Posts Tagged ‘music’

The Jewish Secret of Attracting Abundance

Tuesday, November 13th, 2012

by Sam Glaser

My wife buys the smallest packages of food in order to conserve space in our three-shelf pantry. When I open it on any given morning and find one of those 10oz. boxes of Cheerios I cringe and dream of a time when we can shop at Costco. Furthermore, I insist on having a plethora of cereal options so that I can mix and match my breakfast. She retaliates by buying the mini jars of peanut butter. I get the same grief when it comes to my closet full of clothes. She argues that I have more than she does and calls me a pack rat. I respond that I like lots of choices and see no reason to throw my old favorites away, as long as they still fit. So too with my CD collection, the gear in my music studio, my library. Am I too attached to material things? Yes. But I prefer to give my obsession another name.

Shefa. Shefa is one of my favorite Hebrew words. It means abundance, and it’s something to which all of us aspire. On the most basic level it’s having plenty of money in your bank account. For our family, after our household expenses and day school tuition, this “plenty” is highly variable. I think my array of cereal and t-shirt choices is a subconscious attempt to live in that world of shefa, for at least some of my day. Another way we add shefa into our lives is by celebrating Shabbat in grand style. We get tremendous pleasure out of entertaining guests. Even though it’s expensive to buy all the food and my wife works so hard to make a delicious and beautifully presented meal, one day a week we reign as the monarchs of Livonia Avenue.

I resonate with the idea of living large. I love my king size bed, skiing big mountains, eating overstuffed burritos. I sit in an enormous relax-the-back chair in my studio; I love epic movies on big screens and all-day-long music festivals. Big things give me big joy. I recognize that this conspicuous consumption flies in the face of politicalcorrectness. We live at a time when conscientious Americans are trying to reduce our carbon footprints, bringing canvas bags to the supermarket, driving hybrids and recycling. I’m not suggesting that we abandon these astute practices, God forbid! I am suggesting that we distinguish between minimizing our consumption and maximizing our joy.

Some feel that invoking shefa to accumulate wealth is at odds with Judaism or a liberal agenda. The fact is that all of our patriarchs and matriarchs were loaded. Their illustrious stories are enshrined in our national consciousness to teach that financial abundance isn’t just tolerated, it’s encouraged! The single caveat is that one must remain a mensch (kind-hearted person.) When Abraham left Egypt with the trappings of wealth he took care that his vast flocks didn’t graze on anyone else’s property. Isaac managed his holdings with a low profile and when neighbors maliciously tampered with his wells he reached out with overtures of peace. When Jacob made his fortune he radically transitioned from hardened businessman into the spiritual father of the Jewish People.

Kabbalah describes a higher meaning of shefa: our God is essentially GOOD, and created the universe to extend His/Her good in every direction. Shefa isn’t just material abundance; it refers to the FLOW of God’s beneficence in every form. Imagine a brilliant beam emanating from a spotlight towards a performer on stage. This is like the divine light highlighting all creation. Spotlight operators have the choice of filters to dim the light all the way down to near darkness. What most self-help books and seminars attempt to show us is that we are in control of these filters and can open or close our personal flow, based on our actions and attitudes.

I chose to write about shefa this month because I feel that we tend to self-limit our own shefa, the flow of God’s light in our lives. We allow global economic woes to diminish our outlook, feel beaten down at work, have less time to do the things we enjoy, feel hopeless trying to pay stacks of bills with shrinking salaries, feel helpless dealing with health issues. Life is scary. Living in fear takes us out of the flow of shefa. The million-dollar question is how can we attract blessing in our income, health and happiness?  Thankfully, for the Jewish people, there are very specific ways to master the law of attraction.

Our crowning quality as human beings is our freedom of choice. God created a world where we must choose constantly, where our own micro universes are manifestations of our daily choices. God implores us to “choose life,” to arm ourselves with the information of exactly what is life and what is death and to choose appropriately. Just like we might obsess over which new HD3DTV to purchase on Black Friday, in order to get into a place of divine flow we must we investigate our spiritual choices and then commit to a path.

Our most fundamental choice is whether or not we choose to have God in our lives. Choosing God requires that we create the space for a relationship and connect on a regular basis. You wouldn’t call a once a year Facebook post a great relationship. That’s right, we need more than just the High Holidays to “go with the flow.” Relationship building in Judaism is a two way street: we have to pray with passion and we have to study God’s Torah to hear God’s voice in return. Any deep relationship has the important prerequisite of humility. With the same stubbornness that I will drive around lost rather than ask for directions, I often forget that God is here to help me and bring bounty in my life. The Kotzker Rebbe says, “Where is God? Wherever you let God in.” Get your ego in check, open your heart and simply ask for guidance and sustenance. This is the magic of prayer. To get on the E-ticket ride on this Heavenly wave, all we have to do is ASK for it.

Another aspect of bringing shefa into our lives is in fashioning vessels that can handle ever-increasing blessing. A sixteen-year-old praying for a red Ferrari most likely is not ready for such a vehicle. The answer to his prayer, regardless of how earnestly he asks, is likely going to be NO. Too much shefa can destroy us. Over our lifetime God gives us challenges to see how much shefa we are ready for. The tests we get on a daily basis are here to build us into people who can deal with greater gifts. Only God really knows how much we can handle, even better than we know ourselves. Of course, random acts of loving-kindness are shefa“magnets”; if we prove that we know how to do the right thing in any situation, clearly God can trust us with abundance. God aches to give us more, but we have to CHOOSE the relationship, we have to ASK for what we want and we have to BUILD ourselves into individuals who can handle abundance.

At a conference at which I was performing a few years ago I met a Chassidic maple syrup farmer named Shmuel Simenowitz. He lectures on the subject of eco-farming, getting back to the land and working with one’s hands. One thing he warned of however, is knowing when to be thrifty and when to aim for abundance. We must tread lightly on our planet, but with God we have to live LARGE and ask for the moon. He brought with him a diminutive, two-handled cup for the ritual washing of the hands. He explained that it was given to him by a Jewish ecological organization to minimize the water used in the hand washing ceremony. In no uncertain terms Reb Shmuel lambasted this assault at shefa. Indeed, we bring abundance into our lives when we wash with a lot of water! In other words, don’t hold back with your mitzvot. Do them with alacrity and dedication. Give big charity, make loud blessings over your food, learn Torah with fervor. Take shorter showers but pour it on when you wash.

My regular readers know that I’m a big advocate of halacha, or Jewish law. Halacha has at its root the word “pathway” or how one walks. Halacha may seem formfitting but it is truly a unique channel for each individual. It serves to orient our neshamot (souls) on a step by step ascent towards that spiritual beam of light. Halacha gives us the ability to know the choices at hand and to choose wisely. This is true “informed choice.” Halacha teaches us how to walk humbly before our Creator. It gives us a daily workout of our spiritual muscles in the form of prayer and blessings, even when we don’t feel like working out. It doesn’t turn us into robots; it molds us into the best individuals that we can possibly be, the most refined version of ourselves, the ideal receptacles for God’s blessings. Just like planets and atoms have orbits, animals have instincts and trees know which way is up, so too do we human beings have a divine pathway.

One issue that I’m sure is not unique to the Jewish people is that we often let our tightly defined denominations limit us rather than allow us to bask in the rays of unadulterated shefa. We tend to deem those less observant than we are as heretics and more observant as fanatics. When I grew up in the Conservative movement, I somehow thought that the laws of kashrut were only for the rabbi. I often hear my Reform friends say “well, as a Reform Jew I don’t have to ________” (fill in the blank with whatever mitzvah is deemed too difficult.) Some Modern Orthodox Jews scoff at their “backwards” Haredi neighbors who are simply trying to be earnest in their divine service. My point is that we are all on a personal growth continuum

and should use our Jewish institutions to enhance our connection rather than provide a glass ceiling to our growth. My friend David Suissa comments that in religious life we decide, “that’s not what I do” and then defend that stance religiously! We argue: why try a mitzvah one time if it makes us a “hypocrite” for not sticking with it? As Jews, our access to shefa is closely aligned with the mitzvot that we take on. Take a chance! Be a hypocrite once in a while. Suissa quotes Rabbi Shlomo Schwartz as saying “God counts only the mitzvahs you do, not the ones you don’t.”

Another point of blockage to that loving beam of spiritual light is our own feelings of inferiority. Often we feel like we are not deserving. We can be our own worst enemy. We label ourselves “bad Jews” and sinners and become paralyzed with depression and doubt. There is no such thing as a perfect person. Proverbs tell us that a righteous person falls seven times. But he or she gets back up! Dust yourself off, pound your chest, start a new day and get over it! God created teshuva (return to a spiritual path) before creating the world. God is infinite and therefore infinitely forgiving. God has such tremendous gifts in store for all of us. If we can just get out of our own way.

My wife loves me so much. A few months after the cereal argument she told me that she realizes that having great variety is an important ingredient in my personal quest for shefa. Now she not only provides it lovingly, she actively shops for the brands I like. The boxes are still small, however. Our relationship with our Creator is much like a marriage: success is based on knowing what makes your partner tick, expressing heartfelt gratitude, being sensitive to what makes the relationship flow and rectifying what doesn’t. God is continuously showering us with shefa, in the form of the breath we take, our insight, relationships, awareness and inner peace. And of course, in wearing a favorite outfit, getting that perfect gig and blue-sky powder days on the slopes.

The Art of Letting Go

Thursday, July 26th, 2012

by Sam Glaser

I’d like to share a revelation that I had during a camping trip in awe-inspiring Kings Canyon, CA last week.  I spent much of Shabbat afternoon by a wild river. There’s not much else you can do at a campsite with a small eruv around the tents on a long, hot summer day. Over the course of several miles the rushing water warms from a numbing glacial chill to a balmy 75 degrees. A few dear friends and I walked among the rocks, found perfect places to dip our feet and occasionally submerge to cool off. After a few lazy hours we felt at one with the flow, relaxed and open. During these rare moments of peace I try to ask the deep, dark questions that rarely see daylight. My new friend Frank was on hand to help me with one quandary that had been nagging me.

Rambam tells us that it is cruel to face adversity and not ask why such a thing might be happening. I had pulled a muscle in my calf a few weeks earlier while skateboarding with my son. We were watching the pros at the X Games and then doing some freestyle ourselves. It finally got better and then I managed to re-injure it on a Kings Canyon hike, just when I reached full mobility. Oy…another two weeks of limping? So why now, why my calf, and why the re-injury? Frank believes that revisiting the same affliction helps one recognize that he or she didn’t learn the lesson the first time. I never thought much about my calf strain…these things “just happen” when you over extend, right?

One thing that’s been on my mind is the imminent departure of my oldest son who is now a senior in high school. My wife and I are awakening to the fact that the next family vacation will be the last with all of us together, at least for a while. Soon there will be a missing person at our dinner table. And then another kid will join him, then another. We are hearing the footsteps of Empty Nest Syndrome, and my reaction is to greedily hold on to each moment. I’m shooting more pictures than ever, trying to pack in memorable activities, filling my son’s head with words of guidance, boosting confidence and issuing warnings. Simultaneously I am grappling for traction in a topsy-turvy economy where music is often the first line item cut from disappearing budgets and downloads prevail. I’m learning that my reaction to all these issues is really the same: hold on for dear life, hoard my assets, maintain status quo, wear a convincing smile.

As I expressed these insights I told Frank, “I’m

trying to hold onto my kids just like I’m trying to hold onto this water.” As I reached into the river for handfuls of water it just escaped through the cracks in my fingers and continued on its inevitable descent. I sobbed tears of sadness and relief as I acknowledged this bittersweet pain that I have been carrying inside.

When we feel the need to grab so much we send a message to the Universe: I don’t have what I need, I’m living in fear, and I’m desperate. Holding on creates tension; imagine a fist clenched tightly closed, a contorted bronze sculpture calcified in a defensive, protective pose. That’s me. Where there is no movement there is no grace, no flexibility. Our sages teach us to be supple like the river reed. A dry, brittle twig will break under pressure. Stay liquid, stay open, and stay available. Just like that river flows effortlessly towards Fresno, I must be at peace with change to allow the Divine flow to nurture me.

I’m not sure why that gastrocnemius muscle is called a calf, but we can learn a lot from the mention of the calf in our text, specifically the golden variety. Frank and I discussed the biblical scene of an entire people losing faith in their leader, panicking, creating a replacement deity. Do you see the connection? Panic, anxiety and melancholy cripple one’s faith. Even the afterglow of Divine revelation at Sinai wasn’t enough to keep the Jewish People connected. How much more so do we fall in this generation when current circumstances conspire to annihilate our faith. Bottom line: I am a man of faith who has no faith. I run around the country to fifty cities a year singing songs of love for God and yet my personal faith in

God’s ability to sustain me and keep my family together is crumbling. Rather than serving as an example of holiness and living at peace with the Universe, open to whatever God has in store, I am a frightened child trying to protect all my toys from the neighborhood bully.

My kids will spend a year in Israel, go to college, marry and propagate the species, God willing! That’s what we want! As parents we are archers, pulling back the bow with all our strength and launching our beloved offspring into the fray, using the best aim we can muster. Then they are flying. Separate from us. Leaving us. They will follow their own voice, make their mark on the world, stand on their own two feet. Hopefully they are standing on our proverbial shoulders, with as expansive a view as we can provide. To try to stop the process is like trying to dam up a rushing river. You can try to pile up stones in a Sisyphean rage…or just let the water do what it’s going to do anyway.

In my career, I will continue to have challenges and they will force me to innovate, create partnerships and grow. Why is it that I can counsel friends with clarity, seeing the rich horizons that lay just beyond, and for myself I see darkness? One of my buddies on the camping trip is an actor and yoga instructor. He is 37 years old and says he can’t marry his girlfriend until he has a stable income. Did I mention that he’s an actor and yoga instructor? God wants us happily married! The flow will come! Of course God will continue to look out for my family! Of course I will succeed! Like everyone else, God has given me a unique set of gifts, a piece of the global puzzle that only I possess. God has a purpose for me. I have to make the effort, but I must remember that God will finish the task. Trying to do it all is the act of a pagan. I have God on my team!

One of our nights in the campground we went to the ranger led astronomy lecture. We were astounded to learn of the vastness of space, the size of the great celestial bodies, the mind-stretching distances in the universe. Our sun is just one of over 200 BILLION stars in our Milky Way galaxy, and the Milky Way is just one of over an estimated billion galaxies. For all of our human accomplishments we still haven’t set foot on a single planet in our own quaint solar system. Around the campfire we were marveling that the same God that brought about the Big Bang lovingly created our brains and bodies. God creates new suns in explosive supernovae and still “sheps nachas” when I wrap my tefillin.

After the lecture Ranger Bob brought us to a clearing in the forest where we could peer into the pitch-black new moon sky with a sixteen-inch mirror telescope. My friends, I saw a global cluster, the Whirlpool Galaxy and “eye of God” Ring Nebula with my own eyes! All of these celestial bodies have a specific place in the universe, predictable orbits that they follow, so reliable that we can use their light to steer our ships through the night. All of creation is on a path, with atoms in ordered arrays, electrons and protons spinning around nuclei, trees arching towards the sun, ants marching in single file, pelicans drafting off each other’s wingtips. Why should I dread any aspect of my own path, my lifecycle? Thankfully the Jewish People have been given the gift of a long and winding road of 613 mitzvot, in a system called Halacha, the path. Jewish law can be seen as oppressive and burdensome, or as a collection of helpful spiritual signposts to keep us joyful and inspired on the annual orbit of the Jewish year.

When I am resisting change and anxious about the future, I lose the Divine flow and close myself off to perceiving the path of peace. Judaism has

amazing tools to stay on track but I can testify that it is possible to live within halacha and become a robot. I think the key is focusing on filling our lives with kindness to others and gratitude to our Creator. I am grateful for the time God has allotted me to be with my children. I am grateful for vacations and National Parks. I am grateful for stars, rivers and friends. I am grateful for the air that I breathe. I am grateful for my wife, my children, my parents, my extended family. I am grateful to be Jewish. I am grateful for skateboards, skis, guitars and gravity. I am grateful for challenges to overcome. I pray that all of us learn the art of letting go, prying open our hearts to the messages of Heaven and finding our true path. Thanks to a river, a telescope and a new friend, I am a bit closer to finding my own.

United We Stand

Thursday, May 3rd, 2012

by Sam Glaser

My cherished custom every time I land in Florida is to head straight to the beach and jump in the glassy, warm water. The shock of the Pacific chill is absent…no wetsuit required…and the white sand unfolds to the North for hundreds of miles. Upon arriving on this last trip with my fellow Jewish singer and good buddy Todd Herzog, we dropped our bags at the beachfront hotel and davened a peaceful mincha (afternoon prayer) before jumping into the shallow blue-green playground. As we pondered the pelicans and sandpipers, Todd asked me some penetrating questions about why one would want to say the same exact words three times a day. He was curious what I get out of it. Am I was focusing on just getting the words out or am I actually thinking about meanings? Where do I add my own thoughts? And what happens on Shabbat when we stop making requests from God…what am I praying for then?

This conversation got me thinking about why I am so obsessed about getting in my thrice-daily conversation with our Creator. Is it all hot air? Does God hear me? Is it for God or me? Why do the words have to be just right? Have I been brainwashed? Isn’t repeating the same behavior while expecting a different result the definition of insanity? I know…lots of questions. My first answer is that prayer keeps my God-focus intact. It exercises a spiritual muscle that grows stronger with each repetition. Just like a marathon runner would never start a race without training, saying the Amidah (standing prayer) three times a day keeps me spiritually limber. Using that same analogy, for someone just starting out, I never recommend they try to tackle the whole siddur. Bite size chunks, little by little, adding a few miles a day makes the runner a success rather than a crash and burn heretic. I don’t wait for inspiration to pray that may or may not come. I would argue that davening regularly makes God your best friend, your teammate that you train with daily. It makes the elusive “I-Thou” bond palpable.

The next obvious question is “why repeat these exact words?  How about prayer from the heart?” Over the past twenty years I have found that respecting Jewish tradition is a safe road. Generations of righteous people have rallied around these specific paragraphs for millennia and I believe that they have served as a key to our unique and unprecedented survival. The Men of the Great Assembly codified our central prayer nearly 2500 years ago…and it was clearly already in use when they did so. Among their ranks were several sages of prophetic stature. They boiled down God’s will for the Jewish People in eighteen (later nineteen) crucial categories. When we repeat this menu of our deepest needs, we enact our partnership with God in bringing them to fruition. So central is this prayer to our existence that it is simply referred to as tefila (THE prayer) when discussed in the Talmud. The Sh’ma and psalms are important, but the Amidah is IT. I think Rashi says it best when he explains that l’hitpalel, or to pray, means to dream or think ultimate thoughts. We utter nineteen dreams for humanity and those dreams become part of us, defining our aspirations and clarifying our service to God.

When my brother and I were getting more involved in our heritage we made a pact with each other that we call “Holocaust Proofing.” Interestingly, we both came up with this practice on our own and then shared it with one another. The idea is that the structure of the siddur is set up for memorization due to the repetitive nature of the prayer experience. Over the years, with minimal effort we were able to internalize the morning, afternoon and evening prayers so that if we were to find ourselves without a prayer book or, God forbid, in an adverse situation, we would always have these crucial words on our lips. In my personal practice I pray without a book every other time so that I don’t lose the accumulated knowledge. One of the keys to this technique is mouthing the words silently, a custom that we learn from our prophetess Hannah when she so ardently prayed for a child. Just scanning the words doesn’t seem to be as effective as quietly pronouncing every last one.

A friend who was recently divorced was appalled that the rabbi writing her Get (divorce document) didn’t have a special kavanah (spiritual intent) as he wrote the letters with careful calligraphy. She kept asking him to try to infuse the document with spiritual meaning and passion and the frustrated rabbi could only reply, “my kavanah is that I’m writing a Get, period!” Sometimes my emotional connection in prayer isn’t so passionate. It’s the exercise that counts. Rabbi Natan Lopez Cardozo states that simply saying the words, even if you are thinking about the stock market, is still a remarkable triumph. Indeed, taking time out from one’s busy schedule to stand with God is a profound step that cannot be underestimated. I find that my personal Amidah is on a continuum, from awe-inspiring, tear filled revelation to squeezing in a quick mincha hiding behind a Christmas tree in an airport. I’m convinced that those radical moments of sublime unity wouldn’t happen if I didn’t subscribe to the “Just Do It” day-to-day practice.

For me, the key is to make each prayer session personal and real. I realize that most minyanim don’t allow slow nurturing of each syllable but I still insist that the key is in living the words. My rabbi Moshe Cohen says the first paragraph of the Amidah is the web address. If you misspell Appel.com you are going to get some random website. Or worse. Ifgod.com there’s any place that you want to deeply focus and use the formulaic words of the millennia, this is it.

 

Even this single minute of concentration is hard to achieve when your head is filled with worry and deadlines. That’s why we start with a sentence asking God to open our mouths for us; we have to supersede our human limitations to enter the realm of the spirit. A crucial place to pause is the prayer for healing, refa-eynu. The Amidah is written in the plural…it’s not all about you! This paragraph is a perfect place to take a break and earnestly say the names of those who are in need of healing of the body and spirit. I try to make sure I’m focused on Jerusalem during the prayer for the holy city…it’s not enough that I’m facing East; I try to envision a vortex of holiness at the site of the Temple spreading all the way to Los Angeles. During Shma Koleynu I insert anything I’m dealing with at the time, in my own words, silently speaking in plain English exactly what I want and need. Then I make sure that my Modim (thank you) is real, that thanks is pouring out of me like a grateful defendant who just received a positive verdict.

Todd’s last issue concerns how to navigate the personal prayers on Shabbat. The middle thirteen blessings with personal petitions are not part of the Sabbath liturgy. This omission heightens our sensitivity to the glory of the day, since we are tasting “Olam Habah,” a realm where all our needs are met. Crying about our needs can create a sense of lack and potential bitterness, clearly counterproductive in our attempt to establish a sacred island in time. We certainly are allowed to pray for our spiritual needs and for communal imperatives like healing and peace. Our sages recognize that praying for a soul mate is a spiritual need. A good question is what happens for those who only pray on Shabbat…when do they get to ask for their personal needs if not on Shabbat when they do show up to the synagogue?

As I first started praying regularly and respecting Shabbat my main battle was consistency, “walking the talk.”  The beauty of the Amidah is that it helps to unify our inner and outer essence and keep us on a divine pathway. Clearly, success in prayer happens when we are honest in our personal reflection, baring all to our God that perceives all. Tefilah and Tofel, or secondary, have the same root, teaching us that part of the foundation of prayer is making oneself secondary to our Creator. It re-establishes our servitude to a Higher Power; we shouldn’t be cowardly, but humble, making God’s will our will. I have found that this powerful prayer forces me to constantly reassess my personal will with divine will and when in doubt, to err on the side of holiness.

Since the powerful spiritual practice of reciting the Amidah requires engaging and understanding the Hebrew text, it’s important to find a good siddur. The book I prefer is the new Artscroll’s Interlinearsiddur since it has the English printed in a clever way under each word. In fact, I think that it’s intellectually dishonest for a non-fluent Hebrew speaker to use anything else now that this amazing tool is available. It also has the prayer “aerobics” instructions for when to stand, bow and say amen.

In the words of MC Hammer, “We got to pray just to make it today.” Prayer affects worlds beyond our grasp. It connects, corrects, consoles, propels, heals and inspires. With the weight of the world on our shoulders we can opt for fight or flight. As the People of the Book and the Children of Israel, we have at our root a connection to the collective wisdom and strength of the past and a penchant to get into the ring. Yisrael means to struggle with God and man. And win! The Amidah is one of the best tools to unite us as a nation, and when we stand together anything is possible.

 

The Family Portrait

Wednesday, February 1st, 2012

By Sam Glaser

I was mortified by the videos of Charedim taunting school-children in Beit Shemesh. I didn’t see them until I was asked to participate in the recording of a new song composed as a response of US Jewry. I immediately watched the plethora of YouTube versions of the incidents and had a visceral reaction of nausea. I had to ask myself: obviously this is horrible but why is this having such a profound impact on me?

This tragedy helped me realize that my dedication to bringing Jews together is more than skin deep. My parents made unity an essential part of my upbringing and clearly it has played a central role in my career choice. Situations that divide us as a people undo something fundamental within me. Also, becoming observant over the course of my life has given me deep respect for rabbinic authority and the realm of Charedim. I am sickened by news reports of corrupt Orthodox rabbis trafficking human organs or covering up child abuse. But that’s criminal greed and depravity behind the scenes, and depraved individuals infect every culture. There’s something uniquely damaging in blatant, public hatred for fellow Jews. Spitting on children? Throwing rocks? Disrupting school? This is my people? What can we do?

While discussing my feelings with my wise wife she directed my attention to our family portrait shot at a recent reunion. She recommended that I analyze our unique clan and expound on the differences that exist while we manage to remain a core unit of love and compassion. I have to give her credit for reminding me that if we can all get along in our microcosm, perhaps there is hope for our diverse people.

Allow me to take you on a tour of adults seated in this sweet portrait, from oldest to youngest. My dad, seated on the couch, is looking somewhat haggard thanks to the 15 grandchildren that invaded his peaceful Pacific Palisades home for the week of Sukkot.   He was raised in a WWII-era Bronx family that moved in LA while he was a teenager. He went to LA High, rebelled and joined the army instead of going to college and then took over a division of his dad’s garment company. He went from his Orthodox upbringing to eventually join one of the largest Conservative synagogues in LA, Sinai Temple, the congregation in which I grew up. Nowadays he regularly leins the Torah for his local Chabad and actively engages in the passion of his retirement years: studying and teaching Jewish history.

Next to him with a baby on her lap is my beloved mom who was able to cook for this whole crew and still keep a smile on her face. She grew up in a staunch left wing Reform household in Sacramento. Her dad, Bill Berman, blew the shofar in their temple on Rosh Hashana, led epic seders for all of us happy grandkids and her mom founded the local Hadassah chapter. Thanks to her love of Israeli folk dancing and handsome Israeli men, we had a continuous stream of sabras in our home. These contacts provided us with scores of Israeli friends to visit on our frequent trips to the Holy Land and a comfort level with folk dancing that would get us through many an Oneg Shabbat. Thanks to the influence of her sons, my mom became a founding member of her Chabad and her famously open home is one of the few in the area in which the kashrut is trusted.

Next comes me and my wife Shira. We both came from an observance-free singlehood knowing that eventually we wanted community in our lives. We fell in love with a neighborhood that came to life each Shabbat and where family life was the rule rather than the beachside exception. Our children are a spicy mix of my Romanian and Lithuanian background and her Italian and Argentine roots, worldly, Modern Orthodox and hip. My brother Aharon, seated on the far left, is a powerful rabbi influenced by the teachings of Rabbi Nachman of Breslav. He and his wife Chava Dena excel in Jewish outreach to twenty-something singles near Toronto, where they live with their two young daughters. He is living proof that you can have s’micha and still wear jeans.

Next brother, on the far right, is Yom Tov. I guess it’s appropriate that he’s sitting on the far right. He’s the frumest person I have ever met, other than his wife Leah, and yet he insists to me that he’s not frum. He is raising his eight amazing kids near Mea Shearim in Jerusalem and has dedicated his life to loving the Jewish people with Torah and song. If Charedim ever needed a poster child it’s right now; and I elect my brother. Finally, my youngest brother Joey and his wife Jen are raising their two boys (and another on the way!) in San Diego. These rambunctious guys are a potent mix of Glaser/Berman genes and Jennifer’s Dutch and Indonesian beauty. Their kids attend a Reform Hebrew school and they belong to both Reform and Conservative synagogues. They have a beautiful Shabbat ceremony in their home every Friday night, have an epic Sukkah in their lush suburban backyard and serve as role models to their fortunate friends.

I’m sharing this gory detail to point out that in spite of our many differences we find common ground and celebrate our love for one another. Yes, there are frustrating moments like dealing with degrees of kashrut on Pesach and accepted sleeve length. Certain cousins hug the opposite sex, others can’t be touched. We have to negotiate how to attend extended family simchas when they fall on Shabbat but we ALWAYS go. The cousins may come from three countries and dress differently but perceive they are one family. Jennifer told me that her kids went into mourning when their Chassidic cousins returned to Israel. We know that together we are strong and we need desperately each other and we have far more in common than those details that divide us. Sound familiar? This is the story of the Jewish people. We are like five fingers on one hand.

My dad has had a recurring mantra throughout his life. He wants his four boys to get along. Any time we are bickering or if any of us is in need, my dad gets on the phone and prods us to call and check in with the relevant brother. He is a fan of intervention and has taught us the value of facing issues and not sweeping our pain under the rug. I intuit that God feels the same way with God’s own children. Our internal strife as a people creates disunity in the heavens. Want to make God happy? Get God’s chosen people on the same page, not just tolerating each other but looking out for and loving one another.

Back to Beit Shemesh, the answer, I believe has to come from responding to radical hatred with radical love for all Jews. We have to redouble our efforts to find common ground, to expose our unity in YouTube videos highlighting our cooperation. The overwhelming majority of Charedim are peace loving and tolerant and they must be first in line to fill the airwaves with their outrage and protest in the streets. More than ever, they need to leave their cocoons and hit the streets looking for relationships with those less religious. My family thrives even amidst our myriad theological conflicts. Spending time together forces biases and stereotypes on the table, requiring that we find solutions to survive. The problems start when we are only functioning in isolation from one another. Imagine the kiddush Hashem (sanctification of God’s Name) if the response to this current media-fueled debacle becomes a worldwide campaign for reconciliation between our various movements.

Clearly, healing for the Beit Shemesh community must begin

with the punishment of the perpetrators of this desecration. They cannot continue to abuse the system and avoid the consequences of the ripple effect of their insensitivity. One of the basic seven laws of humanity is to set up a system of courts and uphold justice. Israeli police cannot tiptoe around the offenders for fear of Charedi riots. There must be teeth in the punishment of hate crimes for us to hold up our heads up as a Light unto Nations. As the Midrash says, ”Whoever is kind to the cruel will end up being cruel to the kind.” Rabbi Yitzchak Schochet of the UK stated, “We must be intolerant in order to defend tolerance, or unkind in order to defend kindness, or hateful in order to defend what we love. Such ‘acts of terror’ have no place in any democratic society, let alone a Jewish State, whose “ways are kind ways, and all her paths are peace.”

Mirroring the diversity of Jewish people, the Glaser family is a diverse tapestry of colorful personalities. The backside of any tapestry is a chaotic series of clashing threads and knots. The media, in its effort to be newsworthy and controversial, directs our gaze at the knots of life. Our job as a people is to focus our attention on the heavenly view of the tapestry, on the smoothly presented work of art that is our national destiny. There must be recrimination for those who choose to destroy our work of art.   But at the same time we can make it our personal responsibility to tie more knots, weave more patterns and repair the rent masterpiece.

It is not by coincidence that the code of Jewish law that guides Jewish lives is called the Shulchan Aruch, the set table. Our golden path, halacha, can resemble a sumptuous banquet that would make anyone salivate, whetting their appetite for more. A true tzadik has magnetism and warmth, a harmonious, peaceful neshama where the inside is at parity with the outside. Righteousness is not determined by wearing long black coats, beards and peyot. Let our generation be known as master chefs, those who create a heaven on earth, a feast of life grounded in tradition and filled with love and compassion. This is the Judaism that is in our grasp. This is the Judaism that is beyond denominations. Let us become the role models that will inspire our children and children’s children. God can handle affronts to God. Our job on earth is to look out for each other.


NewCAJE OutRAJE

Wednesday, August 24th, 2011
 

by Sam Glaser

I recently returned from the NewCAJE conference, the nascent incarnation of the Coalition for Advancement in Jewish Education.  We gathered at the American Hebrew Academy campus in sunny and steamy Greensboro, NC for five days of celebration, study and connection.  I offered an hour and a half workshop everyday and had

newcajethe rare gift of speaking about spiritual subjects close to my heart to students who were attentive and hungry for the information.  I enjoyed the chance to hear both the veterans in Jewish music perform in addition to sampling the hot, upcoming talent.  I went to amazing lectures, relished in stories from master storytellers and listened in wonderment to a fifty-voice choir that formed over the course of the conference.  And every night, from midnight till 3am, the musician insomniacs gathered in a “kumzitz mafia” jam session of outrageous proportions.

My own concert was on closing night.  I can’t describe the feeling of performing to an audience that already knows every lyric of my songs.  I asked to keep the houselights up so that I could reflect the joy visible on the faces of those whom I’ve grown to love, who have supported me onsamNchicksthis twenty-year odyssey as a Jewish composer. These are the community leaders who have rallied to bring me to their congregations, who cherish my CDs, who share my music with everyone they know.  Many of them met me when I was single and have followed my life through my engagement, marriage and rollercoaster experience as the father of three.  Scarcely a CAJE meal goes by without my having to break out pictures of the family.

It was at my first CAJE in 1992 that I met Debbie Friedman.  I had sung her songs since I was a kid at camp and now I had the chance to share the stage with her.  It just as well could have been Paul McCartney.  Well, almost. That year Julie Silver and I were the new artists debuting on the big USC stage. Just before my set the power went out and I had to sing my new Hineni song for 2000 people a capella. Concert organizers Craig Taubman and Doug Cotler pushed me out on the stage. Later Julie shared her gorgeous Sim Shalom.  I gave out my four-song demo cassette to everyone I met and started samNDebgetting invitations to perform out of town. Amazing! This year NewCAJE gave me a taste of new artists Noah Aronson and Max Jared, among others, about whom I will rave and support in their journeys.

At any given CAJE conference many of the presenters are neophytes in their field. But what other chances will they have to hone their craft in such a loving, forgiving milieu?  Veteran educators like the holy Rav Yosef Liebowitz come every year because CAJE-niks are among his best market for the distance learning that he offers from his home in Israel.  Judaica and booksellers flock to merchandise at the expo, attracted by a captive audience of dedicated Jews who will share the wares with friends back home.  I’m confident that Joel Grishaver wouldn’t have such a flourishing Torah Aura publishing company if not for CAJE, Nancy Katz wouldn’t be covering the country in painted silk and Bruce David’s amazing stained glass wouldn’t grace so many sanctuaries.

Something unique about this conference is its emphasis on pluralism.  Reform, Conservative and Orthodox learn, dine and sing together under one roof.  For most it’s the ONLY time they might witness such harmony and tolerance.  Ethics of the Fathers reminds us that a wise person is one who learns from everyone.  Only at CAJE do I really see this precept in full bloom.  CAJE is nothing less than the potential of a world redeemed. Everyone is a bit uncomfortable and everyone grows.  Girls in short shorts are confronted by the long coated mikvah man.  Orthodox rabbis become unwilling members of a flash mob that breaks out in the dining hall.  It’s easy to say in the comfort of one’s own movement that “we are all in this together.”  But CAJE isn’t the Biennial or OU conference.  It’s a true spiritual coalition, where all the colorful members of the tribe have something to add.

I have performed and taught at this conference some nineteen times.  CAJE has become a benchmark in my year, the start of my post-summer touring season and a good excuse to finish new recordings. Traditionally, upwards of 1500 educators, rabbis, cantors, composers, storytellers and artists meet at a roving series of university campuses for this special week of sharing, learning and song.  Perhaps the most compelling reason samNsingersthat they return is the camaraderie.  There is no price tag one can put on belonging to such an esteemed, generous family.  Tragically, teachers are usually on the low end of the socio-economic totem pole.  The individuals that we empower to bring the newest generations into the fold can barely afford to live in the neighborhoods of the synagogues they serve.  CAJE gives these righteous individuals a chance to stand up and be recognized and appreciated.  It’s renewing, refreshing and rewarding.  Some chastise the organization and say it’s nothing more than Jewish summer camp. But if summer camp is the “great white hope” for our kids, then why can’t the teachers of our students have their moment in the sun?

Now I’m going to get on my soapbox.  In March of 2009 CAJE went bankrupt.  It was half a million dollars in debt and still the international Jewish community let it fail.  True, this was in the aftermath of economic meltdown and Madoff.  Yes, there was too much overhead and they should have screamed louder for help.But for a statistically infinitesimal percentage of the total given to Jewish causes, CAJE could have been revived.  Individual benefactors sponsor operas, wings of University buildings and MRI machines for much more.  Who will take a stand for Jewish education?  Where are our heroes?

NewCAJE emerged out of the ashes last year. Thanks to the gumption of CAJE veterans like Cherie Koller-Fox, the conference is wobbling on new legs.  Recently Cherie was overjoyed that a $9000 matching grant was established. She’s counting on underpaid teachers to come up with funds to keep this dream alive.  My friends, NewCAJE needs $900,000 to make this happen. $9,000?  Oy!  Where are the Jewish Federations of North America?  How about a national Bureau of Jewish Education percentage of funds to this cause?  Most teachers used to have a source of funds from their synagogue or day school for annual enrichment programs.  Professional development is a cost of doing business!  This must be reinstituted so more teachers can attend. Jewish benefactors of universities need to come forward and cover the conference costs at their home institutions.  Giving opportunities for wealthy individuals abound, with naming rights!  For example, subsidizing the young leadership program, college program, new teacher recognition, veteran teacher awards, childcare, evening entertainment, fine arts.

I finished my NewCAJE concert with a rendition of Debbie Friedman’s moving Tfilat Haderech. It’s the very song that I sang with my fellow musicians at her gravesite after everyone else had left the funeral.  It’s the song I chose to sing at the Los Angeles commemoration of her Shloshim.  It will be the only “cover tune” on my next Jewish CD.  I brought with me the brand new instrumental tracks that I had just recorded with my band and set up some high quality stereo mics to record the NewCAJE audience on an endless series of tearful “amens” at the conclusion of the song.  Please listen to the track.  Hear the love shared by this amazing group of teachers.  Hear how much we miss our Debbie.  Hear how much we need and support each other.  Hear how much we need your help to spread the word.  Thanks for listening.

Losing Debbie

Friday, January 28th, 2011

by Sam Glaser

Limmud sounded like a good idea this year.  This revolutionary British organization was celebrating its 30th anniversary and Debbie Friedman and I were among those honored to be invited.  Limmud is the foremost conference worldwide for lay people of all denominations to spend a week engrossed in Torah study and Jewish culture.  Some 2500 Yidden show up annually to the University of Warwick, England during the last week of the year.  The explosive growth of this grass-roots phenomenon has now spread to forty cities worldwide.  I have performed at US, UK and Australian versions of the conference and love the chance to see Jewish unity fully lived rather than merely theoretical.  When Chanukah is “early,” it is generally safe for me to fill the week of Xmas with this conference since my Chanukah tour is over mid-month.

What I didn’t anticipate was the fact that my November and December would be booked to the hilt.  Twenty cities in two months is enough to make any grown man ardently long for his family, bed and favorite toilet.  I had a three-day turnaround in LA after an east coast swing and then I boarded a ten-hour transatlantic flight.  British Airways sold every seat on the 747.  Luck would have it that I was seated next to an oversized filmmaker from Brussels named Michael Goldstein.  Large world, well managed…we hit it off and spoke of the opportunities in Jewish life for hours until he fell asleep on my shoulder.  Needless to say, I arrived exhausted in frozen England the day after a four-day blizzard shut down Heathrow.  An endless array of white patchwork fields spilled into cobalt blue seas as we descended over the United Kingdom.  Once on the ground we had a two hour wait for a two hour bus ride. I took solace in the fact that at least I’d be able to spend some quality time with Debbie.

What made this whirlwind week different from other conferences I’ve done with Debbie was the fact that she didn’t have “handlers.” Usually there are protective, mothering fans that smother her with affection and ensure that she doesn’t overdo it.  This time, Debbie was totally in the mix.  Teaching, singing in the ad hoc choir, performing and hanging out at the inevitable late night jams until the wee hours.  Several nights in a row, literally past three in the morning, insomniac musicians huddled in a circle with a dozen guitars, dumbeks, tambourines and iphone pianos and sang every Jewish, Beatles, Cat Stevens, Stevie Wonder and Carole King song we could think of.  Thanks to the miracle of ubiquitous internet access, anytime we couldn’t remember the lyrics, someone was always ready with a PDA linked to the right words.  Often I am thrust into a leadership role at these kumzitzes in order to manage segues and land in ideal singing keys.  At Limmud, however, the leadership was shared by a dozen songleading masters…sometimes Debbie would start something and then calling the next tune would pass organically to another person.  We enjoyed an unspoken clarity on when the exact time transpired to move onto something new and over a four hour period covered just about every genre known to Western Man.

Debbie GtrDebbie’s last official concert was everything that we fans wanted.  All the hits, the crowd singing at the top of our lungs, tears aplenty at her epic ballads. Her voice was frail but she still hit the notes.  Her humor was spontaneous and spot on and of course her trademark issues with guitar tuning created several classic improvised moments.  Our beloved EJ Cohen was there to interpret both of our shows with her flowing, artful bi-lingual sign language.  Debbie asked that no one video, photograph or facebook about the show.  Just to be present, to be with her.  Of course she sang Misheberach for us and then us for her.  Little did we know.

The next night Debbie came to my concert with a black eye.  She was walking with a tortured gait and had slipped on the ice. Interesting that when it slips below freezing, London Fog turns into icy mist, coating the sidewalks with a treacherous layer of thin ice.  Hearing the British audiences sing along with my songs with a cockney accent was a true highlight.  It’s been said that accent doesn’t carry through in singing.  Wrong again!  After my show I managed to sell nearly all my CDs and then hung out at the mosh pit of a bar scene with the young folks.  I saw Debbie sitting there alone and available.  I promise that this never would have happened at any of the 17 CAJE conferences I did with her.  I sat down on the steps beside her and we spoke of new projects and her tale of woe caring for her ailing mother and the scarcity of gigs.  I didn’t realize that she had moved to Southern California a few months earlier to be close to her ima, and I was happy at the prospect that we might be able to spend some time together.

Over two thousand people enjoyed a star studded closing gala featuring an amazing ad hoc choir assembled over the course of the week.  Following my Hineni song, conductor extraordinaire, Stephen Glass, presented a moving tribute to Limmud, sung by the choir and featuring Debbie and me on the opening verses.  I held her hand throughout and at the end of our portion of the song she gave me a warm, beautiful, maternal smile that I will never forget.  We were often called upon to do these programs; at the GA conference, CAJE and Halleli at the Gibson Amphitheater.  I realize that we make an odd couple for a number of reasons.  But we are truly singing the same song, with the same goal of getting our fellow Jew invested in a relationship with a loving God.

I flew home after a full week of near all-nighters, singing until my voice was like sandpaper, teaching every day, and too many experiments with the eclectic beers on tap.  Thrashed is the best word I can think of.  A friend at my first Shabbas meal back in LA suggested I do a full week liver cleanse and I took him up on it.  No carbohydrates, soda, caffeine, Advil, meat, booze, etc.  I usually can power out my work after my kids go to bed.  I found myself exhausted at ten pm.  If this trip to the ice planet Hoth took such a toll on me, imagine what it did to my delicate friend Debbie.  She contracted serious pneumonia and didn’t have the resources to fight it.  The entire Jewish world (at least the non-Orthodox affiliated segment) held prayer vigils and sing-along’s to appeal to the Creator of the Universe to give Debbie another chance.  But this was to be her time.  The shocking news sent chills down my spine. Jerry Kaye’s Facebook post uttered the impossible simply and finally.

Heartbreak.  Tears.  Shock.  Disbelief.  Sadness.  Then all of them over again and all together.  The letters, condolences and memories poured in on Facebook, Hanashir Listserve and email.  I called many of my Jewish musician peers just to hear their voices and get perspective.  I was slammed in the studio that week and it was so hard to focus on anything.  I posted this at the height of my grief:

“I’m broken hearted. Our dear friend, mentor and spiritual ima has left the world. I can’t imagine what a beautiful, holy place she is in right now. How many of us did she touch with her sweetness, with her direct channel to God’s music. I will always sing for her and with her wherever I go.  Every thing I do I think, wow… Debbie can’t do that now.  I’m stoic and then crying again.  I just tried to explain to my kids which songs she wrote that they know and then broke down again.  I’m still not sure what losing Debbie means.  I don’t think any of us know. OK.  I’m crying again.  We lost her in Parshat Beshalach, Shabbat Shira.  She’s dancing with Miryam. No question. The seas are parting.  She opened up the sea for us Jewish musicians.  She showed us our potential.  She showed us how to open up the hearts of our audiences to hear God’s music.  How the concert or song session was not about us singing, but about lifting the spirits of everyone in the room, getting them to sing, to feel and connect. Last week I got to sing with her, to hold her hand, see her smile.  What a gift.”

I tried to figure out why I was so affected.  Debbie and I saw each other just a few times a year.  We came from different worlds, different coasts, different theologies.  She often made jokes about my move to Orthodoxy.  The only people who like to check if I am wearing tzitzit are one of my Aish rabbis, Craig Taubman and Debbie Friedman.  I realized that the core of my mourning was the feeling of the loss of a mentor.  Debbie was one of the few artists that worked at her Jewish music full time without a day gig.   When I was trying so hard to break into the business with my first album, she had 8 CDs in the Tara Music’s top 50.  She showed me what was possible in my life.  Moreover, she used her position to create opportunities for other composers and songleaders.  She was the master and we were her students.  She proved to us that there were no barriers to entry; not gender, sexual preference, handicap or level of education.  What mattered most was talent and tenacity and getting yourself out of the way so that God could speak through you.

I remember my second CAJE conference in 1993 when Debbie was leading a final jam session the last night.  I was thinking, “this kumbaya nonsense has got to stop!  It’s time to rock!”  Yes, I was rash and impetuous, and over the years I learned the magic of her soothing music and the power of its simplicity.  Like a great Shlomo Carlebach tune, Debbie’s songs grab you immediately and stick in your head, resurfacing every time you are innocently eating a latkeh, planting a tree or teaching the aleph-bet.

A few years ago I was in Debbie’s Manhattan apartment hanging out and making music.  She has an amazing piano and we sang and shmoozed and spoke of hopes and fears.  Even brilliant Debbie could feel vulnerable and question if she was making a difference.  I told her that I was living on the edge…three kids in private school and a considerable mortgage riding on the back of a sole wage earner musician dad.  That all my relatives thought I was nuts for choosing my field.  She said, “Sam, if times are ever tight and you need help, I will be there for you.  I will give you half of the money I get in my gigs to help you out.”  I laughed at her gesture and she looked at me with dire seriousness.  “Sam, I’m not kidding.  You need to be doing what you are doing.  And I will be there when you call on me.”

I sobbed throughout her funeral.  It’s the music that really gets to me.  Every song had me reaching for more kleenex.  Of course I wanted to be one of those chosen to sing.  But I’m not sure I could have found my voice through the tears.  Seeing the Collings guitar that I had played the week before on top of her casket was so shocking.  We had to be reminded that this ceremony was not for the musicians or the Reform movement, it was really for her immediate family that was grieving in the front row.  The audience was a who’s who in Jewish music.  Sad that it took the loss of a peer to get us together.

More moving was the graveside service.  A thousand people came to the memorial but only a few hundred drove to the internment.  The Jewish custom of the mourners filling in the grave is so perfect.  We bury our dead.  It’s so final and real.  We sang her songs as we shoveled.  I cried with her mother and her dear sister.  They were a real team and now they had lost their captain.  We comforted the mourners and then everybody left.  Except the musicians.  No one told us to stay.  I can only speak for myself.  I couldn’t leave her.  I just stood their crying, contemplating the world without her, focusing on the moment so that I could perceive her liberated neshama and not get pulled into a petty conversation.  When I came to, I looked around and I saw a dozen of my fellow musicians standing in random places on the grass in the golden light of the setting sun.  Wordlessly, we all started coming into a circle around her kever.  We joined hands, swayed and sobbed.  Wow.

As I drove home I felt a powerful determination sweep over me.  Not to settle for mediocrity in my life, in my career.  To force open the gates of possibility for Jewish music and the Jewish people.  To reach our non-Jewish friends with the gift of our message of hope, prayer and sanctity.  Mortality came sweeping down on my complacency like a tidal wave.  How many years do I have left to change the world?  To sing, perform, record, travel?  My twenty-one CDs have been a defense against feelings of insignificance.  But it’s not enough to put out albums.  I must use music as a stepping stone to take a stand for all Jewish people and our allies.  I must open the financial barriers that limit our expression, that stifle this renaissance.  Music is a gateway to transcendence and unity between nations.  Debbie Friedman started the fire and I must inspire my peers to turn this flame into a conflagration.

Debbie, thank you for setting the stage, for taking the lead, for teaching us, for striving through your pain and suffering to continue to inspire us.  Thanks for tolerating me and loving me.  Thanks for your amazing songs that have changed the world.    Most importantly, thanks for singing with me and being my friend.  I miss you so much.

The Genesis of the Exodus

Thursday, December 16th, 2010

by Sam Glaser

I was famished after my concert last night in Princeton, NJ.  Finding kosher food on the road is a perennial challenge and this well into the second week of a frantic Chanukah tour.  Man cannot live on salad alone! Thankfully, a dear fan in the area offered to cook up her homemade chicken specialty for me and we drove through the New Jersey darkness towards her home in East Windsor.  At one point I heard her exclaim, “oh, dear!” and sure enough a full-size deer carcass lay right in front of us. At 40mph she didn’t have time to react and we rolled right over it, dragging it under the car for several feet.  As I was sickened by the thud of hitting this once beautiful animal I was reminded of the commandment not to put a stumbling block before the blind.  Since I was the last one to witness the hazard it was now my responsibility to move it.

I didn’t move it.  We drove on joking that we could have had venison for dinner.  A few miles later we saw a bad accident.  A fresh accident, with steam pouring from the engine of a smashed compact car and an unconscious woman in the driver’s seat.  As we swerved around the scene we saw someone running to extricate the woman from between the seat and the air bag.  My first instinct was to stop and help but I wasn’t at the wheel and I reasoned that others were already helping.  We just drove on.

Our eventful ride culminated in a lovely dinner and the lighting of the Chanukiah.  In spite of the good cheer, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should have stopped the car, that I missed an opportunity to reach out and help.  What would I want done if I was stuck in that car?  Some call it Jewish guilt.  I call it the Hineni (here I am) Response. Jews are incapable of standing on the sidelines.  Something in our spiritual DNA goes haywire when we perceive someone in trouble, see justice unrealized, witness lives in jeopardy.   The question is where does that response come from?

One could cite the intransigence of our forefather Avraham when faced with the potential annihilation of Sodom.  He had just entered into an eternal partnership with God and God chose to include Avraham in the plan.  Avraham’s impassioned argument to rescue any righteous Sodomites earned him the title of First Jew in History.  Noach obediently built the ark.  Avraham fought a knockout round with the Creator of the Universe to save even a despicable nation.

I’d like to argue that a far more subtle but equally powerful biblical anecdote contributes mightily to our Hineni Response. By mid-December we can feel the glow of the Chanukah candles and are reading the last Torah portions of the book of Genesis.  Chanukah is a time of wintry weather and gloom, during the shortest days of the year.  It’s at this time that we light the lights, offering hope and illumination to a besieged world.  True, we are described as a nation of priests, but we are also a nation of dreamers.  Our mere existence is proof of the Eternal and our return to Israel after a 2000 year exile is a testimony to the power of our dreams.  I think there’s no coincidence that it is at this time of year we read about four sets of dreamers in the weekly Torah portions, Yaakov, Yosef, the baker and wine steward and Paro (Pharaoh.)  While all their dreams reveal much about human nature, I’d like to focus on an easily overlooked nuance regarding the dreams of the baker and wine steward.

Shortly after being sold into slavery, Yosef had been framed by Potifar’s wife and thrown in jail.  He spent over a decade in an miserable Egyptian prison, which I imagine was not quite a Club Med.  In spite of the dire circumstances, Yosef still was able to notice the downcast expressions on the faces of the baker and wine steward.  This is the key moment, the Genesis of the Exodus.  Like Moshe who stopped to notice the phenomenon of the burning bush when everyone was walking right by, Yosef took the time to perceive their mood change and comfort these two prisoners.

Big deal, you might say.  But because Yosef had his eye out for the downtrodden in his midst and ACTED on that sense of compassion, the wine steward referred him when Paro needed his seven-skinny-cow dream interpreted.  Thanks to Yosef’s small gesture, he became the CEO of the country, the Jews obtained salvation from the famine in Canaan and the stage was set for our eventual miraculous exodus from bondage.  Case in point: we never know when our small gesture will change history.

The fact is that God operates through history in a series of small gestures.  The intriguing saga of Esther saving the day in the Purim story is another such step-by-step tale of national salvation.  God’s name is never mentioned overtly but it is impossible to read the script and not see God’s hand on every page.  This is one of the last books of the bible, as if God is preparing His people to live in the realm of small gestures rather than overt miracles.

My wife and I often regale Shabbat guests with the circumstances of our meeting.  We are both avid cyclists and our precious paper cut ketubah, lovingly created by my artist mother, features a pair of bikes parked at the base of a family tree. Twenty years ago my friend Mark Nathan from the Semester at Sea program called to encourage me to join him on the Rosarito to Ensenada bike race.  At the finish line I met an enterprising young man who was launching his first charity bike ride to raise funds for the American Lung Association.  I talked my brother Yom Tov into taking the ride across the island of Catalina with me.  In the meantime, Shira’s roommate Karen had heard of the ALA program at her urban conservationist job.  Had Mark not called to invite me, had Yom Tov not been willing to come, had Shira’s roommate not taken the job at Tree People…I rest my case!

When the slavery in Egypt became unbearable “God heard our cries.”  Our rabbis teach that the word “cry” is plural because God hears the cry when we are totally fed up AND the cry before we actually scream.  How many of us are screaming right now?  With increasing financial burdens, job-search woes, health issues, aging parents, kids at risk.  God hears these cries even when they are silent murmurs that keep us awake at night.  Jewish law maintains that it is meritorious to help someone financially well before they are on the street, to be aware of our fellow man’s struggle when on the surface everything seems fine.

The point I’m trying to make is that everyone you know has worries and fears.  Imagine how you feel when someone takes the time out of his or her busy life to hear you, to help you, to care.  Just like with Yosef and the baker, he or she may not be able to make the problem go away.  We are judged not by the result but by the initiative. In fact, the merit of any given mitzvah does not require the completion of the act.  If one is thwarted from the full performance, for example, if you ran out of a gas on your way to visit the sick, you still get heavenly reward for your intention.  Taking a moment to share a word of kindness can be enough to restore the recipient’s faith in humanity.  What we really need these days is our faith restored.

Social scientists have espoused the Broken Window Theory which states that allowing for broken windows and graffiti as the status quo in a city creates further disarray.  Broken windows lead to more broken windows and eventually, squatters, fire and theft.  The societal norm becomes “trash the city, no one cares.”  We live in a world where our faith in humanity is trampled.  Worldwide poverty, terror, crime, drug abuse and graft are ever on the rise.  It seems outrageous that fixing a few windows can change the crime statistics on the urban scene.  But it works!  Every random act of kindness has ripple effects that rock the heavens.

Here’s a beautiful way to read the language that the Torah uses when we were redeemed from slavery: at the seder table we recite, “God will redeem you with an outstretched arm.”  I had such a powerful “aha moment” when a rabbi pointed out that the sentence could be read: “God will redeem YOU WITH THE OUTSTRETCHED ARM,” in other words, when we create a world where people have their arms outstretched to help others, only then do we merit redemption.  Avraham started the Jewish people with a mission of action and compassion.  Yosef’s pivotal moment transpired because he had the presence of mind to be aware of another individual’s suffering.  And the ones who actually got out of Egypt to form the Jewish people were the ones who looked out for their fellow man.

Here’s my blessing to all those who had the patience to read to the bottom of this essay: may you have the peace of mind to hear the music of creation.  May you have eyes to perceive God’s hand behind all the events in your life and be grateful for every moment.  And may you play a leading role in the perfection of the world by seizing every opportunity to practice random acts of simple kindness.  As for me, next time I find someone in need on a frigid New Jersey night, I’ll stop!

Terror at the GA Conference

Friday, November 26th, 2010

by Sam Glaser

NetanyahuI had one of the most uplifting weeks of my life.  Such powerful concerts and interactions.  Wonderful audiences in New York, New Jersey and St. Louis.  I finished this leg of the tour at the General Assembly Conference, the flagship meeting of Jewish Federations from around North America, feeling optimistic and empowered.

The host city to the conference, New Orleans, has got the character thing buttoned up.  This is no franchised, gentrified urban setting.  The birthplace of jazz is still nurturing the art form for new generations.  From the reek of Bourbon Street to the stately mansions of the Garden District, this is a town that keeps you moving, grooving and awestruck.  Katrina is still very much in the foreground of the NOLA consciousness but the emphasis is on rebirth and civic pride. My friend who put me up (and put up with me) was a DJ at the classic jazz station WWOZ during his college years.  That makes him an authority on the hottest musicians and the clubs they haunt, to which we hopped to and fro nightly.  I’m not sure if the locals were sober enough to notice that every third guy had a kippah on.

Once in a while I pull off a trifecta on the road.  That is to say, I perform on any given leg of my annual tour in synagogues of all Jewish denominations.  This ten-day rally is the ultimate example of the fact that I may not fit into any one box but reap the dividends of a broad perspective of the Jewish world.  This week I gave a concert at the stately Touro Synagogue, a proud Reform landmark, and then sang for the Conservative to Modern Orthodox crowd at the New Orleans Hebrew Day School.  In New Jersey I led the davening for the amazing Aish HaTorah PartnersJewish Unity Conference, a gathering of 750 black-hatted rabbis and their friends from around the world.  In New York my brother Yom Tov and I gave a concert for Chassidim in Boro Park, then on to St. Louis where I worked with three day schools, led a Shabbaton and a concert at a popular outreach synagogue.  My policy is to sing for all Jews, wherever they may be, and my personal mitzvah, my Letter in the Torah if you will, is to inspire audiences to be more connected with Israel, each other and their Creator.

So you can see why I arrived at the GA all pumped up.  Over 4,000 delegates in suits wandered the vast square footage of the Sheraton and Marriott hotels downtown. For eighteen years I have been performing and speaking at Federation-sponsored concerts and fundraisers and seem to know a lot of the players.  From the frantic exhibit hall to the ad hoc kosher deli in one of the ballrooms, there was an old friend around every corner. The GA is the Superbowl of Jewish geography! One of the highlights of these high profile conferences is getting to sit in on the plenary sessions and hear in person the most powerful speakers in the world.

I was particularly excited to hear Benjamin Netanyahu speak and managed to find an old friend with an extra seat in the front row.  But the Federation mavens weren’t going to let an opportunity pass to motivate this captive audience.  The myriad opening speakers were so dynamic and uplifting that the Israel Prime Minister seemed anticlimactic.  One young man, Moises Lemor inspired us with his saga of growing up in a Zionist family in Peru, making Aliyah solo and serving proudly in the IDF.  I was brought to tears by a young Hungarian woman who found out that she was Jewish as a fifteen year old at her father’s funeral.  One comment in particular touched me so deeply that I transcribed it in my iphone: upon discovering her heritage she then took the opportunity to “unwrap Judaism like a treasure.” It made me wonder if we should deny American Jewish kids any connection with their heritage until they are mature enough to value it, and only then inspire their newfound love affair to blossom.

I hope the previous paragraphs set the stage for my ebullience at this moment.  I was basking in the immense potential of the collapse of the walls that divide us as a people.  Uplifted by powerful prayer, music, great speakers, and great friends from a week on the road.  Jewish unity not just a concept, but a palpable reality.  And then it began.  Netanyahu unleashed a fear mongering speech almost word for word as dramatic and futile as the one I heard at the past few GA’s.  He bemoaned the Iranian nuclear threat, the advancing trend of the de-legitimization of Israel and the difficulty of negotiating peace with a partner that will not recognize the Jewish state.  He pointed to failure of Herzl’s tenuous dream that the rebirth of the Jewish state would end anti-Semitism.  I felt my smile diminish and I was once again in this state of Reuters/AP/CNN induced ennui.

terrorThen the terrorism began.  A young woman just a few rows behind me stood up and started chanting that the “settlements delegitimize Israel.”  She continued to scream while robust African-American guards dragged her a few hundred yards to the back exit.  The other four hecklers timed their nefarious attack with every-five-minute precision.  The leader of the Jewish people could only stand there in silence and frustration.  The crowd attempted to drown out the perpetrators with screams of their own, which only furthered the degree of damage.  I felt like my insides were turned to jelly with pain and outrage at each affront.  It was bad enough that all decorum was lost. But these were young idealistic Jews who didn’t hesitate to resort to deliver such a “low blow” to the proceedings.  I’ve never seen a better excuse to deploy a taser.  We can be our own worst enemy.

After the speech I hung my head low and limped out of the imposing ballroom.  I spoke of my shock to one of my peers in the Jewish music scene.  His response was that while he didn’t like the interruptions, he was glad that the kids had their moment of protest.  Boy, I felt very alone.  The Arabs we can handle.  But a threat from within?  I suddenly felt connected with that peculiar “V’lamalshinim” paragraph in our Shmoneh Esrai prayer.  Composed as the 19th blessing of an 18 blessing suite, it pinpoints the dire threat of Jews that act as informers, that endanger the well-being of the nation, that corrode the integrity of our common Jewish heart.  Yes, at times our nation is deserving of criticism, but to actively sow the seeds of hatred, distrust and revenge among our friends and enemies is folly.  Note that there is no blessing to thwart foreign enemies.  Internal strife is the only thing that can bring us down. “Blessed are You, Hashem, Who breaks enemies and humbles wanton sinners.”

Today I read in the LA Times of another blight on our future.  The movement to boycott top-name artists and ensembles that want to perform in Israel is led by one Ofer Neiman and his fellow Israeli saboteurs.  They protest publicly, picket concerts, launch campaigns on the web and seek to embarrass the acts into cancelling their appearances.  The Israeli government refers to this internal mischief as “cultural terrorism.”  Rock stars that risk stirring up the waters and upsetting fans are quick to cancel.  There have even been anonymous threats against the artist’s children!  Don’t they see that they are emboldening the radicals that plot our death, throwing kerosene on the flames of world opinion, causing irreparable dissention from within?

This is a time of polarization.  If the Holocaust taught us anything it is that doing nothing, just standing idly by, is the root crime.  Elton John, Rihanna, Rod Stewart, Metallica and Ozzy Osborne broke the boycott and performed anyway.  That fact makes me want to go out and buy some heavy metal.  Elvis Costello, Santana, the Pixies and Gil Scott-Heron cancelled.  Red Shoes and Smooth will never sound as good to me.  This is a time to take a stand, to visit Israel, to defend Israel, to buy Israeli products, to support organizations like AIPAC and Stand With Us.

I’m reminded of the old joke about the two elderly Jewishjews on bench men on the park bench.  (I know, many jokes start like this!)  One is reading the Jerusalem Post and he looks over and is shocked to see his friend reading a radical Arab paper.  “How can you do that?” he cried.  His friend replied, “You read about Jews being persecuted, attacked, assimilated.  I read that Jews own the banks, control the media and rule the world!”  The lesson I came away with last week is that in the macro sense we are being brow beaten in the media, face intense threats from our neighbors and are paralyzed with hopelessness on many fronts.  In the micro realm, however, there is room for celebration.  Amazing new organizations are galvanizing young Jews.  Witness the strength of the internet to unite and inform. Birthright, Ramah, Aish, Chabad, Jewlicious, PJ Library, NFTY, Nefesh B’Nefesh.  Want to regain the feeling that anything is possible for the Jewish people?  Don’t watch CNN or read the New York or LA Times.  Don’t get your online news from AP and Reuters.  Instead, try researching the Jewish Community Heroes, the accomplishments of the Joint Distribution Committee, IDF field hospitals, Tomchai Shabbas, JLTV, Israeli High Tech.

Better yet, slip on some headphones and listen to some good spiritual Jewish music.  It will heal your soul and make your heart soar.  Satisfaction guaranteed.

Dead Rock Stars

Friday, July 2nd, 2010

by Sam Glaser
July 2010

One thing we share as human beings is a deep, unspoken connection to our past. Intense events that stick to our psyches like a thistle in a ball of cotton. Some of those moments create potholes in our lives that we vow to avoid in the future at all costs. Others create cravings that we still try to satisfy. Single frames of the movie of our lives create our personality, our predilections, our phobias.

I recently saw the movie KPAX where Kevin Spacey’s character is tormented by a terrible episode in his past and convincingly adopts the character of an alien to cope with the trauma. I have friends who have been raped and even decades later must deal with the resulting anger and lack of feelings of security. Kids who suffer abuse must work overtime as adults to prevent the destructive chain from continuing into their own children’s lives. There’s a window of time when we are so vulnerable. It’s that same timeframe when we are more open and available to learning core modalities like taking on a new languages and musical instruments. I have six cousins who lost their father when they were kids. The destruction that this event wreaked upon their lives was commensurate with how old they were when it occurred. Those too young or old enough to wrap their heads around the tragedy escaped the degree of damage that their other siblings had to endure.

At a seminar I attended I was challenged to recall an incident during my teen years that scarred me and created a force that would inform my lifelong choices. An incident where perhaps I realized I was not “good enough.” A few came to mind. As an insecure tenth grader, my first year in high school, I nervously approached the door to the music room where the madrigal audition callbacks were posted. My name was not on the list. After three years as the star of the choir in Jr. High, the winner of the best vocalist in the LA City School district, this outcome was not acceptable. Singers were my chevra. My homies. My only reference group. As I endured a lonely tenth grade year I silently vowed that this would never happen again, that I would never rest on my laurels and my musical abilities would always be in peak form.

During my freshman year at CU Boulder I played keyboards in a Heavy Metal band called Castlerock. We played college parties and prided ourselves in our long hair and intense volume. One night, our guitarist Muno Wahab informed me that the song we had just perfected, Tommy Bolin’s “Post Toastee,” in all it’s nine minute glory, was written just before Tommy died at 25 of a drug overdose. I had just been exposed to his two albums and was hoping to see him play live. Add Tommy to The List: that dead rock star list that already boasted Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Jim Croce, Janis and Mama, Buddy and Bonham. Bolin had only begun his solo career. He played with Deep Purple, Billy Cobham and Jeff Beck, a crazy talented, innovative guitarist and songwriter. He was a Boulder, CO local. And now he was gone, all that talent and passion now six feet under.

That night I think I appreciated the vulnerability of my creative output for the first time. I had already written hundreds of songs, knowing that someday I’d have a chance to record them for the world to hear. As an overworked double major and cash starved college kid, it wasn’t in the cards for a while, especially given that back then there was no such thing as Apple’s Garage Band. You either had the money for a 24 track pro studio or you kept your music to yourself. But what if I died in the meantime? All those musical ideas gone with the wind! Thus was born the drive to record at all costs, even if it meant plunging all my money into building my own studio and learning the craft.

By the time I finished college I accumulated a respectable pile of recording gear. My best acquisitions were made helping starving musician friends get quick cash when all they had to sell was their instruments. I built a studio in my dad’s downtown LA fabric warehouse and purchased a Mac. That’s the original 512k Mac and the first version of MOTU Performer, the same hardware and software companies that keep my music playin’ till this day. I got good enough recording my own music and started producing others, creating a business that allows me to make people’s musical dreams come true and to sneak in an album of my own every year. Yes, I love touring and performing, touching my audiences with spiritual, uplifting music. But I must confess that my global galavanting is primarily a vehicle for me to find a home for these songs that I exorcise from my dream state every few days.

We are so busy climbing our personal mountains that we forget how they got built in the first place. My Letter in the Torah song comes to mind: “Who am I anyway, where am I going to, how did I get here and what do I need to know?” Our biblical heroes shared a common profession. They were all shepherds! I can just imagine sending around a resume with “shepherd” in the work experience section. But shepherds have time to think. Abraham used the time to intuit the existence of an ethical, loving God. Moses learned to care for a flock and wasn’t too busy to investigate a certain burning bush.

Taking time to think can be frightening. Is this the best job choice, relationship, use of my time? What if the answer is no? What if some negative experience in your past thrust you into action and only now you stop to realize that your present reality was dictated by some bully who called you a name in grade school? Making changes is hard work. But not making changes is either pathetic or tortuous. What were you born to do? Where would you be if that “seismic event” hadn’t happened to set you on your current trajectory? Who convinced you that you must have an MBA or law degree? Why do you live where you do? How will you meet your predestined one if you are dating someone just to have company?

“What you are is God’s gift to you. What you make of yourself is your gift to God.” -Kelly Jeppesen

I was recently in a Starbucks taking a moment to breathe. I had finished multiple errands and I gave myself permission to think. As I sipped my mocha I engaged in a Breslov ritual of dwelling on all the things I was grateful for. My life, my health, my family, my home, my music, this delicious cup of coffee. I started up a conversation with a guy next to me who turns out to be the same age from the same neighborhood. He’s a healthcare executive who just got laid off. It’s a lousy time to get laid off. He shared that he used his newly found free time to build homes in Alabama for Habitat For Humanity and had a great experience. His newly realized goal is to use his business skills to create a similar company in the non-profit sector where he can make a difference.

Thanks to dead rock stars I now have more albums out than The Beatles. Thanks to NOT getting into madrigals my freshman year in high school I learned to take my craft more seriously. I also became more humble and able to roll with the changes. God gives us tests to make us stronger, and only offers us challenges that we can handle. Sometimes God sends events that force us to awaken to new opportunities. The Jewish calendar gives us periods like these Three Weeksof decreased joy (but still joy nonetheless) so that we introspect, appreciate our gifts and perceive what we’re missing. Consider taking this season to tap into those formative moments in your life that shaped the person you are today. If the shoe fits, wear it. And if not…