In this article, Ira Rivkin raises an interesting question. The New York Times wants us to see the story of the friendship of two Princeton undergrads–a Palestinian and a Jew–as a big deal, worthy of a news item. But, Rivkin points out, doesn’t that just perpetuate the stereotype of emnity the story purports to challenge? What is the role of the “feel good” story in tracking Muslim-Jewish relations? What do you think?

Hilgeman’s  piece tells a powerful story of  how caring human encounter can transcend the divisions of faith traditions.  She was hired to serve the Jewish residents; she wore a kippah and led Hebrew services; differences of class and race set her apart from the non Jewish staff. Both learned something new from this experience.  On her side, she writes, “I have advocated for building interfaith relationships because I believe in its political importance, but until that evening, I still had some doubts about the limits of such connectedness on a spiritual level.”  As for the non Jewish staff members, Hilgeman quotes a nurse saying, “We are all one. I wasn’t sure about this before, but now I know.”

Many of us have had similar experiences, often in the wake of tremendous upheavals that compel us to forge connections we might not have imagined.  How do we keep that energy fresh and vital in calmer times? What are its limits?

Many disagreed, and a fair account of the controversy (fair, according to the Harvard Muslim chaplain’s blog)  appeared in the New York Times.

I just obtained my copy of the 2010 edition of The Best Spiritual Writing. It carries a reprint of an article by Leon Wieseltier, a Jewish writer for The New Republic, that offers some wise ruminations on this issue. The essay uses the Harvard dispute as a jumping off point to explore  the wider question:  the challenges of the  cacophony created by a commitment to open civil spaces.  In earlier discussions of this debate, I did not find sufficient attention to the questions that Weiseltier raises: What are the pleasures, as well as the problems, of religious diversity? How can we relate positively  to the  “ravishments” of other traditions?

You can read Weiseltier’s piece here.

For Michaelson, Jewish nondualism is not better or worse than other nondual traditions, and he freely uses examples from other traditions: Zen, TibetanBuddhism, Vedanta. He does not make the mistake, however, of blending them  together as if to make them all say precisely the same thing. In fact, he does a nice job of showing how the Jewish tradition of nondualism is both similar and different from other traditions, and indeed, points outs some of the tensions between different Jewish versions of nondualism.  He also does a wonderful job of setting the Jewish tradition within the larger picture of Jewish religious thought, including its contemporary manifestations.

Of the many stories Michaelson tells, one of my favorites comes from the Sufi tradition:

There was once a prisoner who yearned for freedom. One day, the prophet Muhammad appeared to thim, gave him a set of keys to his cell, saying, “Allah has set you free.” The prisoner took the keys, mounted them on the wall, and prayed to them five times a day.

The book grapples with the question of what it means to share fundamental beliefs with other traditions and yet love ones own path. Even for nondualists,  particular communities and practices can be the triggers(Michaelson’s word) that “bring us closer to what matters most.”  He loves the Jewish path and the powerful ways it leads him in his spiritual life.  He says, “I don’t want to fetishize the trigger, but I do want to pull it.”

That said, our 21st century reality is that those pulling the trigger most passionately, at least in the Abrahamic  traditions often (although by no means always) are the ones most inclined to support pulling triggers of another kind as well. Michaelson grapples with this situation and with the increasingly complex identities, dual and even more,  that we find among seekers. Why is it so  important that insist on  our particularities, especially in light of their shadow side of ethnocentricity? Has the value of maintaining those boundaries run its course, and would not people who see ultimate reality as nondualist be among the first to advocate less divisions and more synergy?

I especially appreciated Michaelson’s pragmatist streak because it corresponds with my own. He believes, as I do, that  “by their fruits you shall know them.” And this is where I run into trouble with nondualism. He writes, “When the spiritual work is being done, the good heart emerges on its own,”  and “the contemplative practice of seeing clearly…leads effortlessly to more justice and more peace.”

That is, indeed, the final test of any religious system. In this case, I am more drawn to traditions within Judaism that speak to the power of the evil impulse; I read claims like those above with a jaundiced eye.  But I would be more than happy to be proved wrong. I do believe  Michaelson’s testimony that meditation and other practices of nondualist Judaism have led him to live, as he puts it “gently and justly.” This is a moving and powerful  personal testimony, as well as an excellent introduction to an important dimension of contemporary Jewish thought.

The Goldstone Report has been a subject of conversation in interfaith gatherings between Jews and Christians and Jews and Muslims since it was issued last year. This statement by Halbertal is worth reading by all who are concerned with the continuing dialogue regarding the Gaza War and the ethical issues related to it.

I have read many commentators on this issue, but Terry’s thoughts were particularly meaningful and provocative. Thank you, Terry, for taking the time to share your perspective during a time of so much pain.

Terry sent a letter to friends and colleagues that included the full text of what he had submitted to  The Daily News. In his letter, he shared his  regret that the editors  chose to leave off the last paragraph. Since he intended it for publication, I am sharing it here:

I lived in Haiti for a long time; two of my children were born in Haiti to a Haitian mother, my first wife, who tragically died of cancer in 2001. When I learned of the earthquake, I felt very much like I did when I learned of her diagnosis. This horrible tragedy saddens me greatly and my condolences go out to all who have lost loved ones. I fear for our relatives and dear friends in Haiti, most of them in Port-au-Prince, of whom we have little or no news. Our house there may well be destroyed; it is quite near the Montana Hotel, which is itself now rubble. There were as many as 300 people inside when the Montana collapsed. They had no warning. My wife and I would often go there to sip rum punch while watching the sun set over the city and the Bay of Port-au-Prince – the city on the very plain that late yesterday afternoon was all covered with rising smoke and human wailing. The cathedral has largely collapsed. That was a second home for me while I lived in Haiti. I often went to Mass there, or just to pray or do research. I grieve for Archbishop Miot, who died there yesterday, across the street in his office, where once I interviewed him. He blessed my rosary then. This Sunday I will go to a Haitian church – there are about 60 of them here in Philadelphia – to pray with Haitians for Haitians and for Haiti, our Haiti, and to express my solidarity with them. The rosary will be with me, and Msgr. Miot and everyone else will be in my prayers.

According to a recent article by Eboo Patel, a Gallup poll says as much, although it did not ask the necessary questions to establish that the reverse is also true,  that people who hate Muslims also hate Jews.  You can check out the Gallup poll for yourself here.

Patel concludes that we Muslims and Jews ought to teach our children not to say “Dirty Muslim” or “Dirty Jew,” if not for their sake than for our own. This seemed like a fairly obvious, if not banal, thesis to me. Who could disagree?

Yet, on the WashingtonPost website where the article appeared, commentators have weighed in with objections, thereby confirming that, as the Gallup poll suggests, there is indeed a problem here, and not one that is moving in the right direction.

What is the best way to address this issue?

One of the most interesting moments for me at the Interfaith Youth Core Conference in Chicago was hearing a high school student, Levi Petrone, raise a question from the audience for a speaker, Rabbi David Saperstein. Levi said (as I recall), “I am a Fundamental(sic) Christian. Is there room for me in the interfaith movement?” He was responding to Rabbi Saperstein having said(again, according to my recollection), “All of us need to delegitimize the extreme elements in our religious traditions.”

I  was not the only one moved and challenged by this exchange. I noted Levi’s name, and found this interview on You Tube with him. Levi is planning to go to Bob Jones University where he hopes to be an “interfaith warrior.” 

Listen to the interview from 2:25 to 4:08 if you want to hear  a fascinating story of how transformation occurs, twentyfirst century style.

Read about Pastor John Voelz of  Jackson, Michigan here.

Last year, Voelz was tweeting at a conference outside Nashville about ways to make the church experience more creative — ways to “make it not suck” — when suddenly it hit him: Twitter!

There’s a time and place for technology, and most houses of worship still say it’s not at morning Mass. But instead of reminding worshippers to silence their cell phones, a small but growing number of churches across the country are following Voelz’s lead and encouraging people to integrate text-messaging into their relationship with God.

On Easter Sunday, pastor Todd Hahn prefaced his sermon by saying, “I hope many of you are tweeting this morning about your experience with God.”

“It’s a huge responsibility of a church to leverage whatever’s going on in the broader culture, to connect people to God and to each other,” says Hahn.

What do you think? Please email or tweet your response….

With a brain already full of well-connected pathways, adult learners should “jiggle their synapses a bit” by confronting thoughts that are contrary to their own… continued brain development… may require that you “bump up against people and ideas” that are different.

Seems to me like a prescription for multifaith dialogue/learning. Yet another reason to resolve to encounter our “others” in the year to come.

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