 This Tuesday I am heading off to attend a silent meditation retreat led by my friend and colleague Rabbi James Jacobsen-Maisels. Years ago this song, Silence, was literally "delivered" to me in whole from somewhere beyond my conscious mind. The song itself is a meditation, and I invite you to close your eyes, breath slowly and deeply, and receive it as I did, in quiet contemplation. Blessings for a light-filled Hanukkah. Silence
Music/Lyrics Mark Novak and angelic shlichim Once upon a time there was the silence Hope was still a memory of future days ahead The waters parted company in silence And heaven kissed the earth so softly snuggled in her bed. The quiet desert moon reflects the silence Stories of the stars are heard in whispers over time Remember how we captured life in silence Drifting off to sleep to images and rhymes. Talking is more often done in silence The thoughts between the lines speak louder than our words Embarrassingly adolescent silence Truth is left unspoken, trembling like a bird. I recall in refuge I took silent So I could hear the beating of my heart reveal my name Where myth is woven peacefully in silence Eyes meet eyes meet ancient eyes - come dance before the flame G!d is resting comfortably in silence. Patiently he waits for us - take comfort, let him in Beauty is revealed to us in silence Returns us to the place where we can all renew again In Silence Silence Silence. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other listeners and tellers. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
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 I always wonder about the origin of stories such as this one. The characters could just as easily be Jewish ones, so feel free to substitute characters to suit your tradition...or not. But first, a word from our sponsor.  We have been offered a Matching Grant up to $1500 As of 12/5 only $1364 more to raise by 12/31! Please consider offering a tax deductible donation of $18 or more to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. All proceeds go to providing us with rental space and the ability to dream a little bigger. We will be forever grape-ful. Thank you. Now here is this week's story. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
One day, a countryman knocked hard on a monastery door. When the monk tending the gates opened up, he was given a magnificent bunch of grapes. "Brother, these are the finest grapes my vineyard has produced. I’ve come to offer them as a gift." "Thank you! I will take them to the Abbot immediately, he will be delighted with this offering." "No", responded the countryman, "I brought them for you. For whenever I knock on the door, it is you opens it. When I needed help because my crop was destroyed by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a cup of wine every day." The monk slightly bowed his head, and the countryman went on his way. The monk held the cluster of grapes and spent the entire morning admiring it. In reflection, he decided to gift the grapes to the Abbot, for it was the Abbot who always encouraged him with words of wisdom. The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, and admired their beauty for some time, taking in the color and the shapes. He then recalled that there was a sick brother in the monastery, and thought, “I’ll give him the grapes. Who knows, they may bring him some joy and healing.” And that is what he did. The sick monk was overjoyed, and thanked the Abbot for his generosity. He too was taken by the beauty of the grapes, and saw in them a magnificent work of art, with patterns of repeated themes and slightly variegated colors. He reflected: “The cook has looked after me for so long, feeding me only the best meals. I’m sure he will enjoy these.” The cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes. He carefully arranged them in a large platter alongside other fruit for the evening meal, and while admiring them, he realized, "These grapes are perfect, so perfect that no one would appreciate them more than the sexton." Many at the monastery considered him a holy man, a mystic, and he would best value this marvel of nature. But the sexton, in turn, gave the grapes as a gift to the youngest novice, that he might understand that the work of G!d is in the smallest details of creation. And when the novice received them, he quietly recalled the first time he came to the monastery, hoping to be among a community of people who knew how to value the wonders of life. He pictured the person who had opened the gates for him. And so, just before nightfall, he took the grapes to the monk at the gate. "Eat and enjoy them", he said. You spend most of your time alone here, these grapes are most deservedly yours. The monk humbly bowed his head and accepted the grapes, as he understood that the gift had always been truly meant for him. He relished each of the grapes, before falling into a pleasant sleep. (Story re-crafted by R' Mark Novak, found here: http://academictips.org/blogs/the-circle-of-joy/ ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other listeners and tellers. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.  There was once a Swiss guard who worked at the border of Austria. He had worked there for many years and took a great deal of pride in his work. One morning an Austrian man arrived at the border, riding a bicycle. On the front of the bike was a basket filled with sand. The guard eyed the man suspiciously, and suspecting that the Austrian might be a smuggler, brought out a special comb he kept for just a purpose, and began to sift through the sand in the basket. He found nothing, only sand, and waved the man through the gate. The same thing happened the next month, as the Austrian arrived on a bicycle with the basket filled with sand. The border guard went through the same process, at first eyeing the Austrian with suspicion, then sifting through the sand with his special comb, and until, finding nothing, allowing the Austrian to again cross the border. The scene repeated itself month after month, year after year. During this time the border guard engaged the Austrian in small talk - learning his name (it was Yosef) learning about his family (he was married with a wife, who was a school teacher, and had 2 children), and of course his reason for crossing the border (to visit a favorite aunt and uncle). Each month they exchanged pleasantries, and as time passed the border guard still remained suspicious, and though he never found anything, he kept on looking... month after month...for 30 years! Finally, one day, the Swiss guard said to the Austrian man, "I must ask you a question that has been on my mind many years. This is my last day of work - I am retiring. After all these years, I still suspect you have been a smuggler, and it is driving me near mad. Now I ask you - I must know - are you indeed a smuggler?" The Austrian man hesitated, and the Swiss guard reassured him. "Do not worry - I give you my word of honor that I will not arrest you. But for my own peace of mind, I must know." "Very well," said the Austrian. "Then I will tell you - I am indeed a smuggler." "Ha ha," laughed the guard, relieved at last to know that his suspicions had not been unfounded. "I knew it!" He hesitated for a moment and then continued, "But each month I looked through your basket and found nothing but sand. Tell me, please, what have you been smuggling?" And with eyes smiling, the Austrian replied, "Bicycles." (Story re-crafted by R' Mark Novak) My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other listeners and tellers.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. |
Mark Novak is a "free-range" rabbi who lives in Washington DC and works, well, just about everywhere. In 2012 he founded Minyan Oneg Shabbat, home to MOSH (Minyan Oneg Shabbat), MindfulMOSH (Jewish mindfulness gathering), and Archives
June 2017
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