Some friends of mine, aware of my great respect for Buddhist understanding and of my dedication to practice, have been surprised at my renewed interest in Judaism. "Why," they wondered, "would you want to complicate yourself with Judaism?" It's not a question, for me, of *deciding* to complicate myself with Judaism. I *am* complicated with Judaism. I have too much background in it not to be. More important, though, is that the complication nourishes me. I love it. - p 41
* * * * * * * * *
"The natural mind," I replied, "is free of tensions and doesn't allow attachments to become entrenched. Preferences arise, but they dissipate without causing problems when the mind is relaxed. Annoyance also arises, but it doesn't take up residence. Fears and hurt feelings, doubts and desires, all come up in response to challenges and disappointments, but they don't linger. They don't upset basic clarity. The elegant expression for this," I said, "is 'All defilements are self-liberating in the great space of awareness.' "
"What does that mean?" Joelle asked.
"It means, 'all the nonsense falls out of your head when it's screwed on straight.' "
"You can't say that in a *book*," Joelle laughed.
"Maybe not," I replied, "but it's true." - p 33
* * * * * * * * *
I first discovered Sylvia Boorstein when she was interviewed on a favourite podcast, then found and listened to some of her talks online, before I ever read her words in print. This book reminds me very much, though, of listening to her speak; her gentle humour and warmth and humility and genuineness fill every page. If you're hoping for either a rigorously structured chronological memoir or a step-by-step how-to book on combining the practices of Judaism and Buddhism, this offering might disappoint you -- it's not that sort of book. It didn't disappoint me at all, because I was already accustomed to her relaxed conversational style and the way she uses personal stories to illustrate little gems of wisdom and kindness and moments of clarity.
Reading the book, much like listening to her speak, left me feeling with each brief chapter as though I'd arrived home on a cold day to enter a warm kitchen where my smart, funny grandmother had hot soup waiting for me, which I'd eat while she related an amusing anecdote. Sylvia's stories somehow always leave me feeling calmer and and cosier and kinder -- and as if my complications have been nourishing, and a fair amount of the nonsense has fallen out of my head.
(Not ALL of the nonsense, but I plan to keep reading.)