Spiritualetters by Rabbi Tamara Miller

The Awareness Void

2012-01-27T11:08:00.001-05:00

When the void comes, welcome it into your awareness.

Accept its messaging and stay clear in body and thought.

When the void comes, it is a silent guest that has much to offer.

Just like in the beginning, the scene is panting with openness.

Do not be afraid of the stillness within.

Soon there will be much commotion and movement.

And then back again, to the energy of nothingness.

All over again.

The Frequent Flyer of Generosity

2012-01-20T08:35:00.001-05:00

Life itself tracks a person’s generosity.

Like frequent flyer miles, the more points you earn, the higher you fly, the further you can go.

Be generous and fly away!

Your New Rhythm

2012-01-13T09:35:00.003-05:00

Revise and review the rhythms of your daily life. Add something new. Take away something old. Infuse your spirit with more joy and contemplation.

The new balance is yours to create.

The Calendar of Life

2012-01-06T09:32:00.000-05:00

We map out our days like a sketch waiting to be filled in with charcoal and pencil.

Can you distinguish the strokes of insight and depth by looking at your calendar of life?

Are there empty spaces that need your attention?

Is there clutter when there should
be calm?

Review your calendar. Review your life.

Measuring Cups

2011-12-30T10:48:00.000-05:00

Every new year offers us another opportunity to reflect and rejoice.

These milestones are like measuring cups. The more we measure, the more we can accurately assess our blessings.

May your cups overflow this new year, 2012, with all the pleasures that life offers us.

A Maccabeats Miracle

2011-12-23T12:24:00.000-05:00

Last Chanukah the world was introduced to the Maccabeats with their runaway hit "Candlelight." This year another song, "Miracles," has entered the YouTube universe.

But it wasn’t the song or their new video that drew me in, but their fundraising efforts on behalf of the Gift of Life Foundation through the website www.MakeSomeMiracles.com.

The Maccabeats are inviting donations of ten thousand dollars a day for each day of Chanukah in the hope of securing much needed funds for Gift of Life, a bone marrow registry organization.

With a personal video narrated by Mayim Bialik and each of the members of the Maccabeats, their call is honest and sincere. As of this writing they have already raised $22,000!

I clicked on the donation button. Suddenly, I was involved in making a miracle for Chanukah -- not just receiving an ancient one. The miracle that the Maccabeats are giving light to is a miracle that keeps on giving life and hope to people with cancer beyond this holiday season.

So can we make some miracles?

Many interpretations suggest that the miracle of Chanukah was that we didn’t give up even when we had no chance of winning against the Greek/Syrians. In spite of the powerful forces that encourage our continued assimilation or disappearance we have survived and adapted to the modern world in which we live in as Jews. We live precariously on the edge while we persevere through a revolving door of constant change. The miracle of the Maccabeats is the miracle of our people.

We have come a long way from the Adam Sandler’s Chanukah song from "Saturday Night Live" in 1994 which centered on the theme of Jewish children feeling alienated during the Christmas season, and Sandler’s listing of Jewish celebrities as a way of sympathizing with their situation.

With the Maccabeats, the traditional and the contemporary merge to create a blend of Judaism and Jewish music that continues to define our communal confidence with viral velocity.

We revel in religious freedom in America. A Yeshiva University a cappella group has reached beyond their ivory tower borders to educate and entertain. We all received the instant messaging. Again, history has shown us, that we are the miracle of Chanukah!

Yes, we can make modern miracles. Click and contribute to a new miracle this Chanukah 5772!

Body as Temple

2011-12-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

Our body is our temple from which all else flows.

Nurturing our bodies is a sacred donation to our soul-being.

Rainy Day Goodness

2011-12-09T09:00:00.000-05:00

"My name is Bill," he told me right before I exited from the cab we had been sharing for the past thirty minutes.

An hour before, while waiting for a cab outside Georgetown Hospital in the torrential rains of the evening rush hour, we empathized with our inability to catch a cab.

Then, suddenly, this six-foot-two stranger leaped forward and said with assurance, "I see a cab: I am going to run after it. Follow me!"

The race was on. I deliberately placed my feet beyond the puddles in order to keep up with his long strides and purposeful gait, but still he disappeared among the multitude of hand-held umbrellas dotting the flooding streets.

"Oh, well," I thought. "He had a train to catch. It’s okay. I’ll just keep singing in the rain until another cab appears. He meant well. Intention is almost everything!"

I clutched my pink polka dot umbrella in both hands, so the winds wouldn’t turn it over, and I patiently walked towards the main street where my hopes for finding a cab soared.

I heard a honk. I turned to see a man waving from the far side of the cab. I moved involuntarily towards him.

"Come on in! We have been looking for you and your pink polka dot umbrella. It wasn’t easy to spot in the darkness of the night."

I slid into the dry, warm front seat next to the cab driver and expressed my simple gratitude, "Thank you so much."

His name was Bill, but to me, he was goodness on a rainy day in the nation’s capital.

The Mystery of Lost Things

2011-12-02T10:30:00.000-05:00

It happened again. In the space of a week, I lost my keys and Smartrip card, a gift I bought in New York over Thanksgiving, and a new pair of brown fuzzy socks.

A few years ago, my watch disappeared. The mystery of losing it perturbed me for many weeks. Why did she abandon me this time?

A few months ago, my beloved 10-year-old watch turned up under my bed -- but only after I had substituted another watch that looked and acted like its identical twin.

I laughed when I realized that the loss I experienced turned into an abundance of watches!

How we handle these minor losses is a barometer of how we will endure larger losses that cannot be replaced.

The practice of honoring all our losses contains a spark of spiritual equanimity.

For the Love of Life and Writing

2011-11-18T08:00:00.000-05:00

It was a week of re-visioning and editing.

A short story, less than ten pages, possessed me.

In the still darkness of dawn, I sleepwalked toward my computer.

At dusk, I rushed into my apartment in search of my Beloved.

The flow of inspiration and perspiration pulsed through my writing and my life simultaneously.

I began the rewriting process with procrastinations and fears of inadequacy.

But once I became the process, everything moved in unexpected directions.

I discovered scandalous scenes and desperate dialogue that propelled me into a land only artists can experience.

Every day held the possibility of a fairytale or a mystery.

This passion for writing taught me a lesson about living.

Use your imagination to drive your actions.

Engage in an uncomfortable challenge without self-judgment.

Go back to knitting the story of your life one joyful stitch at a time.

Do it for the love of it.

Ten Hours in the Life of a Rabbi Without Borders

2011-11-11T08:30:00.000-05:00

Twenty early morning souls relax into the padded cushions that line the basement of the Washington Center for Consciousness Studies. I place myself in the back right corner and lean back into the plump fabric-covered pillows.

My gaze catches the glow that emanates from the room’s interior cavity. A life-sized picture of the host couple’s Indian guru greets me. We engage. His eyes follow me like Michaelangelo’s Mona Lisa and encourage my contemplation.

The dharma is presented by a visiting Hindu teacher. He reflects on the life of his beloved guru, Bhagavan Nityananda, with stories, humor and pathos. He recalls and recites the miracles created by his spiritual mentor. His tales enhance our way of modeling a superior spiritual life.

“The spiritual,” he says, “is about connections and coincidences, the relationship to the One and the flow of the mysterious.”

The chanting occurs in Sanskrit. Several people sing along, while I relax into the rhythmic tones and nest my face into my white pashmina scarf. My breathing is nonexistent to myself. God takes my inhalation and sets my heartbeat into a peaceful pace.

In time, the chanting changes and completes its round. The dimmer radiates more light. The 90-minute meditation session ends with a smooth finish. No one speaks; everyone moves.

Ten hours later, I stand before the Shabbat candles in the corner hallway at the Chabad House in Herndon, Virginia. I hear and embrace the giggling sounds of my four grandchildren and the rabbi’s five children as they relay race down the corridors. I quiet my mind for reflection.

Amidst the joy, I linger in the entryway in front of the gold-framed picture of the Rebbe and a portrait of the late young Chabad rabbi, Levi Deitsch, who died of cancer the year before. The Rebbe, the late Chabad rabbi and the nameless guru follow me into the Friday evening prayers of Kabbalat Shabbat.

Rabbi Leibel Fajnland faces the Holy Ark. The echo of his continuous Hebrew davening wafts through the many rooms of this sparsely furnished one-story school and learning center.

I receive his concentric prayers and whisper the mantra of my silent evening Amidah by heart. I enter into dialogue with the God of my ancestors.

I soften my eyelids. I close my eyes. I see into the light of my early morning soul again.

Going with Growth

2011-11-04T09:15:00.000-04:00

We strive towards Oneness.

The Oneness of the Universe and the Oneness that aligns our soul’s purpose with the reality of our present.

Our work is to model an inner strength and a connection to self which is ultimately a connection to all that is within.

When we focus on rebuilding self we set a new course for going with growth.

Staying on the Path

2011-10-14T16:18:00.000-04:00

We each have our own personal path to God, even those of us who struggle with defining God, denying God, or embracing God’s presence in the world. The search for something holy and big demands our attention.

Sometimes we look at others and wonder how their pathway leads to a greater sense of satisfaction and pleasure. Is God more present for them than for us? We project that the path of another is easier than our own.

Stay on your path, for it is the path that has been created for you. Navigate the detours and the downhills, but stay on course with your heart.

Stay on your path and this will lead you to a personal truth about God.

One Coin at a Time

2011-10-07T08:00:00.000-04:00

Every year, a few hours before the beginning of Yom Kippur, the Lubavitcher Rabbi Menachem Schneerson would enter the synagogue for prayer holding a bag of coins.

The tables were covered with hundreds of charity plates that represented a multitude of causes, from food for the needy and assistance to poor brides, to schools and families in distress.

The “Rebbe” would methodically and mindfully place a coin into each plate. He took care not to skip a single one. Each plate represented a community or an individual who needed help materially or spiritually.

Each charity was significant. The Rebbe took this holy task to be his preparation for his Yom Kippur prayers and reflections.

What will be your holy preparation for your Yom Kippur prayers?

I count each one of you on my Spiritualetters list to be a significant blessing for me. I hope you will forgive me if I hurt you by word or deed, or by omission.

May we all be sealed in the book of life and contentment.

A Spiritual Accounting

2011-09-23T10:30:00.000-04:00

Life is a braided string of doings. We flutter from goal to goal only to find that our wings are tired of the continual movements necessary to keep flying. Rather, we find our spiritual rhythms in the sacred sanctuaries of timelessness and stasis.

As Jews enter into the Higher Holidays of our spiritual calendar and character, assess your spiritual measurements with these questions: "What has my life been all about up till now? What am I living for? What is life all about for me today?”

Regret and Repentance

2011-09-16T16:27:00.000-04:00

Behold I regret what I did and I am embarrassed by my deeds. I promise never to repeat this act again. ~Moses Maimonides, Laws of Repentance

Embarrassment and regret catapults us into the world of change and repentance. The very thing that embarrassed you is the key to an altered lifestyle. Accept your regrets and initiate new strategies for success. Make a pledge to yourself to stay in integrity with all your decisions.

The Sea and the Heart

2011-09-09T17:04:00.000-04:00

All the streams run into the sea, yet the sea is not full. Ecclesiastes 1:7

There is an expansiveness in life and nature that can never be fully contained or fully completed. Like human wisdom, there are no limits on the ability of the heart to expand and to stretch and to love.

Realizing the Impossible

2011-09-01T12:21:00.000-04:00

“Whenever you think something’s impossible, it simply means that you haven’t considered all the possibilities.” ~Sri Gawn Tu Fahr

As I look back on my life, I extract an extraordinary spiritual tool. I recognize the times in my life when the impossible actually happened. With my awareness heightened, I realize that more impossible things will happen if I consider all the possibilities.

Tapping into the wisdom of the past catapults us into the dynamics of the present where the future also resides.

Close your eyes. Meditate on a past achievement. Breathe into the joy of that reality.

Open your eyes. Smile. Dream again into that impossible dream.

P.S. I will be on the pulpit at Temple Micah (2829 Wisconsin Ave NW) this weekend! Please join me tomorrow, Friday, September 2, at 6:00 p.m. and/or on Saturday, September 3, at 10:00 a.m. We will be celebrating "Labor on the Bimah," and all are welcome!

The Stone of Hope

2011-08-26T08:23:00.000-04:00

I was 16, living in the Bronx, when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his immortal "I Have A Dream" speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

A few nights ago my friend and I walked three miles to preview the newest memorial in the nation’s capital where I now reside.

When we arrived at the central entryway to the memorial entitled "The Mountain of Despair," our eyes are drawn upward to the Stone of Hope, a 30-foot likeness of this civil rights reverend. Like the eyes of the Mona Lisa painting by Leonardo da Vinci, Dr. King’s eyes follow us as we walk around the monument.

What is he asking of us? What answers do we have to offer him? Where does justice dwell today? Where is the righteous peace that he dreamt about so many decades ago?

The monumental granite statue of Dr. King revives our deepest desires for justice and equality, democracy and love.

Dare we dream again?

Please note: The dedication, which was to have taken place this Sunday, August 28, has been postponed indefinitely due to the arrival of Hurricane Irene this weekend in Washington, DC. Go to the webiste for more information: www.washington.org/mlk

Priority Passenger

2011-08-19T09:26:00.000-04:00

A young man with stumped arms and legs wheeled himself towards the priority seating boarding line. The stewardess quickly offered assistance, and together with another crew member the three disappeared down the breezeway.

An Iraq casualty? A suicide bomber attack? An innocent civilian caught in the middle of a battle?

A mother’s son. A country’s soldier.

My mind did not settle down during the fifteen minutes it took me to embark the plane as a number four zone, economy-class passenger.

I entered the aircraft and again encountered the priority passenger seated in the first row, first class, aisle seat. With the precision of someone with ten fingers, my mystery man was typing away on his iPad.

I drifted out of pity mode and melted into awe and admiration.

He deserves every priority on every plane, train and boat anywhere in this world.

I Cried for You

2011-08-05T10:38:00.000-04:00

My two-year-old granddaughter woke up suddenly from her afternoon nap.

I rushed to pick her up.

She cried and squealed as she repeated her mantra of the moment.

“I want my mommy." Pause. "I want my mommy." Pause. "I want my mommy." Louder: "I want my mommy!”

I held her. I rocked her. I sang to her. I assured her that mommy would return.

Five minutes passed, and the mantra magnified.

“A popsicle?” I suggested.

It worked. She pointed to the freezer, and we picked out an eight-inch-long squishy green popsicle sealed in a plastic tube.

When mom came back, she asked her daughter, “How were things with grandma?”

“First, I cried for you, mommy. Then grandma gave me a popsicle!”

An Electrical Transmission

2011-07-29T10:40:00.000-04:00

Here lies our dear father, a humble and righteous, God-fearing man who busied himself by doing Holy Works. Itzchak Eizik, the son of Joseph, passed away on the sixth of Nissan and was buried the following day on the seventh of Nissan. Isaac Miller, Rabbi of Moodus, Conn. 1871-1939 (translated from the Hebrew)

I read this Hebrew-scripted epitaph of my paternal grandfather at the Ahavat Achim country cemetery in Colchester, Conn., on a summer sun-drenched day in July.

I leaned on the five-foot-tall tombstone with my body and placed my hand on its curved surface. I trespassed on the currents of electricity that reached my grandfather’s soul’s teachings. Tears of loss watered my face.

In a moment of transmission, I experienced his love for Judaism, his love for the Holy One, and his love for me, his only granddaughter who followed his European footprints to become the first female rabbi of the Miller/Mlowdowski lineage in America.

Twenty years ago I came to this family grave site with my now-late father and mother, my eldest daughter, and my first cousin. I remember how my father chanted the Mourner’s Kaddish for each of my four relatives buried here (my grandfather and my grandmother, my aunt and my uncle). I remember how we searched for several special rocks to place on top of the stone as a sign that we had been there to visit. (Even in a cemetery one need not be alone.)

This time I walked by myself from grave to grave and recited the Mourner’s Kaddish for all my lost ones. I searched again for the tiny pebbles that punctuated the cemetery’s lawn. I placed them on top of the four graves.

I busied myself with this Holy Work to elevate my connection to the grandfather I had never met.

I rested in his peace.

Friendship Matters

2011-07-22T08:29:00.000-04:00

Friendship matters.

I am blessed with friends from around the world

If only I could gather you in one room and take a group snapshot!

I would thank you virtually for your voices that supported me and your hands that held me during the high and low tides of my life.

I reminisce with you and the memories return like waterfalls streaming down my heart.

Friendship matters.

In gratitude for you, my friend!

Searching for Liberty

2011-07-15T08:26:00.000-04:00

While standing at the tip of Manhattan Island’s Battery Place Park, I scanned the New York Harbor in search of the Statue of Liberty.

My parents and grandparents journeyed by sea from Eastern Europe with thousands of immigrants seeking safe haven in America in the early 1920s.

I was born and bred in America, a first-generation citizen of the New World. By gazing at the harbor and the boats at sea, the history of my family’s cross-continental voyage was revealed to me. They were part of the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

My Blackberry camera zoomed into Liberty Island struggling to catch a glimpse of the majesty of the golden lamp that metaphorically lightened the sorrow and the burden of many freedom seekers. The sparkling, rippled waters dominated the simple snapshot. In the distance, the diminutive sculpture surfaced, perhaps, as it had appeared for my parents and grandparents 89 years ago.

Give me your tired, your poor.
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
The wretched refuse of your teaming shore.
Send these the homeless tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

- Emma Lazarus, mounted on a plaque besides the Statue of Liberty

Sensing God

2011-07-08T08:25:00.000-04:00

As I stood facing the lake in the early morning hours of the day, I recognized God’s pulsating energy permeating around me.

Comprehending God may be difficult, but grasping God’s sensors in the universe is only a breathtaking view away.

The Ecstasy of Paying Attention

2011-06-30T08:23:00.002-04:00

As a writer I pay attention to what is there but is not always seen. I stand watching the details of the moment in an effort to evoke emotion. I stand apart but engaged. I seek to attain an attunement with a focus outside of myself.

When I view the world in technicolor, I avoid a blurring of the senses.

When I pay attention to God’s world, I find ecstasy in my own.

Paper Flowers

2011-06-24T08:38:00.000-04:00

Cathy walked toward me breathing with difficulty.

“Could you help me get my suitcase? I just can’t manage everything what with my asthma.”

“Sure. Where is your luggage?”

She pointed to the building ahead in the near distance.

We walked haltingly towards the place where she had spent a mini-vacation at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center in Falls Village, CT. I slowed my footsteps to accommodate her shifting gait.

For nearly twenty years, Isabella Freedman has provided affordable country vacations to urban populations for adults with mental illness. The collaboration with the National Alliance on Mental Illness provides a four-day, three-night program for clients from New York City and Connecticut.

When we arrived at her room, a pink leather purse rested on the floor.

“That is my medicine bag,” she explained.

I picked it up. Prescriptions carry a weighty load.

When we arrived at the main building, I placed her life-preserving satchel next to her black-wheeled suitcase.

“Thank you,” she said. “Wait here: I want to give you something that I made.”

She returned with a celery green paper flower as big as four cabbage heads.

“Do you like it? It’s yours.”

“I have never seen anything like this. I will place it on my bed as my replacement Teddy Bear.”

We hugged. I placed her possessions on the bus to Long Island. She left my sight.

Every night, I take the bouquet from my bed and place it atop the dresser.

Cathy is back home, but the fragrance of her paper flowers continues to intoxicate my being.

The Cycle of Seprations

2011-06-17T13:16:00.000-04:00

My daughter drove me to Union Station in Washington, D.C., early Sunday morning.

With two red suitcases, a backpack, and a pocketbook, I was sent off to an adult Jewish spiritual retreat center in the Connecticut Berkshire mountains. For two months, I will serve the community at Isabella Freedman.

When she was nine years old, I drove my daughter to the synagogue parking lot where she boarded a bus to her summer camp in the Blue Ridge mountains of North Carolina. For two months, she made new friends, learned new skills, and explored and experienced a living Judaism.

Separating from her then and separating from her now had a familiar feel. Although decades have passed, the scenario of separation continues: Child leaves mother, mother leaves child, and the cycle continues.

Love creates the connection and then the separation. Recycling both goes hand in hand.

The Summer Transition

2011-06-10T08:06:00.000-04:00

Summer is a time for travel and transitions.

We slow down and anticipate the long days of light and lightness.

We discontinue time and connect with the present.

Our physical body rests in quiet repose.

Summer is a time for travel and transitions.

Where will you be when the transition occurs?

Safe and Sound

2011-06-03T07:55:00.001-04:00

A few days ago my Gmail account was hacked and a bogus email was sent suggesting that I was in London and in need of money after having been robbed.

I knew of this scam since one of my friends had experienced this most recently.

I wasn’t happy about this inconvenience, but what I didn’t expect were the phone calls and text messages I received from friends and family from across the country concerned about my whereabouts. Some thought it could have happened, given my past history (robbed once in New York and once in Rehoboth Beach).

I heard from some acquaintances who felt an obligation to dispel this technological interference. Etiquette for the internet generation?

I felt obligated to answer each call politely and with gratitude even though I knew its content before the conversation began. After all, they took the time to call. Phone calls are becoming obsolete given our email and texting possibilities. Picking up the proverbial phone has become a last resort for communicating information.

People still care. When people see trouble coming, they offer comfort, aid and practical support without hesitation.

People still care. They thrive on a sense of what is right and what is wrong. They have a sense of fairness and justice.

People still care and for this my heart is glad.

Thank you all for being in my virtual community.

Just for your well being . . . I am back online safe and sound in the comfort of my living room still wishing I had a complimentary ticket to visit the royal couple in London.

Different Dreams

2011-05-27T16:02:00.000-04:00

I used to dream of adventure and daily drama.

Today I dream of cloudless skies and dinner with friends.

I used to dream of fireworks and folly.

Today I dream of laughing with my grandchildren and yoplait yogurts.

I used to desire diamonds and emeralds.

Today I desire only to love and be loved in return.

Today is full of the beautiful pleasures of life itself.

I live inside the dream of daily grace and grandeur.

Brief Encounters

2011-05-20T15:57:00.000-04:00

Brief encounters of the God-like kind rarely succumb to banalities.

When time is of the essence, conversations find depth-defined indulgences.

Secrets evaporate and truths cascade like waterfalls.

Suddenly a mystical doorway opens wide the soul of another.

Thank God for these brief encounters that shift our senses out of third gear into high drive.

The Source

2011-05-13T13:15:00.002-04:00

The flow of being is desperately in need of repair.

How can we restore the God-field and open up the channels to compassionate living?

How can I be the water source?

Kaddish by Heart

2011-05-06T07:17:00.002-04:00

The eldest son was chosen by his father to say the Mourner’s Kaddish.* Standing at the gravesite of both his mother and father, the son gathered his large black and white bar mitzvah tallit (prayer shawl) and draped himself like a flag. Enveloped in white, he illuminated the cemetery’s grey exterior.

“Two years ago my father told me that I would be expected to say Kaddish for him when he died. The Kaddish was a familiar prayer to me, but could I chant it by myself, by heart? So soon after I came home from my visit with my dad, I went on the Internet to get acquainted with this venerable prayer. I wanted to be ready when the time came. Today, two years later, I am prepared to say the Kaddish for my father.”

He then proceeded to enunciate every vowel and syllable in this transcendent prayer. His voice, confident and grounded, remained steady throughout the upside down mantra-like sounds. No hesitations. No pauses. No mistakes. A solid-gold performance sincere and sacred.

A Kaddish recited by heart from the heart.

*Kaddish is the ancient memorial prayer written in Aramaic and recited by those who are mourning a loved one. In traditional Judaism, it was the eldest son who was obligated to say this prayer three times a day for eleven months to honor his parent and to raise the soul of the lost one to a higher realm. Today, in most denominations, women and men, the eldest and the youngest, chant this prayer in a communal setting. It serves as a therapeutic ritual for the grief work necessary to heal from our losses.

P.S. I welcome your referrals for weddings, baby namings, funerals, and special events! Contact me through my website: www.RabbiTamaraMiller.com

Praying for Grace

2011-04-29T08:55:00.000-04:00

Maybe I should pray for grace

A momentary change in the trajectory of my life

A period of profound awe and connectivity

A flow that foams with nourishment, mystery and awe

Maybe I should pray for grace and

Wait for its revelation.

The Quest for the Questions

2011-04-22T09:08:00.000-04:00

"From a question, nobody has ever died." - Yiddish proverb

I ask questions all day long.

Some of them engage my students in the world of knowledge.

Others represent my relationship with God.

The remainder are questions I ask myself when I can’t reconcile what is happening in my life with my vision of what my life should and could look like.

I ask why and I ask why not? I ask quietly so no one hears; I ask clearly so everyone understands. I will ask questions until I die. And then, maybe, beyond the beyond. Who knows?

The Solitude of the Soul

2011-04-15T11:32:00.000-04:00

There is a time for all things under heaven, including a time for solitude.

Solitude is a requisite for the pursuit of reverence towards self love.

To initiate clarity, endeavor to find the spark of Divine Solitude.

The Field of Love/A Dedication

2011-04-08T09:29:00.001-04:00

On my right sits the widowed grandfather. On my left sits the stepmother. We await the arrival of the bride and groom. Their entrance will signal a grand applause for this newlywed husband and wife.

"The next time I get married,” the ninety-three-year old gentleman states unabashedly, “I want to have a Jewish wedding. I want you to officiate. Will you?"

"Most certainly," I assert giggling like a schoolgirl. “How long was your first marriage?"

"My marriage with my late wife lasted 68 wonderful years," he reminisces.

The stepmother overhears our conversation.

"I might find you a special somebody," she states unabashedly. "Here’s my card. I am a professional matchmaker!"

"Really!?"

The applause begins.

The young married couple takes to the dance floor.

I clap and sigh into the love field that is stretched before and beside and beyond.

The Man in the Black Hat

2011-04-01T15:34:00.001-04:00

A young man adorned with a black hat, a prayer shawl, and phylacteries offers up his morning prayers in the same library where I study the laws of Passover with my erudite Talmud teacher.

Every Monday morning I infuse my mind and spirit with the laws and insights of the Babylonian Talmud. Three Orthodox male lawyers and me (a post-denominational female rabbi) find delight in analyzing the legal codes associated with voluminous pages of detailed conversations and arguments the rabbis have over a word, a passage, a legality, or ethical dilemma.

This Monday morning I am the teacher’s only pupil. I concentrate on reading the Rashi script (a special typeface named after the outstanding Biblical commentator of the Middle Ages, Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki). I enter into the world of Hebrew hieroglyphics as I haltingly decipher the semi-cursive letters.

The man with the black hat paces back and forth in front of the room as he choreographs his prayer dance before God. He moves with quiet determination while he places his black and white tallis (prayer shawl) over his shoulders. He wraps the tefillin (phylacteries) around his arm and on his forehead. He adjusts his black hat often and deliberately. I see him focusing on his paperback prayer book, but I cannot detect any audible sound.

My teacher, oblivious to the young religious man’s presence, continues to expound on the first sugya (Talmudic passage). What can we eat the hours before the first seder begins? Why must a poor person drink the four cups of wine at the seder? What is our responsibility towards the poor person? How are we equal on this night of freedom for all?

The man with the black hat is my distraction. Was he offended that a woman and a man were studying holy texts together? If so, why didn’t he take his prayers to another place? Was he eavesdropping on our learning while concentrating on his blessings? Did he find it interesting? Or amusing? Was he surprised at my agility with the Hebrew text, or had he succumbed to the beauty and the brilliance of my teacher’s Talmudic treatises?

I longed to tell him my Yentl story.

My father, an Orthodox Rabbi, had no sons to whom to transmit his passion for Torah learning. Instead, when I entered rabbinical school at the age of 40 and took my first Talmud class, I realized a dream. Every night after class, my father and I studied the subtleties and the incongruities of the Talmud. The intimacy of our reflections opened up more than the secrets revealed on the written page. I immersed myself in the wisdom of my father, the greatest gift of my life.

The thrill of those intimate discussions flashed like lightning into my heart space as I held the Talmud in my hands and ingested the instruction of my intelligent tutor
.
We have many teachers in life. Some remind us of other teachers not by what they know, but by how they transmit what they know.

The attendance of the man with the black hat solidified the devotion and the dedication that the three of us sustained in the room filled with the books of our people. How could he not have stayed? He soaked up the deliberations of the Talmud just as I had done decades before with my father at my parents’ kitchen table in the Bronx.

Is it permissible to begin your morning prayers while the study of Talmud between a man and a woman is already in motion? According to the man with the black hat, it is permissible and precious.

Write Your Own Storybook

2011-03-25T09:36:00.000-04:00

Could it be that it was all so simple then?

Or has time rewritten every line?
(from "Memories," written by Alan and Marilyn Bergman for “The Way We Were”)

The past wears rose colored glasses to our untrained eyes.

The “good old” days call forth nostalgia and misty magical moments.

We rewrite our stories to heal our wounds and to assure ourselves that our lives are saturated with meaning and beauty.

But what if you create today as your water-colored memory for your lifetime?

What would your today embrace that would be memorable for decades to come?

Write your own storybook ending and smile!

The Road to Resiliance

2011-03-18T11:06:00.000-04:00

The road to resilience is paved with real time relationships.

The people who “bounce back” from adversity have nurtured caring and supportive relationships. The literature claims that this is the primary factor in producing resilient people.

As a result of struggle people often learn something about themselves that increases their sense of self-worth, heightens their appreciation for life, and creates a more developed personal spirituality.

Life contains disappointments and challenges. Resilience lies inside ourselves. Pave it with love.

The Art of Making Memories

2011-03-11T11:05:00.000-05:00

I remember with fondness my visits with an elderly man in the North Carolina hospital where I used to work as a chaplain.

He was frail in body and robust in spirit and stories. I spent wonderful hours with him as he reminisced about his life, his loves, his passions, and his travels. After many encounters he shared this wisdom spark.

Make your memories early, so you will have them the rest of your life

Better than the Real Thing

2011-03-04T17:20:00.000-05:00

I recall the taste and smell of a café mocha.

I walk into Starbucks and purchase a tall decaf café mocha sans whip, and I take a sip.

I wait and take another sip. The third sip clinches it for me.

The thought of it was better than the real thing.

How can that be?

We desire something from the depths of our being. We gravitate towards it. We take the actions necessary to fulfill the desire.

Still, the café mocha has no buzz.

Our imagination creates the strongest desire of all.

Like a good drip coffee, let it flow drop by drop savoring the heavenly aroma.

Living into the desire is the real thing.

The Birthing

2011-02-25T17:19:00.000-05:00

Now that the winter is winding down and the seeds of reflection and contemplation have been planted, what is God birthing for you this spring?

What has been dormant that will spring forward?

What has been crying out in the middle of your darkness that will begin bearing fruits of joy and prosperity?

Imagine God birthing something surprising for you!

Imagine that the heart is in the middle of it.

Requiem: 2000 - 2011

2011-02-20T17:15:00.001-05:00

For eleven years you carried me to places known and unknown.

Only once did your battery die causing me to be late to a gathering of friends.

I hummed along with the music from your radio as I raced down city streets

Or waited through long traffic lights and highway construction detours.

You never complained. You never faltered. You never tired.

You accepted all of my passengers with a welcome outstretched front seat.

And in the winter, you turned on your heating pad to warm our bottoms and captivate our hearts.

The grandkids came with their car seats and strollers.

You clicked them in their safety belts securely and properly.

You had a special purring sound when driving them from school to home and back.

You didn’t mind the clutter, although you appreciated the vacuuming and the trips to the car wash.

After all, you had your pride!

I will miss your glamorous features.

Your sunroof. Your leather seats. Your high grade audio system.

But, most of all, I will miss the freedom you gave me to be me behind your wheel of adventure-making.

I thank you for carrying me on eagles wings with the gentleness of a dove.

Amen.

The Essence

2011-02-11T16:04:00.000-05:00

Ritual can be the container that envelops the essence of our lives.

Hit the pause button. Capture the memory. Put a frame around the moment.

One single ritual contains a lifetime.

Pursue the Poor

2011-02-04T12:19:00.001-05:00

Tell the Israelites: "You shall take for Me an offering from every person whose heart inspires him to do so." Exodus 25:2

God commands Moses to take the donations from the Israelites to build a wilderness Tabernacle. Why doesn’t the verse read that every person should give an offering?

The first charitable act of the Jewish people emphasized that the central aspect of Tzedakah (charity) is not giving to the needy, but taking from the donor.

The primary goal of Tzedakah is to elevate the soul of the giver while increasing kindness in the world.

The benefactors are commanded to pursue the poor in order to maintain their spiritual connection to the holy and the sacred.

The Israelites were asked to relinquish their material possessions for the sake of the greater communal good. When we act with simple generosity we refine our humanity.

Let us take the offerings and build a more generous world.

A Commanding Love

2011-01-28T11:21:00.001-05:00

And you shall love the Lord Your God with all your soul, with all your heart, with everything that you have . . . Deuteronomy 6:5

“Can God command our love?” I asked my sixth-grade students at Temple Micah, a Reform congregation in the Northwest quadrant of the District of Columbia.

They looked at me in disbelief and bewilderment -- and the ultimate test of listening: a resounding silence.

“Do you love your parents?”

Yes.

"Do they command you to love them?"

Not exactly.

“How do you show them that you love them?"

Doing things that they want us to do.

“What kinds of things?”

Making our beds in the morning. Brushing our teeth.

“Anything else?“

Sometimes I surprise them by doing my homework even before they ask me to!

“So, how do we as Jews show God that we love the God of our matriarchs and patriarchs?"

They began to unwrap their answers.

By acting in a moral way. By praying thoughtfully. By helping others. By giving tzedakah. By loving your brother and not fighting with him all the time. By doing good deeds on a regular basis. By following in the path of the prophet Micah.

To do justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.

One can command actions, but one cannot command feelings. The Ineffable One offers us directions on how to follow a path of goodness. We show our love for God when we perform the mitzvot (the commandments) out of love.

God is commanding the actions (the mitzvot) -- not the love they demonstrate. If we keep these words in our hearts and practice them, in return, our hearts and our souls and everything we have inside of us finds satisfaction and peace.

God is Awesome

2011-01-24T12:42:00.003-05:00

The auditorium at the U.S. Department of Energy was subdued, still, and suitable for this annual commemoration honoring the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I was escorted to the first row and seated in front of the stage. To the right of the podium, a picture of the Rev. Dr. King decorated the backdrop with a banner that read, “In celebration of the dream he had for all of us.”

An African-American woman wearing a necklace strung with large white pearly baubles sat next to me. She had been asked to sing the national anthem for the first time. Her smile matched her magnificent necklace.

“I just started working here after being out of work for a year-and-a-half,” she volunteered. She turned her eyes towards me as she proudly announced, “God is awesome!” She continued, “I had to give up my apartment and move in with a roommate. After pursuing jobs everywhere, I finally landed this job as a consultant. I now have my own apartment again. At age fifty, living with another person wasn't to my liking. Being here is my dream come true.”

I wanted to tell her that I, too, lost my job a year and a half ago, but I hesitated to disclose this personal information. Instead, I repeated the phrase, “God is awesome, indeed!” as a response to her call.

We walked up to the podium together. Black and white. Singer and rabbi. The color guard marched towards us, and the national anthem began.

I hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.

Isn’t that what the Rev. Dr. King was all about? The truth of God’s awesomeness in perpetual action.

---

The invocation prayer given on Tuesday, January 18, 2011:

In the presence of the "King" the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. we come together to remember and to restore his worthy vision to our daily sacred work here at the US Department of Energy.

The major drummer for peace and justice and equality continues to guide us towards the path of freedom through non-violence and mutual understanding.

In the presence of the legacy of the King we gather to remember our role in creating amore perfect union for all faiths for all people for all time.

We call upon the Holy One, the Majesty of Majesties, to bless the work of our hands and the dedication of our hearts every day and every time we participate in the service of the "King".

Amen.

The Question of Healing

2011-01-13T23:39:00.001-05:00

What is healing?

Healing is not simply a return to some wholeness in the past. Rather it is a careful rebuilding of a life in a present that does not deny what has happened.

Healing occurs when you stop asking “Why” and start asking, “Now that this has happened how will I live?”

How long does healing take?

Healing happens when it happens and it takes as long as it takes.

What will help me heal faster?

Abundant unconditional Divine love from family and friends.

The Pursuit of Prosperity

2011-01-07T10:23:00.001-05:00

The pursuit of money does not bring the pursuit of happiness.

Life is tricky that way.

Following your bliss continues to be the only way towards a meaningful and purpose-driven life.

It is easy and dangerous to be pulled in other directions. Temptation for the gold fosters a blurring of the senses. Sometimes,although it is difficult to admit, we take our eyes off the prize. What we really want is temporarily disguised under false pretenses. This momentary delusion can steer us in a direction of self- deception and personal spiritual ruin.

Decide to take the road less taken. Pursue your passion. It is the only thing that will bring both the pursuit of happiness* and* the pursuit of prosperity.

A Single Wish

2010-12-31T08:55:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning thinking about my single status and the coming New Year. Then, I realized that my wish for a first-class man is in the palm of our hands!

This year, I am asking for *your* help. I am reaching out to you, my community of friends and family to hold this Single Wish for me in your hearts.

Using our modern technologies, please sift through your Blackberry and iPhones, through your social networks and family connections and send me the names and e-mails of your choicest men who long to be in relationship with this petite package of passion, personality and philosophy.

I know you know someone!

Please call (202 731 2273) or email me directly: tamaraimil...@gmail.com with the subject line: A Single Wish

Send me the name (s) of a few good men and tell me why you think they would be a good match.

You know me but do you know who am I looking for?

I am in search of an open hearted person who is accepting and inclusive in his world view.

A generous person who gives of his time, his money and his expertise to enhance the quality of life for those he loves.

A positive person who laughs a lot, likes to have fun, and is not afraid to be silly.

Did I mention the music? Singing, playing music, enjoying music is a plus.

Is there a reward involved?

Certainly!

What is it?

The reward will be commensurate with the gift bestowed.

Check my upcoming *Spiritualetters* to see what happens when we focus on this Single Wish.

My Mother's Sabbath Candles

2010-12-24T13:07:00.000-05:00

Among the smiles, among the tears, of my childhood’s sweet and bitter years
There’s a picture that my memory fondly frames
And in it softly shine two tiny flames.
by Jack Yellen

Last night, I discovered the sheet music to the song I played on the piano for my mother’s pleasure. “My Mother’s Sabbath Candles” copyright 1950.

The black and white cover never faded, and for seventy five cents, I made an excellent investment into my spiritual virtual wallet. My fingers know the piece by heart; the words are etched into my vaulted memory bank.

The Sabbath was born inside me two decades before I bought that musical notation in a store along Tremont Avenue in the Bronx. I experienced the rhythm of the Sabbath while wading in the water of my mother’s womb.The first genetic text messaging sent from the Divine produces a body activated timer response just as the sun descends into the evening’s shade. It automatically reminds me to pause faithfully, and to recreate the fire and the magic of my mother’s Sabbath candles.

My mother lived ninety five years and fulfilled this commandment four thousand nine hundred and forty times. For twenty two years, one thousand, one hundred and forty four times, I witnessed her lighting and praying over the Sabbath candles every Friday night. When I got married and left the home of my childhood, I took the ritual of lighting the Sabbath candles with me.

For their last eight years as seniors, my parents lived in Philadelphia in a one bedroom apartment that included a small square kitchen where only the appliances lived. With no breakfast area, the appliances shared the space with the family’s European candelabras on a shelf built specifically for these holy ritual objects.

The week before my mother died, I stood next to her in this kitchen as we lit the Sabbath candles together again. She leaned towards me as she waved her hands in front of the candles to usher in the Divine light. With her eyes closed, her mouth mumbling the customary blessing and her heart crying out with silent grief, she continued the tradition of her lifetime. My father’s Yahrtzeit, the one year anniversary of his death, occurred the Sunday before this Sabbath night. My father’s spirit sneaked into the following week and stayed to bless and temper our Sabbath sorrow. He resided in the tears that fell into my mother’s apron. He sanctified the space that lingered in the room with no windows. The glow of the fire was his soul’s longing to be at home again.. Perhaps it was my mother’s longing to be at home in his soul. Or both.

My mother died the following Sabbath in the early morning hours before dawn. I was not there to light the Sabbath candles with her for that very last time. I wasn’t there, but I picture my heavenly father leaning towards her as they both waved their hands towards the Divine light. Her final prayer had been answered.

My Mother’s Sabbath Candles
That made our home so bright
That faithfully she lighted with a prayer each Friday night

The Quiet Mind of Winter

2010-12-17T08:10:00.001-05:00

The quiet mind of winter has memories to offer.

Forced into solitude, we find an inner voice that speaks to our essence.

The reminders of years passed sit perched on the empty tree bough.

Another season and reason for reflection and seriousness.

Shall we accept the call to hibernate?

Satisfied

2010-12-10T12:47:00.006-05:00

I am satisfied with my life today.

My state of contentment is maintained by the people I love and the people I have yet to love.

I have discovered that what I possess internally, and who I am authentically, is my key to happiness.

Satisfaction is a state of mind that I carry alongside my calendar to remind me that there is a time and a place for everything.

I substitute lack for the sanity I find in being satisfied.

The Maccabee Search: My Interpretation

2010-12-03T08:10:00.000-05:00

What does it take for a human being to begin a search?

Imagine the Maccabees: They run towards the sanctity and safety of the Holy Temple. Fallen boards halt each footstep. The putrid smell of sacrificed pigs continues to melt above the simmering flame on the altar’s base. The damp, dark dungeon diminishes their vision and their dreams of reconciliation with their beloved spiritual home.

Yet, someone begins the search for light in this tomb of total blindness.

“Let us ignite the eternal light to bring back The Eternal One to us," a hopeful spirit spoke.

“Could a cruse of oil, blessed by the priests and sealed under their supervision, reside in this defiled space? And even if it did, how could we find it?" a skeptical spirit stuttered.

“Why don’t we just go home to our families and mourn the Temple’s disgrace?" a defeated spirit sighed.

No one knows how long it took the Maccabees to find that cruse of oil in the residual rubbish.

No one knows because no one cares how long the search took.

We only care that they found what they were looking for.

What does it take for a human being to start any search?

An inside miracle.

A Thank You Note: A Year in the Writing

2010-11-26T13:27:00.002-05:00

A year ago I began writing the "Spiritualetters" to keep in contact with my friends and colleagues. This weekly forum has provided me with an important spiritual practice. I sit in front of my computer and stare into my heart’s emotions. Sometimes, the idea comes quickly with a tap on the computer letters; the story writes itself. Sometimes, the tapping continues into the nighttime hours and the story remains embedded in my sleep. I awake and start tapping again until it is time to push the “send” button.

Then I pray that it sends vibrations of truth throughout my small universe.

I wait for your e-mails to arrive in my inbox.

You have responded with your comments and commentaries.

My story invites your story to be revealed.

When I am out and about, at parties, lectures, bookstores, and synagogues, you have expressed how a particular letter spoke to you directly. I am always humbled and happy to hear how I have initiated a healing moment for you.

So I send you this thank you note in gratitude for all the times you have read my musings and sighed with appreciation.

A Power Reverie

2010-11-19T11:46:00.000-05:00

During my nighttime reveries, my soul expands beyond my small mindedness. I dream in high-definition images, creating grandiose goals mirrored on a technicolor, oversize movie screen. I see myself empowered.

This physical and spiritual power surge renews my life force daily. I am propelled into right actions as my priorities stay embedded body and soul.

Once I am awake and aware, I have choices to take and memories to make.

How do I choose the direction this day will take? Or does the day choose me?

I pray for discernment. I close my eyes. I detect a pathway. I step forward into the daylight hours where I offer my gifts unconditionally. My power battery diminishes as I extend myself to others.

The night ascends. I go to sleep and dream again.

You Are the Book That Will Touch His Soul

2010-11-12T06:50:00.000-05:00

My father acquired books and a good reputation.

“You don’t need to remember everything,“ my father admonished, “But you need to know where to find everything. If you do this, you will acquire a good reputation.”

Every book he owned was a treasure box that contained golden nuggets of knowledge.

Whenever I had a question about a certain Jewish law or the meaning of a word in a Hebrew text, I called my father, my authorized, fully annotated, walking encyclopedia. He was every book that I would ever need.

Rabbi Benjamin Miller died of pneumonia one cold February morning three years ago. He died and took His Book with him.

So when I was confronted by a young Jewish man who was sabotaging his Jewish path and past, I wanted to call my father and ask him what to do. What book did he have on his shelf that would provide a compelling treatise for this man’s soul-full maturation?

I scanned my library shelves in vain, while I conjured up a conversation with the spirit of my late father. To my surprise and infinite gratitude, my father continued to transmit his teaching to me.

You don’t need to find a book. You are the book that will touch his soul. Bless him and love him. Skype him and e-mail him. Call him and text him. He will turn your pages and your knowing will be transmitted to him through you. He will read your soul and know everything he needs to know.

Today, I want to be the open book of my father’s essential being and teachings.

I strive to be the book that will touch people’s souls.

The Modern Day Eleanor Rigby

2010-11-05T10:16:00.001-04:00

Eleanor Rigby may have died alone, but because of the Beatles she was never forgotten. The song entitled "Eleanor Rigby" ends with the refrain:

All the lonely people.

Where do they all belong?

All the lonely people.

Where do they all come from?

Eleanor Rigby’s story continues to haunt me.

From the beginning of creation, God wanted to belong. One Midrash (rabbinic legend) imagines that after God created the physical world and saw that it was very good, God succumbed to an ethereal loneliness. The angels peeked in on him and heard a majestic quiet cry.

“Something is missing,” God mused. “I am disconnected from the very world I gave birth to. I need a connector. Where do I belong?”

Enter from above stage right, Adam and then Eve. The relationship between God and humankind began as a result of God’s loneliness. Belonging became a basic human need.

I often meet people who are disconnected from the world they live in. Their separateness and their loneliness pervade their daily lives.

Where do all the lonely people come from? Could it be that we have created Eleanor Rigby?

A Definition for God

2010-10-29T07:29:00.000-04:00

God is the collective potential of the human imagination.

The Faith Ball

2010-10-22T13:33:00.000-04:00

Mr. Jeffrey reached into his backpack and showed me his variegated rubber-band Faith Ball -- the size of a child's soccer ball. I held it in my hands and felt the weight of his belief.

Two years ago he became homeless and collected rubber bands to literally hold onto his faith during this tumultuous storm. Today, Mr. Jeffrey has a room of his own, thanks to Friendship Place, a community homeless outreach
center in Washington, D.C.

"God made me homeless to make me humble," he asserted to our sixth grade religious school students. "I never thought I would be homeless, and I will never look at a homeless person in the same way again."

He stopped speaking and surveyed the crowd of fifteen Jewish teenagers.

"You probably understand what it is like to be homeless. After all, the Jews wandered in the desert for forty years: The Israelites were homeless all that time."

A Miner Miracle of Biblical Proportions

2010-10-15T10:43:00.000-04:00

All 33 miners made aliyah from the bowels of the earth to the surface of the Chilean desert. My spirit was uplifted as they were lifted to safety in a man-made rocket ship created for this unprecedented rescue.

The descent and the ascent had all the makings of a biblical story and the inner journeys of many of our biblical heroes, such as Abraham, Jacob, Jonah and Moses.

Some journeys are chosen, and some are chosen for us. Our Kabbalists say all journeys have the power to elevate our self-awareness to our "human-being-ness."

We have ascended with the miners. We have witnessed a miracle no different than the splitting of the Red Sea.

In the 43rd Psalm the question is asked: Who will ascend into the hill of the Divine? And who will stand in His Holy place?

The Sages respond by commenting that while ascending is important, the real measure of a person's devotion is his "standing" before the Divine after having completed the ascent.

Several of the miners walked out of the "Phoenix" and fell to their knees in prayer.

They knew that the journey towards the Divine is the beginning of their self-awareness.

Where will we and they stand now that we have experienced this minor miracle? What will we stand for? Whom will we stand with? What is the next step in our spiritual formation?

A Vacuum of Descendants

2010-10-08T13:51:00.000-04:00

No one sat on the gray speckled marble bench that adorned the family plot at the Cedar Park cemetery in Westwood, New Jersey. No names were engraved on this seated tombstone. A string of Hebrew words etched on the side of the bench read, “In memory of those who died in the Holocaust.”

From the time I was eight years old, I remember making the family’s annual pilgrimage to honor our dead ancestors. I focused only on the empty bench. My imagination soared upon visual contact.

The bench held the extended family I never met and never mourned. Each year more people joined my made-up group portrait as the stories from the past surfaced into the family's history. The cousins sat side by side waiting for the instructions from the elders about their reserved seating arrangement. I pondered their question in wonderland: Who would sit next to whom?

The dead aunt insisted on being next to the descendant that bore her name. In silence, the grandfather huddled with the grandchildren he never knew. A married couple stared into their own future and created two children licking lollipops.

After many decades, the bench disintegrated. After much discussion and conflict, we sprinkled the speckled silver marble pieces among the family graves.

Today, the spirits of those who died in the Holocaust protect the graves of my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and finally my own parents. The vacuum of my descendants has been filled with memories of those we loved and lost and never knew and never mourned.

Love Unwrapped

2010-10-01T12:19:00.000-04:00

I received two gifts in two weeks.

Neither of which I expected.

One ... a gift of thanksgiving.

One ... a gift of friendship.

Both arrived in my heart’s only inbox from two already-opened hearts.

Both were starred and made a priority.

An artist’s handmade bronze goblet entitled: Miriam.

A gift certificate to my friend’s favorite masseuse.

One is material yet spiritual.

One is physical and integral.

Both came from a wellspring of generosity.

Both contained love.

Unwrapped.

The Accounting

2010-09-24T06:27:00.000-04:00

I recently closed my bank account and put my money into a new, more convenient bank down the street from where I live. When I saw the official stamp “account closed,” I had an existential thought: Which one of my accounts has been liquidated?

Perhaps I am free of some debt that I made in another lifetime that has followed me into this planet. Perhaps my sincere prayers during the Jewish High Holidays tipped the proverbial scale and my good deeds now outweigh my bad ones. I have a clean ledger with God.

Will I ever know what I left undone in my former lives? Will my life take a change for the better now that I have made the payoff? How will this accounting be revealed? I waited for the answer in real time.

It appears with every deposit I make and every withdrawal I take.

I love my neighborhood bank. They call me by name when I walk in. They say, “Good morning!” and smile when they say, “What can I do for you today?”. It may sound phony, but I like this new attention that is directed towards me as a person of value.

Account closed. Account opened. Blessed be the bank tellers. They qualify as my new best friends. I like that change!

An Acceptable Apology

2010-09-17T14:38:00.000-04:00

Dear Rabbi,

Question: Can one send a letter of forgiveness through the Internet? And will it count?

Response: The ideal situation would be a face-to-face dialogue of forgiveness. You can see the other person's expression and, if all goes well, you can receive a physical manifestation of forgiveness by the strength of a hug or the flow of tears.

The less than ideal situation would be a telephone conversation or a handwritten letter signed, sealed and delivered.

What about a text message, email, Twitter, Facebook? What if forgiveness comes in the form of a dozen roses? Or a bundt cake? Chocolate from Godiva?

Let forgiveness begin when the opportunity arises. Just do it. Take the Nike plunge.

Dear friend,

Question: How do you feel about my Internet apology below?

If I put all my friends and family in a large auditorium, and I asked each of you to forgive me for all the things I said or did that offended you, I would be overwhelmed with the capacity of love the exchange would produce. You are my vision as I step into the Day of Atonement with my heart trembling. Forgive me. Pardon me. Accept my apologies. Grant me atonement.

Let the forgiveness virus seep into your computers and provide protection against everyday conflicts and clashes. May you be inscribed in the Book of Forgiveness.

Begin Again? A Rosh Hashanah message

2010-09-08T08:55:00.000-04:00

Begin Again?

*“Hey, you, begin again! Again? Again. Again, you’ll see it’s easy. Begin again.”*

*Grace Paley, author*

How easy is it to begin again?

Especially after the loss of a loved one, a financial downturn, a miscarriage, a cancer diagnosis?

How easy is it to begin again?

Not very easy.

And yet, at every moment, through every crisis, we are asked to begin again.

During the Days of Awe, the Jewish prayers remind us of the promise of teshuvah, the powerful possibility of return, renewal and repentance. We are asked to reroute and redirect our lives.

As Rosh Hashanah draws near, we think to ourselves, again? Please, God. Spare me the directions!

The directions come anyway like streams of light in a dark wooded sky.

In order to begin again, we must let go of what we imagined our life to be.

Every morning, I say goodbye to yesterday. I look into the dawn of the present daylight.

What choice do I have?

Shall I return to the deep, dark sleep of the night and stay hidden and
invisible?

Or, shall I dance into the music of life and step into the river of revelation?

I choose to begin again. What will you choose this year?

*Shanah tovah tikateivu,*

*May you be written into the Book of Life again!*

Falling Upward

2010-09-03T12:15:00.000-04:00

I lift up my eyes to the mountains anticipating help. Psalm 121

I tripped and fell on a crack in the sidewalk. I scraped my knee and ruined my new pair of Calvin Klein sheer silky taupe pantyhose. I lay on the ground anticipating my next move.

I looked up.

A twenty-something, dressed-for-success man offered me his hand and lifted me up.

He then proceeded to gather the scattered contents of my feminine purse: lip gloss, hand lotion, Kleenex tissues, Trident Bubblegum, and a Chanel make-up compact case with the mirror now broken into tiny fractions. He handled each item with the care of a jeweler counting his diamonds.

There will always be cracks in the road. You will not always see them. Even if you detect them, you may not be able to avoid them. Pavement buckles from the heat. The earth shifts gradually and invisibly.

Chances are the cracks will find you off balance. Pray for diamonds in the sky. Look up.

The fall is temporary if you fall upward!

Chocolate Chip Cookie Wisdom

2010-08-27T08:55:00.000-04:00

My mother’s chocolate chip cookies tasted different each time: always delicious but never the same. Each individual cookie varied in the number of chocolate chips it contained. Some had only one. The bigger ones had two or three. If you were lucky, four, and sometimes five, Nestle's Toll House milk chocolate chips could be found embedded deep in the crust of the cookie!

The treasure hunt for chocolate chips became a favorite pastime for all the cousins. My children inherited the same chocolate chip treasure hunt gene. Now the grandchildren, respectfully, call the round, rich-flavored cookies "Bubbe’s cookie," and the search continues from generation to generation.

It took me decades to realize that cookies, like life, are not a uniform endeavor. No two chocolate chip cookies are alike regardless of the intent to make them so.

A jumbo package of Nestle's Toll House Milk Chocolate Chips

A couple of eggs

A dash of salt

Stick of Mother’s Butter

Sugar to taste

As much flour as needed

Roll them, pat them, and form them into small balls.

Carefully select the chocolate chips for each cookie.

Place in the oven on a cookie sheet.

Say a prayer.

Encourage them to grow.

Remove from the oven just before they burn.

Eat your vegetables first.

Cookies are for dessert.

Healing the Past

2010-08-20T09:33:00.000-04:00

Do you know what it is like to meet a Holocaust survivor in person?

From the first "hello" you realize that this person knows something that you will never know. You immediately honor the truth of that wisdom.

A few days ago I met one of Dr. Mengele's "twins." Dr. Mengele, a Nazi physician and scientist, singled out Jewish twins as they entered the camps. The young children were housed separately from the other inmates. Eva Moses Kor, together with her twin sister Miriam, were among the physically exploited twins who suffered under Dr. Mengele's inhumane experiments and survived.

Mrs. Kor came to share her wisdom in my class, "The Power of Forgiveness." She outlined the process that enabled her to forgive her perpetrator, Dr. Mengele, and other Nazis.

It took her fifty years to realize that she had "the power to forgive." With that power, she deactivated her victimhood and became free. She released all hurt, resentment and pain. She let go -- and a new life enveloped her.

Today she travels to Germany to listen to the confessions of the Nazis who desperately seek her forgiveness.

Forgiving is the most direct way to heal the wounds of your past. It is practical spirituality.

Practice, practice, practice!

The Robbery

2010-08-13T08:35:00.000-04:00

A week ago Friday, my friends and I awoke to find our backpacks (with our money, cell phones, identification, etc.) missing from the condo in which we were spending a few days of rest and relaxation at the beach.

To be robbed is to know that the world is in disrepair.

And that brings pain of another sort:

Money and plastic cards can be replaced but

The loss of innocence again and again is a humbling hurtful happening

Reminding us that the ecstasy of having been in a Garden of Eden

Surrounded by love and God's presence

Is indeed irreplaceable.

I believe in yesterday

2010-08-06T14:39:00.002-04:00

It was dark as we walked toward the 9/11 Pentagon Memorial. People told me to go after sundown to see the lighted benches and to hear the rippling water that ran steadily beneath them.

I obeyed.

At first, the night time walk around the Pentagon building seemed precarious. Where was everyone, and did they know we were strolling around the biggest military repository of information looking for the memorial? I felt so insignificant next to this flattened construction, but when we reached the memorial and saw the rows and rows of benches shaped like wings in front of us, a deep well of awe elevated my being.

The cool summer breezes rustled the crape myrtle leaves and whispered in every language the words of sanctification.

Holy, holy holy. Kadosh, kadosh, kadosh.

You who are the God of all the Units.

Forgive us our trespassing as we traverse our tragedies.

Names written, ages honored, space given to remember what happened here nine years ago.

Some names we knew. Others we knew of.

Something wasn't right, I declared to my friend Toby. Why this big grassy area? Did they leave something out?

Oh, no, she said. There is a space between the three-year-old child who died and the children who were in their teens. There is a gap that does not need to be filled. The rows of benches were designed according to the year the person was born.

We sat on the edge of the memorial looking out into the distant mini-tract lighting beyond time. We saw the calm after the storm of hatred and malice burned us. We came to honor and remember our fellow Americans. We felt a deep longing for yesterday, when all our troubles seemed so far away.

false alarm

2010-07-30T07:12:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday the rains and the winds raced through Montgomery County, Maryland, like a lion in winter.

The inconvenience of the sudden tornado-like weather became an emergency when the fire alarm went off inside the apartment building where I had been visiting with my friend's 88-year-old mother-in-law.

Eight of us stepped cautiously down nine flights of stairs in semi-darkness.

When we touched down on street level, I saw a gaggle of elderly renters gathering with wheelchairs and canes and walkers.

The first to bring bottled water with paper cups to share was a 97-year-young widow.

Another female tenant told me that she was a former opera singer in New York who knew Robert Merrill.

The woman with the green velvet slippers was hyperventilating. Her eyes favored fear. I instinctively began speaking the Yiddish of my youth. Her eyes sparkled. I held her hand and watched her breathing slow down to a waltz.

Each face was a portrait of courage. How many other false alarms did they escape during their lifetimes?

the blessing stream

2010-07-25T14:45:00.000-04:00

When we raise ourselves in spiritual awareness, blessing flows like a mighty stream.

out of the blue

2010-07-16T10:47:00.001-04:00

I sit on a cliff overlooking the turquoise waters of Boston Bay at Great Huts in Port Antonio, Jamaica.

I await the sunrise at 5:00 in the morning.

I stare at the horizon in anticipation of the sun's dramatic arrival.

I close my eyes for a moment of pure meditation and deep breathing.

I open my eyes to find a white dusty ball placed precariously in midair above the waters. No strings are attached.

The sun appeared to me as an "out-of-the-blue" experience even though I had been watching and waiting for its debut forever.

"I expected a more fiery sun," I said to my young friend who had encouraged me the night before to experience the morning's early dawn.

"Every sunrise is different," she stated.

All of them, I realized, come "out of the blue."

saying goodbye again

2010-07-09T10:19:00.000-04:00

My only son left home again.

First, it was preschool and his crying that would not cease when I dropped him off.

Then, it was kindergarten when my crying would not cease following his morning departures.

We all got into the rhythm of life and its daily separations: school and camp and overnights at his friend's homes.

Then he left home again for an eternity of ten months. He journeyed to Israel after his high school graduation when the intifada was in full swing. I prayed nightly for his safe return.

Now, at the age of 27, he leaves again in search of his true vocation.

For the 13-hour drive to Atlanta, he packed himself a bagel, a water bottle, an apple. He got behind the wheel of his Honda and slowly backed away from the driveway.

My only son left home again.

swimming in simplicity

2010-07-02T10:00:00.000-04:00

I spent three glorious days across the road from Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts.

The writer and philosopher Henry David Thoreau lived on the shores of the pond for two years starting in the summer of 1845. He advocated living a simple life while transcending the ordinary.

I stood inside the famous cabin that contained a bed, three chairs, a desk, and a furnace. Surrounded by woods and within viewing distance of Walden Pond, Mr. Thoreau wrote down his observations.

Could I live so simply? Could I commune with nature and be content with the beauty that enveloped me?

Thoreau did it for two years. Could I do it for two weeks or even two months? Could I find solace and depth in my own philosophy?

My desire for solitude is an attraction. My love for the written word would seduce me.

If I went inside would I ever come out?

uncertainty

2010-06-25T12:10:00.000-04:00

The ability to live with uncertainy is an act of faith.

The ability to choose faith in the face of uncertainty is the sacred task of living.

wanting the opposite

2010-06-17T09:12:00.000-04:00

What is the opposite of loss?

The opposite of loss is the fulfillment of inner peace.

What is the opposite of fear?

The opposite of fear is love.

one year later

2010-06-10T10:21:00.002-04:00

On June 10, 2009, I got a phone call that changed the trajectory of my life's work. An employee of GWU Hospital, where I served as Director of Spiritual Care, said, "Rabbi, you have to get down here. Something terrible has happened."

Earlier that day, a man dressed in a confederate coat had walked up to the entrance of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. A security guard named Stephen Johns saw him and moved to open the door for the 88-year-old man, who then opened fire on the museum with the rifle hidden in his coat. Johns was taken to GWU Hospital, along with the perpetrator, who had been felled by the museum's other security guards.

I was called to the emergency room to attend to Johns' wife. The waiting room was chaotic; in addition to two other chaplains, there was a flood of hospital administrators concerned about this high-profile incident. Meanwhile, Johns and the perpetrator were being operated on side-by-side by two different medical teams.

Family and friends of Johns began to arrive, and they were moved to a larger room closer to the post-operative care unit. It was at that time that I met Pastor John McCoy, the leader of the Word of God Baptist Church and the officiant at Stephen Johns' wedding. A nurse briefed us several times during the course of the operation. In the growing group of family and friends, there was crying, prayer, shock, disbelief, and anger. Then the nurse approached me and said, "Will you come back into the room with me? I have to give her the ring and tell her that her husband didn't make it." Stephen and Zakiah Johns had been married for only a year.

I went into the room with the nurse. She placed the ring in Zakiah's hands and gently said, "I'm sorry we couldn't save him." Another chaplain grasped Zakiah's body so she wouldn't fall to the floor.

Later I walked with the family to one of the intensive care unit rooms where Officer Johns' body had been placed. The initial screams and general pandemonium that had accompanied the announcement of Johns' death had given way to quiet tears. His family then offered their goodbyes.

I walked down the hall with Pastor McCoy. At 6'1", he towered over my petite frame, but we were still eye-to-eye. I was reminded of another traumatic racial injustice of my past. On November 3, 1979, in Greensboro, N.C., my childhood friend was shot in the head by a Klansman during a protest rally on behalf of the textile factory workers. Paul Bermanzohn survived, but five other young people lost their lives that day in what has come to be known as the Greensboro Massacre.

Fifty-one days later, I was fired by GWU Hospital.

The days that followed the shooting left me in tears and occupied by nightmares. Flashbacks to my childhood sitting in my parent’s kitchen among the survivors of Hitler’s war caused painful screaming in the middle of the night. My energy diminished as I carried myself through a robotic day. The tension rested in my back. My walking was compromised.

One night, after a fitful start to my sleep, I went and sat in front of the computer. I wrote down all that I had been thinking. In the morning, I sent it to a colleague. He suggested I send it to the editor of the "On Faith" blog at the Washington Post. With a click on the computer, my story was published online on June 25.

My back pain increased. I went to see my orthopedic physician who prescribed a week’s disability for rest and relaxation. “You are coming out of a traumatic experience, and you need peace and quiet. All your stress is in your back.”

When I returned to work, I was suspended and then dismissed ostensibly because of the article I wrote about the incident that dark night. But I believe I was let go because of my outreach efforts to the African-American community. My desire was to offer spiritual care to a diverse and multi-faceted community at the hospital, specifically recruiting African-American chaplains for the African-American patients of the D.C. community. My campaign for equal pay as a female chaplain probably didn't help either.

It's been a year since Stephen Johns was murdered. I've lost the illusion that things have moved forward in terms of the racial integration in this country. I've lost my naivete about ethical behavior in the workplace. I've lost a job that provided me with meaningful work. I feel in some ways that I lost my identity -- the status I had in the community because of my job -- not to mention financial security. I feel I was betrayed by people I trusted while I remained loyal to the mission of the institution. Loyalty is not a two-way street.

I gained a friendship with a contemporary African-American pastor. The relationship offered me spiritual succor in a difficult time. I gained a new self-identity, one of empowerment instead of victim, in the face of discrimination. I gained a new perspective about my calling to do inter-religious work. I realized what a strong support network I have; I felt at times that I was being held up only by the nurturing of my friends. I am grateful for everyone who encouraged me and then supported me in my effort to right a wrong.

“You did the right thing, Rabbi. I am proud of you.”

I have no regrets about speaking out in the many ways that I did (about diversity, about pay-based gender discrimination, about Stephen Johns). My true nature is not one of antagonism, but in the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.: "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

New Spirituality Group

2010-06-04T11:04:00.002-04:00

Sometimes we need a dose of spirit and community to lift us up during our weekday busyness.

To that end, I will begin leading a spirituality group every Wednesday, beginning June 16, in the atrium at the Center for Integrative Medicine.

WHAT: Spirituality Group

WHEN: Wednesdays beginning June 16, 6:00 p.m. - 7:00 p.m.

WHERE: Center for Integrative Medicine (908 New Hampshire Ave., Suite 200; Metro: Foggy Bottom)

COST: $20 (cash, or check made payable to Health Partners, Inc., a 501(c)3 nonprofit foundation)

Topics will vary from week to week, and we'll begin and end each session with meditation, prayer and/or chant. Various technologies will be presented for self-healing and introspection. Individual support will arise from the mindful conversations of the community. No reservations are required. We'll begin gathering at 5:45 p.m.

I hope to see you there, and please share this information to anyone you think might be interested!

An Unending Love on Facebook

2010-05-28T11:42:00.000-04:00

This was my first Facebook birthday party, and I loved it!

Emails poured in with words of blessings and good wishes. I received loving kindness through the Internet airwaves from co-workers, relatives and friends from all over the world. (I am still counting my blessings and my Facebook posts!)

I was not into my birthday this year. Years come and go; the important thing is to pass into them gracefully. My day was a kaleidoscope of my life which included breakfast with my mutual birthday girlfriends (Susan and Judy), taking care of my granddaughter while my son-in-law had knee surgery, dinner with my son, and a work project completed.

The icing on the virtual cake was the unexpected birthday wishes on my Facebook wall connecting me to the universe of friendship and love.

I recalled the poem by Rabbi Rami Shapiro that is found in the Reconstructionist Prayerbook: My gift to you!

We are loved by an unending love.

We are embraced by arms that find us

even when we are hidden from ourselves.

We are touched by fingers that soothe us

even when we are too proud for soothing.

We are counseled by voices that guide us

even when we are too embittered to hear.

We are loved by an unending love.

We are supported by hands that uplift us

even in the midst of a fall.

We are urged on by eyes that meet us

even when we are too weak for meeting.

We are loved by an unending love.

Embraced, touched, soothed, and counseled

ours are the arms, the fingers, the voices;

ours are the hands, the eyes, the smiles;

We are loved by an unending love.

A Mikveh Delayed

2010-05-14T13:30:00.002-04:00

Last night I saw the play "Mikveh" at Theatre J at the Washington DC Jewish Community Center. I recommend you see it. It inspired me to write this piece.

Soon after I got engaged, I decided to honor the tradition of immersing in the mikveh before my wedding day. I was twenty-one years old.

I signed up for "kallah" (bride) classes at a local orthodox synagogue. This six-week course taught young women about the practice of mikveh in their married lives.

Throughout Jewish history, unmarried women have immersed in the mikveh prior to their weddings. And married women immerse after seven days from the end of each monthly menstrual cycle in preparation for the resumption of family relations in their most fertile days.

Submerging in a pool of water expressly to symbolize a change-of-soul was a deeply spiritual and immensely compelling reason for me to mark this new station in my life from bride to wife.

Even though our home was of orthodox observance, I went to public school. This was not true of the other women in the class. They were all products of the neighborhood girls yeshiva (the Jewish parochial school).

I had been dating since I was thirteen. Many of the women in the class vaguely knew their husbands to be, but I had dated my fiance for two years. They were virgins. I was not.

It never occurred to me that this single fact would interfere with my desire to perform this mitzvah before my wedding night. My mother had questioned my motivation in even signing up for the class, so I couldn't ask for her counsel.

Perhaps I was naive. Perhaps I was in denial.

I lived an orthodox lifestyle. I never spoke about sex to my girlfriends. I assumed that they, too, were not virgins. As each of them became engaged, and the topic of the mikveh came up, I realized that they were the real virgins. I was a virgin wannabe.

Week after week, the level of my guilt heightened after every lecture about the laws of family purity. Discipline and pure intention was required.

I still remember the small, classic, hard-covered red book entitled "The Hedge of Roses" by Rabbi Norman Lamm. It was an ideal size for carrying in a pocketbook for reference. The message elevated the monthly mikveh visit to an act of spiritual holiness.

I believed in the power of this mitzvah (commandment).

The lectures were practical and based on the law. My fellow classmates giggled with every sexual suggestion. I knew something they didn't know and felt unworthy to be in the same room with them -- or in the same mikveh.

I was not giggling. I was squirming inside. What if they were right to have held on to their "virgin" status? If they were right, then I had been wrong.

I never completed the "kallah" course or the mikveh experience I so longed for. I never consummated my marriage through immersion in the mikveh.

Twenty-two years later, after six years in seminary and a detailed course of biblical study on the laws of family purity, I went with two of my fellow female rabbinic students to an orthodox mikveh on the West Side of Manhattan a few days before our ordination.

The mikveh lady asked nothing from us except the minimum eighteen-dollar charge.

She showed us the accomodations and quickly left to administer to the other monthly visitors to the mikveh.

We became each other's mikveh ladies. We said the blessings and witnessed each other's immersions.

The regret of not having immersed as a young bride returned to me.

The mikveh is a status changer.

I am no longer a bride, yet I am ready to walk down the aisle that God has placed before me.

My name begins with Rabbi.

Reciprocity

2010-05-07T10:22:00.001-04:00

My eldest daughter Naama needed me to chaperone my granddaughter on her first grade field trip to Great Falls National Park. l accepted with great enthusiasm. What are grandmothers for if they can't fill in at important life events like a field trip?

A little yellow school bus greeted me in the parking lot. The kids jumped out like jelly beans on their way to the factory packaging plant. They left their static classroom desks and white teaching boards to delve into the verdant forest and rushing waters of pure nature. The children's spirits were released. I was so grateful to experience their vitality.

We hiked to watch the waterfalls. We skipped along the canal's towpath. The children picked up rocks and played with the insects that crawled beneath them. We made three bathroom stops in the space of an hour. And then, lunch!

Everyone went to sit next to their lunch boxes including my granddaughter, Noa Rebecca. There on the table was a lunch with my name on it: "Savta" (Hebrew for grandmother).

My daughter prepared a picnic lunch just for me: humus, red peppers, a whole wheat wrap with carrots, an apple, and trail mix.

The lunches I had made over the years for my four school age children were as numerous as the stars in the sky. No exaggeration!

Now, decades later, my own daughter made me lunch. One individually packed, homemade lunch stared back at me. I succumbed to its gift and ate it voraciously.

A Breath of Peace

2010-04-30T10:25:00.001-04:00

Last night, my friend Randy and I went to experience Sri Sri Ravi Shankar at the DAR Constitution Hall in downtown Washington, D.C. Hundreds upon hundreds of people came ready to receive wisdom from the founder of The Art of Living, an international humanitarian organization that preaches world peace through inner peace.

What makes them come? What are they seeking? Did the guru's words inspire them to greater service?

His Holiness led us in meditation for twenty five minutes. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I was nothing. I wanted nothing.

For twenty-five minutes my silent prayers joined the prayers of the global seated community inside Constitution Hall.

Imagine if the entire world stopped doing and started being still for twenty-five minutes every day!

I must confess that in the space of twenty-five minutes, I breathed in the possibility of peace, my own inner peace.

The Stage of Uncertainty

2010-04-24T10:26:00.001-04:00

The ability to live with uncertainty is the highest form of faith.

According to the theologians, there are two stages of faith. The first stage is from uncertainty to certainty. The second, and most advanced stage, is from certainty to uncertainty.

The Mezuzah: A Connection between Heaven and Earth

2010-04-16T11:42:00.003-04:00

I narrated this three minute piece that aired on Sunday, April 11 on WETA's program "Religion and Ethics."

The father in the picture is my colleague and friend, Dr. Misha Kogan, and his son.

If you would like for me to offer a house blessing and a mezuzah hanging, e-mail me at Tamara@RabbiTamaraMiller.com.

For more detailed information: How to Handbook for Jewish Living, by Kerry M. Olitzky and Ronald H. Isaacs

I would love to hear your reflections on how the mezuzah affects your spiritual life.

Build Hope

2010-04-09T10:30:00.002-04:00

This past week, I was rearranging my apartment as spring fever tickled my spirit and my sinuses. While sneezing away, I found two newly framed Hadassah certificates.

(Hadassah, the Jewish Women's Zionist Organization of America, is responsible for building two hospitals in Jerusalem that provide medical treatment equally to people of all religions.)

The gold and black certificate wrote BUILD TOMORROW TODAY in bold letters and was acknowledging a donation contributed in memory of my late father,Rabbi Benjamin Miller. The other certificate made in memory of my late mother, Jeanette Miller, had the word HOPE calligraphed in green with a pink background.

Both donations were gifted to me by a man who never met either of my parents. We were joined together by loss. After his beloved wife died of breast cancer, Mr. Raskin created "The Dorrie H. Raskin Breast Cancer Research Fund" in her memory. Now, all three souls are forever guiding me as I look up from my computer and see the words on my office wall.

Who are we without the hope of tomorrow and the foundation of today?

The Things I Wished I Had Said

2010-04-02T10:56:00.002-04:00

What do you do with the words unspoken, the feelings unexpressed, and the love not acknowledged?

How can you say the things you wished you had said at the moment of awe and inspiration?

Can you still reveal your true sentiments later?

Practice the art of appreciation in your everyday conversations so when the time comes for you to express your deepest truths, it will drip sweetly from your tongue like honey from the honeycomb without hesitation.

What's love got to do with Passover?

2010-03-26T11:09:00.000-04:00

On the first night of Passover, there is a tradition to read the Song of Songs at the Seder.

Most people know the Song of Songs as a love story between a man and a woman. The rabbis interpreted the book as a love story between the people of Israel and God.

What does love have to do with freedom?

It was God's love that encouraged us to leave the oppressed place we call Egypt.

It was God's love that carried us through the desert protecting us at every dangerous turn.

It was God's love that provided physical and spiritual nourishment throughout the journey.

When we are in relationship with God and with each other, we are free. When we cut ourselves off from God's love, we are back in the the narrow place of slavery that constricts our hearts.

On Passover we are free to love one another.

Why not begin your Passover Seder with verses from the Song of Songs?

Arise, my beloved, my beauty, and come away. For the winter is over, the rain has passed. The buds have been seen in the land,the time of the nightingale has arrived, and the voice of the turtledove has been heard in our land . . . Arise, my beloved, my beauty, and come away!

protest video

2010-03-19T11:41:00.000-04:00

End Less

2010-03-19T11:15:00.003-04:00

All too often life takes an unpredictable turn, and we find ourselves on a dead end street.

Or so we think.

We step outside the car only to find that the dead end street has a beautiful path into the woods.

We walk through the verdant woods to the other side.

An opening so bold and so vast stares back at us.

Our dreams are alive in the green pastures before us.

Life gives us "Dead Ends" so we can see beyond them.

The Greater Good

2010-03-12T11:18:00.003-05:00

We never know when we will be called upon to serve the greater good. The interview with Kojo Nnamdi yesterday was an effort to release the good vibrations of Divine intervention between Rev. John McCoy and me.

Thanks for listening, if you were able. If not, the audio is available here, and a description of the interview, here. Please share with your friends and families.

Doing the Right Thing

2010-03-05T10:04:00.003-05:00

During the Holocaust, righteous gentiles were asked why they protected and hid Jews during the war. In spite of the dangers that existed, they all simply stated: “It was the right thing to do.”

Doing the right thing is never simple or easy. When people all around you are not doing the right thing out of fear and self-preservation, the correct choices become cloudy and cumbersome.

Take a look at the tapestry of you life. What would you sacrifice to do the right thing?

==============================================================

Reminder: Please join me today, at 12:30 p.m., at The George Washington University Hospital (900 23rd Street NW, Metro: Foggy Bottom) at a rally to protest my firing in August. I will be speaking, along with several other leaders of the D.C. religious community.

And if you can't make it to the rally (and haven't already done so), please take a moment to sign the petition to GWU Hospital.

This Sunday, March 7, at 4:00 p.m., I will be speaking on a "Faith and Healing" panel at the Partnership for Jewish Life and Learning's Routes event. The event is all-day, at the Washington Convention Center (801 Mount Vernon Place NW, Washington, DC 20001). Click here for a complete list of speakers, and here to register.

Later that evening, at 7:15 p.m., I will be speaking on an interfaith panel, "Developing Understanding Among Abrahamic Faiths: Opportunities for Cooperation in the Local Community," at St. Charles Catholic Church (3304 Washington Blvd., Arlington, Virginia 22201).

Thank you for your continuing support, and I hope to see you today and/or Sunday!

Nothing Less Than Gold/The Fearless Factor

2010-02-19T09:58:00.000-05:00

What does it mean to live fearlessly? We can see in the Olympic athletes a physical fearlessness. They are totally engaged in life in the moment, and their purpose is crystal clear. Can we also live our everyday lives from that place of exquisite focus and inner power?

The activity of being alive can be a triple lutz or a downhill run. Believing in the art of the possible is a spiritual practice. To live for the gold, practice what you believe in.

Rabbi of the Month

2010-02-12T11:15:00.000-05:00

This month, I am JDate magazine's Rabbi of the Month!

Saying Kaddish in a Blizzard

2010-02-12T10:51:00.000-05:00

Yesterday the Washington Post published my reflections on my father's yahrzeit, which was Wednesday, in the middle of the blizzard that engulfed the Washington, D.C., area.

Also, I will be leading shabbat services at Bethesda Jewish Congregation (6601 Bradley Blvd, Bethesda, MD 20817) on Saturday, February 13, at 10:30 a.m., and on Friday, February 20, at 8:00 p.m. I would love to see you there!

Desire is My Organizing Principle

2010-02-05T10:58:00.000-05:00

The Talmud tells us that in the world to come, everyone will be called to account for all the desires they might have fulfilled in this world but chose not to.

Desires are sacred according to the Rabbis. Who put them there if not God herself?

There is no shame in wanting. No limitations to fulfilling our needs.

Desire is a deep expression of life.

Piano Lessons: A Spiritual Asset

2010-01-29T10:57:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I escorted my six-year-old granddaughter and my eight-year-old grandson to their piano lessons at Harmonia in Virginia.

I was nine years old when I began my piano lessons with Miss Dvorak. (I don't remember her name, only the composer that she loved so much.)

For several years, without missing a beat, my beloved piano teacher arrived every Tuesday afternoon to make music with me on our monstrous upright piano. She was the refreshing pause in my week that was regimented with public school, afternoon religious school and trips to visit my sister at the faraway rehabilitation center in Upstate New York.

Playing piano with Miss Dvorak was always a New World Symphony.

Today, while watching my grandchildren take their private piano lessons with the new Miss Dvorak, I heard a spiritual refrain.

Making music alone or with someone is a spiritual asset that is better than a new iPod.

As I watched my grandchildren use their "spider" hands to punctuate every black and white note, I relaxed to replenish my musical reservoir.

"It is time for more piano lessons," I heard Miss Dvorak whisper to me from another world. "Never too late to begin again."