SHEMOT | The Journey Begins

 Sometimes you have to sit where other folk sit in order to feel what they feel.

— Senator Raphael Warnock, Atlanta, Georgia, USA

 

וַיָּ֥קָם מֶֽלֶךְ־חָדָ֖שׁ עַל־מִצְרָ֑יִם אֲשֶׁ֥ר לֹֽא־יָדַ֖ע אֶת־יוֹסֵֽף׃

A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.

Exodus 1:8

 

כִּ֥י יָדַ֖עְתִּי אֶת־מַכְאֹבָֽיו...וָאֵרֵ֞ד לְהַצִּיל֣וֹ׃

I have known their sufferings...So I have come down

Exodus. 3:7-8 (Tr. Fox)

 

The book of Exodus introduces us to a Pharaoh who feels threatened by differences and blocked from knowing life. In Senator Warnock's words, this Pharoah-nature doesn't sit where other folk sit in order to feel what they feel. Its heart is frozen and closed to its own and other people's suffering.

Torah also introduces the women who risk everything to preserve and protect life. The midwives, Shifra and Puah, as well as Miriam, daughter of Yocheved, and Pharoah's own daughter, all enter the waters where the frozen-ness of trauma is brought  back to life.

In Exodus, Torah asks over and over, how does transformation of suffering occur? How do we humans access and manifest the Eternally Present Flow of Life so that we are willing and resourced enough "to sit where other folk sit in order to feel what they feel?“ The key is the heart. Despite our best efforts and intentions, our hearts harden and open, harden and open. Pharoah is the human embodiment of a hardened heart. This heart knows only domination and punishment. It enslaves and oppresses. This heart creates systems that enslave and oppress.

Every day, even in every moment, life gives us the choice and opportunity to evolve from Pharaoh-nature to freedom, to liberation. The story of Exodus is a collective journey, the forging of a people and a culture. We are on a journey from Mitzrayim, a narrow place where Pharoah-heart rules, to a place where we  hear and respond to each others’ cries.

And as I write this, I am deeply humbled because I know how easy it is for me to selectively choose whose cries I hear, whose cries affect me. Do I even want to hear the cries of people carrying guns and signs for Trump, joining crowds waving Confederate and Nazi flags, making different health choices?

I am humbled each time I realize that I am afraid to hear their cries, afraid to take in the humanity of those who make different choices than I make. I am afraid that even opening to see their humanity will make me complicit in what they espouse. I fear I would be justifying or condoning values and actions that I believe to be dangerous. Thus I am unwilling to hear their cries as cries of suffering from the heart. 

And I know that closing my heart to the suffering of those I view as "other" is the nature of Pharaoh. It is a renunciation of love. I have witnessed this over and over in myself and in others.

The book of Exodus, which we begin this week, recounts individual and collective journeys toward the realization that nothing is separate from divine nature. The journey is thorny and circuitous, longer and farther than a straightforward geographic journey. It encounters all of life, painful and jubilant, confusing and clear, and still filled with glorious possibility and imagery that inspires liberation movements everywhere.

In this week’s parasha, Moses, a wandering shepherd, encounters the animating force and source of life, called God in the Jewish tradition. At the burning bush, he hears this God instruct him to “take off your shoes, for the place where you are standing is holy.”

When we have eyes to see and ears to hear, every place we stand is holy. Every being we encounter is holy.  Every part of our own self is holy. Our life's journey is to see and live this. The wisdom path of Torah is to take off our shoes and shed the  protections we took on that now block us from feeling what others feel. We, like Moses, are called to get close and proximate to ourselves and to others,  so that we are affected by the cries from the heart.

How do we do this? One door to connection is through prayer: Dear God, Great Spirit, dear friend, neighbor, partner, child…. How do we communicate with you so that you, the Flow of Life in me, in you, all around us, hear our cry, so that you are affected?

Slaving under Pharaoh, Torah recounts, the Hebrews cry out and Eternally Present takes notice and is affected. Their cries transmitted the deepest inner experience of suffering and the yearning for freedom. The cries arose out of the sparks of life that had not been extinguished or crushed by centuries of oppression, of not having needs heard or valued. The cry that says, stop using me as a source of wealth and power for others. A cry so powerful that Life Force itself, formless and timeless, was affected.

The Intersection of Torah, Nonviolent Communication and Buddhism

In Israel today, Nonviolent Communication is called תקשורת מקרבת Tikshoret Mekarevet, the communication that brings us close. The Israelites’ cry, the cry that caused Eternally Present “to come down” was the communication that brings us close. It wasn’t a cry of blame or shame. It wasn’t the cry of a victim or a perpetrator. It was a cry from the heart of suffering. It was a revelation of the nature of the pain inside of me.

Marshall Rosenberg, the founder of Nonviolent Communication taught that people are either saying please or thank you. Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh taught  that all of our actions are  attempts to relieve or prevent suffering. When we hear ourselves and others in this way, our hearts open and we come closer to the humanity right in front of us. Then we begin to know each other. We affect the flow of life when we cry out and receive the cries of others.

Nonviolent Communication Practice

וַיֹּ֖אמֶראַל־תִּקְרַ֣בהֲלֹ֑םשַׁל־נְעָלֶ֙יךָ֙מֵעַ֣לרַגְלֶ֔יךָכִּ֣יהַמָּק֗וֹםאֲשֶׁ֤ראַתָּה֙עוֹמֵ֣דעָלָ֔יואַדְמַת־קֹ֖דֶשׁהֽוּא׃

And He said, “Do not come closer. Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground."

Exodus 3:5

Take off your shoes because the place you stand is holy ground.

Where do we stand? Always, we are standing in the present moment.

There is no other moment. Past, present and future, thoughts and distractions, sense experiences, all are with us here in the present moment.

I learned a practice from Marshall Rosenberg, to bring myself more fully alive in the moment when I am overcome by thought. These could be regrets and anger from the past or projections about the future. These thoughts are some of the “shoes” that separate me from standing in the present moment.

In terms of this week’s Torah portion, we can call this practice, "Taking off my Shoes" to encounter the holy ground, the present moment, upon which I stand. Let’s say I realize I am feeling irritated by someone. I want to notice the irritation as soon as it arises in my body, before I react on automatic pilot.

I use a basic Buddhist mindfulness practice to develop the habit of staying aware of how my body is reacting to stimulation around me. I make my body my ally in staying aware of and present to what’s going on for me in this moment.

I stop and breathe into the body. I direct my awareness to my body. It maybe helpful to scan through the body, or it may be clear right away.

I notice tension in my chest or belly, or in my jaw. Or I notice shallow breathing.

I let the sensations speak to me.

I feel irritated.

I may want to ask myself, "What happened that triggered this irritation."

Oh, yes, I waited for my friend to come to our scheduled call and she didn't.

Now, to take off the shoes of separation, I ask myself: "What am I telling myself about this?"

What am I telling myself about her, or how she values our friendship or a myriad of thoughts that make sense and meaning of the irritation I am feeling.

I stand without shoes on the holy ground of the present moment.

I notice a dropping in of my energy.

I feel sad. I miss this friend. I have been concerned about her. I want to know if she is ok.

My energy is shifting into how I feel and what I’d like to happen in this present moment.

I feel sad because I’d like connection. I’d like connection to be easier. I’d like to understand what ’s going on that she didn’t make the call.

My body is relaxing and I feel curious.

From this place, I want to decide, freely, what action I want to take.

From the holy ground of curiosity and care, for myself and my friend, I will choose the next step.

___________________________

Holy Ground
Words by Woody Guthrie, 1954, Music by Frank London (The Klezmatics), 2003

Take off, take off your shoes
This place you’re standing, it’s holy ground
Take off, take off your shoes
The spot you’re standing, its holy ground

These words I heard in my burning bush
This place you’re standing, it’s holy ground
I heard my fiery voice speak to me
This spot you’re standing, it’s holy ground

That spot is holy holy ground
That place you stand it’s holy ground
This place you tread, it’s holy ground
God made this place his holy ground

Take off your shoes and pray
The ground you walk it’s holy ground
Take off your shoes and pray
The ground you walk it’s holy ground

Every spot on earth I trapse around
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground
Every spot on earth I trapse around
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground

Every spot it’s holy ground
Every little inch it’s holy ground
Every grain of dirt it’s holy ground
Every spot I walk it’s holy ground

© Copyright Woody Guthrie Publications, Inc. & Nuju Music (BMI)

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From the poet, Mary Oliver:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

— Mary Oliver, "Wild Geese"