Lifting the Veil: Rabbi Adam Jacobs

Calm. Committed. Unpretentious. Clarity. These are words that come to mind when I think of Adam Jacobs. Are these qualities simple aspirations? We look everywhere: where is the calm? What does it mean to be truly committed? Who can speak and write about profound ideas without pretension, without sounding overly complicated? Everywhere is gray confusion; Adam is able to lift the veil a little and we can see the world more clearly.

This is what I wrote for the brochure for the Ninth Annual Aish HaTorah Gala which took place at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in Manhattan on November 17th 2016. Adam Jacobs, who was honoured there that night, teaches at Aish, directs the centre on the upper west side, and writes beautifully nuanced and clear thinking articles about Judaism, spirituality and modern life for the Huffington Post.  His uplifting, intellectually compelling, and positive essays explore the ancient classic texts and Jewish ideas and how they might apply to our lives today.

In one essay he writes about Helen Keller’s breakthrough moment when she moves from a world of frustration and disconnection to one of connection and understanding. He quotes Helen Keller:

“As the cool stream gushed over one hand she [my teacher, Ann Sullivan] spelled into the other the word water, first slowly then rapidly. I stood still, my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten — the thrill of a returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that ‘w-a-t-e-r’ meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free!”

Adam goes on to write, that “[t]he word Kabbalah is often misinterpreted to mean ‘reception’ — implying a body of mystical information delivered from on high to those equipped to receive… The term [is actually] derived from the word makbilot, meaning ‘correspondence.’

When we build a conceptual correspondence,” Adam writes, “we create a tool by means of which we can understand reality with increased acuity. When a child makes the conceptual leap that a particular sound corresponds to a particular object, that child opens a door that allows it to enter a world of greater meaning…

The Kabbalists envisioned a future time in which the world would be so dark that we wouldn’t even know how blind we were. Could we be there now? What would you give to experience the same degree of illumination that Helen Keller had the day that she climbed out of her dark world, into the light?”

Many of his pieces can be found in his book, The Forgotten Light. You can buy it here.

You Say You Want a Revolution, Well, You Know….

My father, the poetry lover, the intellectual; my father, who immersed himself in the Civil Rights Movement when he was a young man, had this to say in an email to me today about Les Soulevements exhibit at the Jeu de Paume in Paris:

“Meanwhile, we’re enjoying Paris. We’re on the left bank, and it feels very familiar.  We went out to dinner last night with Anne, and saw an exhibition at the Jeu de Paume today about ‘les soulevements’ — ‘the risings,’ a poetic way of talking about revolution.  Lots of marvelous images in the exhibit, but way too ‘poetique pour moi’ and tres intellectual.  The French just love the idea of revolution.  Isn’t revolution great, was the theme. Oy. Missed the whole dark underside. Glad I saw it, anyway.”

Thoughtful and funny. Non? Has a certain American je ne sais quoi. Then I listened to and watched this:

Revolution

You say you want a revolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me that it’s evolution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
But when you talk about destruction
Don’t you know that you can count me out
Don’t you know it’s gonna be
All right, all right, all right
You say you got a real solution
Well, you know
We’d all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution
Well, you know
We’re doing what we can
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell is brother you have to wait
Don’t you know it’s gonna be
All right, all right, all right
You say you’ll change the constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change your head
You tell me it’s the institution
Well, you know
You better free you mind instead
But if you go carrying pictures of chairman Mao
You ain’t going to make it with anyone anyhow
Don’t you know it’s gonna be
All right, all right, all right
All right, all right, all right
All right, all right, all right
All right, all right

— John Lennon (The Beatles)

Reading Yehoshua November

ocean-park-122-yellow

Reading Yehoshua November’s Two Worlds Exist, just out from Orison Books. Each poem quiet, packed with an ethereal power; a dramatic reticence is at work here: ideas filter into the poems from another world. Such empathy without condescension, such comfort without sentimentality, such spareness filled with more than the longest poems hold. A faith in each word, in each image, each abstraction, in the lineation, the sounds, the white space. These aspects of the poem, and the confidence in them, do the work. So the poet can step back and let truths filter in, giving the reader the boundaries, safety, a quiet space in which to be moved and to learn.

The Bike

You need to get out more,
to exercise and get fresh air
,
the doctors told my cousin
after his son drowned
in a terrible accident.
So he started biking wherever he had to go,
but it didn’t help.

When I visited his city,
he rode his bike to my hotel.
Later, I watched him turn the corner
and wave goodbye.
I watched until I could no longer see his form–
beard, black pants, white shirt–
bent forward, peddling
his son’s old bike
into the long summer evening.

[painting by Mark Rothko]