Can you be Jewish and a Buddhist?
You can be a Jew who does some Buddhist practices, such as meditation,
and it can help your practice. But can you be a serious Buddhist? I don't know.
I'm skeptical.
Your book is an account of a spiritual journey. How would you tell
other Jews to start their own spiritual journeys?
Starting a study group or finding like-minded people is a wonderful way to
do it. Create something, or if it's already there go to those teachers. If you've
never prayed on a personal level, then it's no wonder you feel no personal con-
nection to the prayers. Do a morning or evening prayer practice. That's a good
place to start. It's yours, for you to work with. When I pray, I put my personal
concerns into it. I add that to my prayer so I feel connected.

❑

— Alan H. Feller