fragility

Sam died last Tuesday, March 11. He was in his early eighties and was the sextant (shammas) of our synagogue for forty years. Although you might think that his death would be more understandable than that of my young colleague Joel ("Anger", November 23, '07), I find Sam's death baffling for its own sake. Sam died of Pancreatic cancer, certainly the most deadly cancer I know. But Sam was a survivor of the Shoah (the Nazi genocides of World War II), and made it through a concentration camp. Did we somehow hope that Sam would beat a deadly cancer like he beat the Nazis?

I guess in a small way, I did. Of all the people I knew, it seemed that Sam had a chance to beat death. Maybe Sam had enough piss and vinegar to survive a cancer whose average diagnosis-to-death time is less than six months. Ultimately, he grew frail and worn and died quietly. In his humble manner, he waited until his last guest left, and then died alone. The Conference of the Birds, a 12th century Sufi poem, says that even if you lived a thousand years "Still you would have to die when death appears."

Our rabbi, Daniel Shevitz, says that death is awful, but it would be far worse if some people just didn't die. That is, it's the consistancy and regularity of death that make it bearable. Imagine if there were a lottery, and some people didn't die at all. Still, the fact that some people die young and some die old seems random enough. What I've been having a hard look at is the fragility of it all: It's hard to accept that in the end, you or I have very little control over our fate.

My friend and his wife had a clear awakening to this when they tried to have a baby. Although they were young and did not expect to have any difficulty conceiving, the process proved incredibly challenging, frustrating and disappointing. After a long and complicated ordeal, they almost gave up on trying to have a biological child, and considered other options. At the last moment, his wife got pregnant. Last month, they gave birth to a healthy girl, and named her in praise of God.

As he said to me quietly, the experience was a shocking realization of how little control one really holds in the world, even over one's body. Of course, he said, he'd always known that he was not the master of his destiny, but hadn't realized how much. In this awareness of the fragility of our bodies and selves, and the slender thread of control we have in our lives, how can we conduct ourselves?

I often think of Moses' death, just within reach of his goal. He dies outside of the promised land, his life's dream unseen. Although the sages and early rabbis vividly imagine Moses bargaining and cajoling God to let him in to the Land, in the Scripture Moses dies without complaint. Moses' life was long, 120 years, but it too had a conclusion. As a professor said, There's only one end possible, but it always takes you by surprise. I've never heard anyone say that their relative lived too long - every death feels like it comes too soon. I guess the best we can hope for is to live and die with humility and quiet grace.

need

Before putting on her shoes in the morning, a Jew prays, "Blessed are You, God our God, Ruler of the universe, Who makes for me all I need." This statement - that God provides all we need - is amazing. The prayer doesn't say that God gives us everything we want, just that the clothes we wear should be enough for today. Our needs are fulfilled by God, if only we take a moment to notice. We pray to remember that the basics of food, a home and companionship are already in place.

As Jesus says in the sermon on the mount (Matthew 6), "See the lilies of the field, how they grow: they do not work or make thread, but I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these. And if God gives clothing to the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, won't God dress you much more, O you of little faith?. . . Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."

In God's world, we are loved, clothed, and protected. I know that many people are hungry, even starving. Others even live in war or as refugees. I admit that their needs are not met, and their desires are crushed. But too many of us live in comfort and still strive beyond. If only we had the faith to admit that God's world can give all that we need.

We have wants and lusts that take us far beyond our basic needs for food, shelter, and company. It's these wishes that trip us up every day. The Talmud reminds us, "Who is wealthy? He who is glad in his lot." Real satisfaction comes from this place of appreciating what you have and not constantly seeking more. All the other greed for wealth, fame and power is just perversion. We are tortured by longing for things we don't need.

Real faith shows what God provides: air, mountains, forests and seas full of the essentials for life. God's world even has beauty beyond our very needs: years ago, I saw an cricket's wing with flaming blues and reds that no human could paint. In fact, one tradition says that when doubters asked Muhammad to perform miracles, he showed them the sunset and birds' songs. Sometimes the simple purr of a cat can remind us that we live in a miraculous world. A world that meets all of our needs.

prayer

At a meeting last week, seminary students were asked to spend five minutes talking with God. Although the timing was right, I did not say the standard evening prayer-service in Hebrew. Instead, I spent five minutes telling God how I was doing in my own words, thanking God for good things in my life, and asking God to look over my family, my friends and me. It felt soothing and I saw that my life was in a good place. After my chat with God, I had a chance to talk with colleagues about their experiences during the five minutes. I was a little confused that the traditional Jewish mode of prayer - a fixed liturgy - hadn't appealed to me at that moment, and I didn't know why.

Then, a friend emailed a few of us to ask about "the power of our prayers to help out those who are sick." That of course leads to the question: Why do we pray? I took a long time thinking about it because I don't have a clear answer. I don't want God to answer my prayers. That is, I don't like to leave the door open for miracles, because without regular physics, the universe would show too much favoritism. I don't believe that God intervenes directly in our lives. For, if God can deliver a son, reveal the Qur'an, or split the Reed Sea, why doesn't God cure a friend's cancer or stop genocide in Darfur?

So, I don't pray because I think that God will step in and change things in response to my prayers. As much as I would like God to do things for me, I can't ask for it because it would cause theological break-downs. In part, I pray because it helps me feel close to God. I feel peaceful and know that God is with me in struggles and celebrations. Even the times when I pray and I don't feel close, I still know that I'm building a relationship with God, because it's important to spend time with someone even when there's nothing going on or not much to say.

It's also important to have a spiritual practice. Praying for me is a part of spiritual gym. Think about your exercise program: yoga, soccer, frisbee, weight-lifting. You don't feel great everytime you go. Sometimes, you feel flat. Other times, you might start out for a run without any heart in it, but it might become a great run. And occassionally, you come home feeling better than you could ever have imagined. You just have a great game.

Prayer and religious practice are like that. Traditional liturgy is a way to get regular exercise, and sometimes I need to cross-train in other ways: silence, meditation, direct address to God. And I have to keep going through a lot of down times in order to get to the peak experiences. So partly I pray to keep my soul in shape. I pray to stay connected with God. I pray to get to those spiritual highs. Also, I pray because it keeps me aware, gentle and focussed. If there's a personal problem I'm working on, I might pray to have the courage, determination and patience to keep at it. Prayer keeps me in the game.