A Jewish Spiritual Life
by Velvel "Wally" Spiegler

Ruach is the Hebrew term for spirit. It was also the name of a five-day retreat I used to attend, each June during the mid-eighties. The campsite was located on a mountaintop overlooking a far off view of the Berkshire Mountains. Below were the grounds of a Sufi spiritual abode that leased the campsite to Ruach. That first summer, as soon as I checked in, I was directed to what was called the meditation tent, a huge white billowing structure that was nestled in a clearing at the end of a winding lane. I could hear the sound of gentle chanting as I approached. Inside, a small group of people sat wrapped in blankets. It was already late afternoon and getting a bit chilly; soon the hand of a friendly face handed me a blanket to snuggle in. I came to this retreat to discover precisely what a Jewish spiritual life could be.

At one time I thought that the Hasidim lived the way of my dreams; somehow their garb seemed indicative of holiness. But later on, I found that theirs was no different than any other orthodox sect, who live more by the letter of the law than by its spirit. I also thought that guru-types, modern day mystics or new age priests were holy people, just to find out that most are still keeping their psychotherapy appointments. I think the shock of all these delusions pointed the way to realizing that Jewish tradition itself holds, within it, the keys to successful Jewish spirituality.

On one hand, many of us seek a certain level of spirituality in our lives. Why not, after all, Judaism, with its holy Temple and the its priestly caste, was built on a spiritual foundation. Yet on the other hand, many Jews are fascinated by the exotic religions of the Far East. What could Judaism hold in store that would rival the esotericism of Asian cultures?

Retreats are not necessarily a Jewish thing; Shabbat is our retreat in time, but sometimes it is helpful to a live for a few days under in an insulated environment, away from daily distractions, to get a sense of what it means to live spiritually. We were under the tutelage of several high-powered, spiritually evolved rabbis who functioned as our spiritual mentors for those days.

They taught that to live spiritually is to confront the stronghold of our tradition with a liitle stretch of our mental abilities. This extra step is what's defined in the Talmud as "directing the heart", a gesture which means approaching every action with a clear intention or attention. In Hebrew it's called "kavannah", without it, every act we do, whether religious or not, loses meaning; it is acting unconsciously.

While the Eastern religions preach the contemplative aspects of life, Judaism finds its spirituality and connection to God in the ordinary events of every day life. We find ours in the workplace, in the supermarket and in the home. I would be inclined to say that Jewish spiritual life rests on a foundation of three pillars: community, sacred actions (Mitzvot), and ordinary everyday activities. It's ironical that the very features of traditional Judaism that seems so foreign contain the very conditions that bring us closer to God. It's like having an oil well in your backyard without even knowing it.

The first pillar is community. Judaism thrives on communal activities, both in the synagogue and in the home. Our prayer books are written in the first person plural;  "Heal us", "Teach us", "Bless us" and on and on goes the litany. We pray in a minyan, for it is said that God presides over a quorum of ten or more adults. A certain energetic vigor prevails in the presence of a gathering. With unspoken words, the camp group began to know each other; we learned together, laughed and cried together. In those few days, we actually came to love each other. Through the rabbinic guidance, we came to understand what community means.  

The camp kitchen was thoroughly koshered the day before everyone arrived, and the finishing touches of an Eruv (ritual boundaries for Shabbat) were close to completion. Those of us who slept in the rustic rooms in the Sufi residence, were not permitted to open or close electric lights and appliances, nor were we permitted to tear toilet tissue for fear of violating the Sabbath. We were expected to davven, morning and evening.  In other words, the conditions of the retreat were strictly observant. Even though many of us would not maintain the strict standards afterwards, at least, we could for those few days. We learned that through such discipline (mitzvot performed with kavannah) we could focus our attention on God, much of the day.  We learned that in performing these mitzvot with intention, we got our minds off of personal issues and on to communing with the Holy One. A valuable lesson we could take home.

There was a sign-up sheet posted alongside the camphouse kitchen. Above it were two neatly lettered words: Karma Yoga. It first it didn't make sense--Yoga at an observant retreat? There were chores to be done however; people were needed to return unused food to the kitchen, to deposit refuse in the trash basket, or to sweep the makeshift, open air dining hall.  What we didn't know was that these jobs were part of the teaching.  What's more, much to our chagrin, we were, questioned on our experiences of cleaning up. You may ask, "What does this have to do with spirituality?" Later on, we came to realize that we can find God in even the most mundane activities. That's the way Jews find God.

Sadly, Monday afternoon camp ended. Since Sunday morning, though, I started to feel a glow of joy coming over me.  At first, I didn't make anything of it. As the day wore on, the feeling turned into near bliss, as I was so ecstatic just being there and with everyone. I had no idea what caused the feeling to overtake me. When my wife phoned from the Sufi residence below to say she had arrived to pick me up. I told her not to attempt driving up the treacherous mountain road, instead I'll come down.  I didn't walk down, I ran down with the swiftness of a fleeing stag. I was just too overjoyed to walk. After a day or two the feeling wore off, but that five-day experience taught me the fundamentals of how to live spiritually Jewish.