The Olympics
Congregation Bnai Brith, Santa Barbara CA
Friday, August 22, 2008
Like many of you, I have been watching the Olympics.
There is so much to watch, so much to feel, so much to wonder about.
First, of course, through the lens of the television camera, we have the ability to be side by side with these human beings in the moment of their greatest joy, or their greatest heartbreak. And because like them, we too are human beings, we can imagine…and even begin to feel in our own bodies….some of the intense emotion raging through their hearts and minds.
Secondly, there is an element of pure drama…almost like breathing pure oxygen…in the story of each one of these athletes who has been working for his or her whole life, preparing for these three minutes on the balance beam, or these two minutes in the pool, or these ten seconds on the track. Most of us would never dream of investing so much time…literally years…..for the sake of a single fleeting moment. But we can imagine what it might feel like to hear the words “get set” before those ten seconds, or to stand on the winner’s podium hearing the national anthem play…specifically for you, or to realize in a single split second, that we are falling off the balance beam, or tripping on the hurdle…and that the long and deeply cherished dream is over. We are story-telling, story-loving animals, and so we eat up the drama of a lifetime of work pain and sacrifice culminating in a handful of minutes or a few seconds.
Thirdly, while the world of sports is clearly a physical world, of bodies, of muscles, of tendons and joints….it is, even more so, a universe of mind, of heart and soul. Clearly, one does not get to the Olympics without a powerful, well-trained body. But it is equally clear that one does not WIN at the Olympics without an equally powerful, well-trained mind. The announcers talk incessantly about mental toughness, and about nerves…the bad nerves that can ruin a performance, and sometimes about good nerves…about the athlete who says that she LIKES the nerves, likes feeling the rush of adrenalin flooding her brain, because it helps her. How, I keep asking myself, day after day, do they manage the storm waves of fear, of excitement, of pain?
This is, for me at least, the most marvelous aspect of watching the Olympics. There in front of us, we see a theater in which athletes are faced with our universal human task---how to cope, how to triumph over the chaotic thoughts and the stormy emotions racing every minute through our conscious and sub-conscious mind. Not to turn them off completely, but to harness them and direct their energy toward the goal line….for the athlete, the goal is the medal podium. For the rest of us, the goal is a good life.
The patriarch Jacob was one of the first to live this story, wrestling all night long with a man who comes to him out of nowhere, on the night before he is reunited with his old enemy, his brother Esau. Jacob wrestled all night long, says later tradition, with an angel. Maybe there was a physical adversary, but the greatest adversary is the angel, or the demon, within. Wrestling with that adversary is our human task, and it is the religious challenge. At the end of that night, Jacob is changed….he is injured, and he is blessed….and he receives the new name, Israel, which means one who wrestles with God. Jacob wrestled the adversary within….and afterwards he declared “Raiti elohim panim el panim. I have seen God, face to face.”
One of the most heartbreaking moments of these Olympics for me has been watching an American woman diver who froze up on the end of the diving board. The announcer explained that seven years earlier, doing exactly the same dive, an inward dive with several somersaults, she had hit her face on the diving board, shattered her jaw, requiring a massive reconstructive surgery. Here she was in the Olympics, seven years later, having traveled such a long and painful road to arrive at this point, and she was standing on tip toe at the end of the board, standing and standing and standing….much, much, much longer than she should have. Finally, she dove. But she dove badly and her journey was over.
She won no medal, and probably finished pretty far down in the standings. But can you imagine the mental toughness that it takes for her, every time she gets onto the diving board? And especially every time she performs the dive that injured her so terribly? What does she do with the memories? What does she do with her thoughts?
Two thousand years ago, Rabbi ben Zoma offered a series of surprising pronouncements, and his words were preserved in the sacred book called Pirke Avot…sayings of the fathers. “Who is wise?” ben Zoma asked his students. They thought to themselves “we know. the rabbi…the one who everyone comes to learn from.” But he surprised them saying: “Who is truly wise? It is the one who learns from every other person.” Then Ben Zoma asked his students “Who is wealthy?” …and they all thought to themselves, “of course, the person with the biggest house, and the most servants.” But he surprised them again, saying: “Who is truly wealthy? The one who is content with what he has.” And he asked them “Who is a mighty hero?” and they all thought of the strongest, largest, fastest warrior in the region. And ben Zoma said to them “who is a mighty hero? The one who controls his own thoughts and feelings.”
One of the most important books in my library is by a man named Aryeh Kaplan, entitled “Jewish Meditation: A Practical Guide.” In his first chapter, Kaplan defines meditation as follows: “In its most general sense, meditation consists of thinking in a controlled manner. It is deciding exactly how one wishes to direct the mind for a period of time, and then doing it.” “In theory,” Kaplan continues, “this may sound very easy. But in practice it is not. The human mind is not a domesticated animal, but rather seems to have a mind of its own, beyond the will of the thinker.” His entire book, which I recommend as both practical and inspiring, is a presentation in very down to earth language of some old Jewish techniques for learning to control our thoughts and emotions.
When I first came across Kaplan’s book, I had a mixed reaction. I was fascinated by the idea that it might actually be possible to acquire some control over my own mind…which, as he says, felt like a kind of wild, undomesticated, animal. But I also did not want to have too much control. Who wants to become like a robot, or for that matter, a saint…..someone who is always loving and perfect, never ever losing it? I always liked the fact that Moses, our greatest prophet and teacher, sometimes lost control….smashing the tablets, or striking the rock instead of speaking to it….even if it did mean that he didn’t get to go into the Promised Land. And frankly, even God…like Moses, like us….has anger, and sadness, jealousy, love and delight. From the first time I started reading Torah, the God of the Torah reminded me, frankly, of my own parents…whom I both love and revere. The voice of justice, of liberation, and ethics…but a voice full of passion and feeling. And God, like us, struggles with making that passion constructive, not destructive.
Watching Shawn Johnson and Nastia Liukin, an old Jewish song keeps running through my mind. Kol haolam kulo, hasher tzar m’od….v’haikar lo l’fached klal. The entire words is a very narrow bridge, and the only thing is not to be afraid at all.” The words were first spoken by the Hasidic master Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav, and have guided me through some dark and frightening moments. They are kind of mysterious. “Don’t be afraid at all.” OK….how? Does anyone choose fear? Wouldn’t anyone be brave, if they could? Nachman was pointing us toward the truth, which is that we do have some control…maybe just a little, but we can learn more…over our emotions Prayer and meditation are two Jewish paths toward becoming the hero about whom Ben Zoma was talking…the one who controls his own thoughts and feelings.
Aryeh Kaplan’s book is a useful tool, a reasonable place to start if you are interested in the path of Jewish meditation. But it is not the only path. Another…and with this I will close….is one we are all walking this evening, the path of Shabbat. When the Dalai Lama asked to meet with a group of seven rabbis, to learn a bit about Judaism, they spoke to him about Shabbat. He listened, and nodded, and said, “I see. Shabbat is a 24 hour meditation.” He’s right. At the heart of our religion is a once a week, 24 hour long meditation, with the goal of liberating us…from the rat race, from the oppressive lists of things to do, from the computer and from the cell phone.
Most importantly of all, Shabbat is the Torah’s attempt to liberate us …at least for a day…from the pain, the fear, the anxieties and the anger that haunt us. If we let it, Shabbat can be a day of walking easily down the balance beam of life, that very narrow bridge, v’lo l’fached klal….and not being afraid, at all.