The Jew In The Lotus

As an Orthodox Jew, it may be hard to understand the effect that Roger Kamenetz's book, The Jew In The Lotus, has had on the world of unaffiliated Judaism. It is troubling to delve into the issues the book raises and examine the impact and influence that it has had on a generation of Jews looking for a sense of association. More disquieting can be contemplating it's messages and comparing them to our own religious orientation.

Roger Kamenetz had reached the nadir of his life, having suffered the loss of a child and serious professional rejection, when a close friend offered him the chance to join a delegation of Jews meeting with the Dalai Lama, the spiritual leader of Tibetan Buddhism, in Dharamsala, India. He accompanied eight rabbis of various affiliations as they attempted to teach the Dalai Lama about Judaism and its spiritual survival throughout exile. While taking part in this, Kamenetz, a secular Jew, began to explore his own spirituality, and was awakened to a larger, more profound existence. He saw a universe where Jewish and Buddhist concepts were harmonized, and the mystical traditions of Buddhism came to explain and give perspective to Judaism's ancient heritage.

The New York premiere of Emmy-award winning film-make Laurel Chiten's screen adaptation of The Jew In The Lotus was received with a full house at Symphony Space, in an event sponsored by the Jewish Community Council of the Upper West Side. The screening was followed by a discussion session with the author.

The movie won rave reviews as audience members and critics were mesmerized by the beautiful Indian scenery. With stark footage, the film-make set the movie's tone, juxtaposing visions of India's crippling poverty and its breathtaking beauty, and creating a feel for the confusion and cultural shock the visitors from America must have felt

The trendy West Side audience showed more identification with Kamenetz's character. One-liners about pre-bar-mitzvah anxiety and the Jewish mother mentality endeared him to the young crowd. Other scenes provided a perspective on the contrast between the two cultures converging in India. After an uncomfortable silence permeated a group discussion, the author poignantly noted: "Monks like silence; Jews like to yack."

Of course, many of the cultural differences between the two parties came out through their dialogues. The Tibetans, cast out of their homeland by the Chinese Army more than four decades before, sought to understand how Jewish tradition had survived through a two thousand-year exile. The narrator described the Tibetans' amazement upon hearing the prayer for a rebuilt Jerusalem during Birkat Hamazon. "They thought it was so beautiful, they went out and wrote up their own that night. The idea that the return to Zion was such an integral part of the religion simply blew them away."

Another critical scene in the movie was one where Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, a former Lubavitch rabbi well versed in Kabbalah, spent a day discussing the angelic realm with the Dalai Lama. The characters discuss their horror as the rabbi and the Lama delved deeper and deeper into the topic. After "going into angel-land together," one observer worried "what if the day ends and all the Dalai Lama knows is that there are orange angels!" However, Joy Levitt, a Reform rabbi, expressed amazement, having never been exposed to such a Chassidic approach to Judaism. Hearing Zalman speak about angels as if they were real beings, and not figurative representations, "amazed" her.

Kamenetz, who has done some research since these dialogues, quotes a Chassidic teaching during the movie: Sometimes, one must lie in the deepest ditch to see the brightness of the stars. He uses this teaching to resolve the personal crisis that led to his transformational experience.

He explains another theme of his life with a different Chassidic parable. In this one, a man responds to a dream by traveling to a faraway town in search of a buried treasure. Upon arriving, he encounters a beggar who has had a similar dream, only his treasure is buried inside the first man's house. The traveler returned home empty handed, only to find the treasure hidden under his floor. The lesson: Sometimes one has to travel a great distance to find what is near to him.

Although I enjoyed the movie, like the man in the parable, I had not found what I was seeking. The basic question I had sought to understand had not been properly answered. What is it about this tale that had struck a nerve with entire communities of Jews? What is this Buddhist approach to Yiddishkeit that is causing the buzz on 95^th and Broadway on a Thursday night? Armed with a tape recorder and the authority of a YU Commentator reporter, I took to the street.

"There certainly is a tremendous Jewish interest in Buddhism, " one woman proclaimed anonymously. "The appeal for me…is that [Judaism] is centered on an omnipotent deity who…has power over you. [Buddhism] gives you the control to change your own life and the power to be happy or unhappy, without this external force…"

"I was influenced by that book," says Azriel Cohen, who claimed to be a former MYP student in YU. Cohen traveled to Dharamsala, India and opened a Jewish community center after reading the book. "The Jewish community unfortunately is not meeting the needs of people…. It is losing some of its best people, because people in leadership and education don't have the answers to a lot of the questions people are seeking. Buddhism has a very profound system for dealing with that. If people in the States have a problem, they won't necessarily go daven. Buddhism is a path that teaches very practically one thing. The question in Buddhism is 'what is the path to liberating yourself from suffering, how can you make your life happier?'"

"The other thing I would say is that I found that the divisions in the Jewish community, between Orthodox, Reform, and Conservative, and in Israel between the Dati'im and chilonim, has an enormous amount to do with this problem. In any Ashram, (a Hindu school)… people come in and they are unconditionally accepted. In the Jewish community, unfortunately there's a sense of 'we want you to become frum, we need you to change this way, that way'…there are a lot of expectations. There's a sense of people really being open there and that tolerance is very appealing to Jews all over the place who are really having a hard time with the infighting…If you become more involved with Judaism, you usually become less tolerant with people from other systems. The more you become 'frum' as a Buddhist, the more you're supposed to become tolerant of people who are your enemies… "

Rabbi Levitt, a Reform rabbi who participated in the Dharamsala dialogues and spoke after the screening, summed things up, saying "I think the strongest appeal for Jews is that it is very easy to get into, very accepting. There is quite an extraordinary power to meditative silence. Those of us who were deeply affected by this trip are finding that there are opportunities in authentic Jewish tradition for meditation and silence. And that, what we are doing is not grafting Buddhist tradition onto Judaism, but really uncovering Jewish practices."

The question I had asked had opened a door to a whole new realm of questions that were buried deeper down. I was suddenly disturbed. Although I was not quite ready to chuck my entire religious upbringing away just yet, everything I had heard was appealing. I wondered, for just a second, if it would be best if I shaved my head and joined a Tibetan monastery. Meditation has always fascinated me, and it seemed a lot more relaxing than taking midterms.

But after a little bit of intellectual tooth-pulling, the whole experience helped me come to appreciate my religion more. I realized at one point, that by citing and listing reasons for following a religion, the faith aspect got lost in the shuffle. After years of self-brainwashing, I had convinced myself that frumkeit, and particularly its absolute moral standards, were necessary for enjoying life to its fullest. I had, on some level, forgotten that my religion at its most basic level is the devotion that my G-d expects and demands of me, and that often it can transcend rationality. It is this, I concluded, that separates our complex, multi-faceted am kadosh from the rest of the nations of the world.

It is ironic that I had to learn this from a group of people who had rejected that very notion. Just like the traveler in the story, perhaps I also had to visit a far-off place to better appreciate an idea that is often taken for granted. If, as the Gemara says, we could learn modesty from a cat if not from the Torah, perhaps by comparing ourselves to the nation of the world, we can learn a lot about ourselves as well.