100 Blessings

A robin and I met this morning.

Usually I’m an early riser. Today I slept late. There wasn’t really time left for me to enjoy my morning routine before others in the house woke and food preparation began. My little dog, Rafi, was already watching me intently as he anticipated breakfast. Then I thought, why not just step out on the deck for a few moments? It looks like a beautiful day, one of the first of the season.

Quietly, trying not to wake anyone, I slid open the rumbling glass door, then the squeaky screen. The noise made me cringe a little with others still sleeping, but Rafi wasn’t staring at me for food any more. He was happy to go out with me to contemplate the wetlands and breathe the fresh air.

Stillness and breath

These days I’m trying to learn how to become more still inside. I struggle to meditate because when I focus on my breath, I can’t breathe. Well actually, I know I can breathe — as one teacher said, “Your body knows how to breathe.” But I start struggling, feel like I can’t get enough air. My chest hurts, and over time my windpipe gets raw. I get anxious. Finally I yawn to get air into my body. The same teacher said yawning is like an emergency response. That sounds about right to me.

In another class session, that teacher suggested an exercise, focusing on an object of some weight, holding it in your hands on your lap. This was very helpful. I chose a beautiful painted rock a friend made for me with the message, “Andy & Leslie…Rock Solid Love.” If my attention wandered to my breath and I felt myself starting to struggle, I drew myself back to my painted rock.

My meeting with a robin

As I stood on the deck this morning surveying the wetlands, I realized I didn’t have my rock. Unfortunately that rumbling sliding door and squeaky screen stood between me and it. Then I saw a robin standing on the path just in front of me. Just standing. Not flying around. Not singing. Standing. Surveying the wetlands. So I started to watch the robin.

I noticed how alert that robin was even as he relaxed on the trail this still, cool, sunny morning. Watching his tail bob slightly up and down, I wondered why birds do that? I imagined I’d look up the answer later. Then I gently brought my attention back to the robin. I wondered, male or female? The early hour and that he was alone suggested a male out getting food for the family.

At that moment, the robin turned his entire body toward me. He looked at me, stood still for a long time gazing. I gazed back. Then he turned his head to the right, then to the left. I imagined he was able to see me better that way. On the other hand, I continued to look at him straightforwardly so I could see him better. I felt our connection in that quiet moment. I noticed I was breathing easily.

Turning my attention back to the robin, I watched him walk along the path, his little legs moving in a blur like a hummingbird’s wings. I imagined that even walking, he moved down the path more quickly than I. He stopped a few feet down the path and turned to look at me again. Then he surveyed the rest of the world surrounding him, the pond, the wetland vegetation.

Finally the robin flew off to a nearby tree. For a few moments I could still see him there. Maybe he still saw me. More likely he had already forgotten our moment together in the early morning sun and returned his attention to finding food. I wanted to hold on to the moment. As I recognized that urge, I let it go, turned my thoughts to gratitude.

Modah ani…grateful…I am…for this moment’s breath…breath that connects me to all living beings, all life. Breathe. In, out, with trust, with confidence. I am filled with gratitude for that moment I shared with the robin. Grateful for this moment as I breathe quietly and evenly, feeling part of all that is sacred.

Modah Ani – Jewish Prayer on Waking

מוֹדָה אֲנִי לְפָנֶֽיךָ מֶֽלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּים. שֶׁהֶֽחֱזַֽרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי ,בְּחֶמְלָה. רַבָּה אֱמֽוּנָתֶֽךָ

Modah ani lefanekha melekh ḥai vekayam sheheḥezarta bi nishmahti b’ḥemlah, rabah emunatekha.

Gratitude I offer before You, living and eternal One, Who returns my breath to me with compassion; abundant is Your faithfulness.

Years ago I heard Deepak Chopra in an interview. He was talking about health and well-being, and there was one statement he made that stayed with me — that it’s important to spend time outside every day, even if it’s just a few minutes, and look up.

I’ve thought many times about that comment. What is it about being outside and looking up that’s so important? Functionally speaking, what does it do? And I’ve thought other things, like this: all the world’s religious insights originated centuries ago. We have had no new insights in our time — rather, we seem to be searching for something that was already long since found. We even dismiss as myth and folklore what the ancients experienced and shared with us.

So I started thinking, maybe there’s a connection between spending more time under an open sky and religious experience and insight. Our alienation from nature blocks our vision. Our buildings and many wonderful services, our culture, literally obstruct our view.

Think of it: today, for many of us, if we never want to leave our homes, we don’t have to. All necessities, everything connected with our survival, can arrive in our homes with no effort from us: water, food, cooler air when its hot, warmer air when it’s cold. Even if we leave our homes for work or school, we simply exchange one controlled environment for another. Transit between those controlled environments is often via another moving but controlled environment, a car or bus or train.

Every one of those environments, whether a castle or a modest home or a vehicle of some kind is topped by a roof. Roofs are good — they provide shelter. But they also place a divide between us and the heavens. Today there is almost always a roof over our heads, and fewer and fewer people live in places and in ways that they experience stretches of open sky even when they are outside. Shelter is important. Indeed, it is one of the necessities — but at least according to Deepak Chopra, so is experiencing the outdoors, in particular, the vast expanse of the sky above us.

Long ago I bumped into the discovery that for me, the best antidote to depression is direct engagement with my own survival — that is, having my hands in the earth growing food or foraging for it and preparing meals from whole foods for myself and my family. Collecting water from natural sources is something I’d add to that list, but it’s not a possibility for most of us today. And most of us don’t build our own shelters. These are all tasks that before urbanization would have been carried on outdoors under a vast and uninterrupted sky. I had unique opportunities in my life to do just that, and I took advantage of them to heal myself. Today most of us need to be reminded: go outside. Look up.

So back to my questions: “What is it about being outside and looking up that’s so important? Functionally speaking, what does it do?” I thought I might see what clues a Jewish blessing gives and tried to find a blessing recited on looking up at the heavens. Interestingly, there aren’t any general blessings like this but rather on specific heavenly phenomena . . . on hearing thunder and seeing lightning, on seeing a comet, shooting star or meteor shower, for the new moon (Birkat HaHodesh), for the sun (Birkat HaChamah). The Torah and Jewish prayer often refer to “the heavens,” but Jewish blessings focus on specifics. All these blessings are recited outdoors while looking toward the heavens. These are all events of power and beauty, sometimes a terrible beauty from the human perspective, but worthy of recognition for their soothing regularity as well as for their sometimes frightening power and irregularity. One thing the heavens are not in the context of Jewish blessings is bland or inactive. They are a living, awe-inspiring force, pointing to the God who creates and animates them. Particularities within infinity.

I think of the times I have gone outside and looked up, many of them when I was tilling large gardens out in the country or helping on a local farm. I experienced extraordinary beauty, power, sometimes fear as when watching a tornado approach or feeling strong winds threaten the fragile security of my home. Jewish blessings in their specificity express this variability in my experience. I also remember times when I lay out under white clouds in the warmth of a bright summer day or under the stars at night. These are times when I was filled with a sense of the vastness of being and paradoxically with my place in it all, with a feeling of connection that brought me deep calm and peace.

I never knew where the sense of vastness, even infinity, came from. My son reminded me that there are not only stars in the heavens but living, breathing space between them and supporting them, and now I know the “structure” of eternity: stars, each unique from the others as each bit of creation is unique from all others, all cradled in and connected by infinite space. As Neil deGrasse Tyson says, “Every one of our body’s atoms is traceable to the Big Bang and to the thermonuclear furnaces within high-mass stars that exploded more than five billion years ago…stardust brought to life…” We are part of everything, and everything is part of us. It is the combination of infinite space and an interconnected web of being cradled in it that stirs awe, gratitude, humility and comfort. We need a constant awareness of both for mental, moral and spiritual health.

Now I know why it’s important to go outside and look up. These moments under the heavens are a reminder that I am a unique and important part of something vast, that my being has meaning, that I participate in and am witness to a vast, intricate, interconnected and beautiful unfolding of being cradled in endless space, in infinity. I am part of ehyeh asher ehyeh, I am who I am (or I will be who I will become), the words God spoke to Moses at the burning bush when Moses asked what he should tell the Israelites if they asked what god was sending Moses to them. (Exodus 3:14)

Without a deep and constant connection to the natural world, we have no insight into who we are, our reason for being. Looking at infinite space without awareness of our interconnected web within it is terrifying. Yet seeing only the stars and not the living space between them, we have no sense of place, of purpose. We can experience neither humility nor gratitude. Without looking up, without seeing both stars and space, or perhaps feeling the earth in our hands — and searching the heavens for what they tell us, we lose our moral foundation, based in the relationships that are all in a process of becoming within infinity.

We are watching Shtissel these days. It’s an Israeli series that takes place in a Haredi community (ultra-Orthodox) in Israel. It’s easy to see how an Orthodox Jew can recite 100 blessings in a day. Every action is accompanied by a blessing. Blessings are so constant that you might imagine they become a habit instead of training minds and souls in the direction of full awareness in every moment.

There is one scene, though, in one of the episodes when you realize how profound these blessings are. Giti Shtissel, one of the main characters, is desperate for work when her husband abandons her and their five children. She is ultimately hired as a nanny and housekeeper. When she is introduced to the child of the single mother who hired her, he asks — when he hears her recite a blessing before sipping from a glass of water — if he should also say a blessing when he drinks. She tells him no, he doesn’t need to, she just recites a blessing because she is “religious.”

At a later time, Giti leaves the job after being “politely” chastised for bringing her infant son with her one day. She calls her young charge to let him know she won’t be back and to say goodbye. In the course of the brief conversation, she also reminds him of his question about saying a blessing and says, “I lied. You should say a blessing before every morsel of food and every drop of water, just as I do.”

That statement seems particularly poignant today in these times of Covid-19. Grocery stores are considered “essential” businesses. So are farms. Most of America lives in cities and suburbs. Even though there is enough food to go around, there has always been a problem of distribution even before Covid-19. Imagine if these vital workers were not able to do their jobs. And yet I read an article today pointing out that 41 grocery store workers have died of Covid-19, and thousands more are infected. Workers are becoming anxious about going to work. And what if the virus runs through the farm worker community? What then?

Many of us are fortunate enough to take our food for granted. We take it so much for granted, in fact, that we waste 30-40% of it. I once did some calculations, and it seemed to me that we could easily feed the food insecure with what we waste. I once saw a picture of mounds of celery stalks piling up in a field, torn off of celery and discarded in order to make “perfect” bunches acceptable to grocery stores. Yet those discarded stalks of celery would have made gallons and gallons of fresh, delicious, nutritious soup along with other less than perfect discarded produce.

Doesn’t this all seem kind of mindless? But consider for a moment the miracle that occurs when a seed is planted, either randomly by nature or consciously by human hands, a miracle celebrated in Shir Ha-ma’alot recited before Birkat Ha-mazon, the Blessing After a Meal (literally blessing for food):

הַזֹּרְעִים בְּדִמְעָה–בְּרִנָּה יִקְצֹר

הָלוֹךְ יֵלֵךְ, וּבָכֹה — נֹשֵׂא מֶשֶׁךְ-הַזָּרַע
בֹּא-יָבֹא בְרִנָּה נֹשֵׂא, אֲלֻמֹּתָיו

Hazor’im b’dimah b’rinah yiktzoru.
Haloch yeileich uvachoh, nosei meshech hazara,
bo yavo v’rinah, nosei alumotav.

Then those who have sown in tears shall reap in joy. Those who go forth weeping, carrying bags of seeds, shall come home with shouts of joy, bearing their sheaves.

Imagine gathering your seeds the old-fashioned way, from plants, wild and cultivated, preparing them and properly storing them for use the next year. And imagine you don’t know, or aren’t sure, that those precious seeds, gathered with many hours of labor, will result in a harvest when you bury them in the ground. This is the backdrop of the meditation, Psalm 126. The farmer, uncertain of the outcome or purpose in what he is doing, knowing only that he is letting something go that is precious, weeps as he buries the seed. In the course of time, though, he returns rejoicing, bringing a bountiful harvest that came from the tiny, precious seed.

A similar experience is available to all of us who live far from the fields where people labor in the hot sun doing the work that we all did once, the work that once connected us to the miracle of producing food from tiny seeds, earth, and water. The experience of the miracle of fresh water for those who struggle with drought and the sun’s heat is available to those of us who have become disconnected from it by the ready availability of a faucet with running water.

These experiences are available to us when we say a blessing over every morsel of food, every drop of water. In that moment we are aware of the miraculous nature of what we take for granted.

There is something profoundly moving and beautiful to me in sharing a prayer across time and space, especially when the meditation relies on imagery of a natural world we all share. The lead-in to the blessing for putting on the tallit (prayer shawl) is one of those liturgical jewels.

Liturgies are designed to move us from one place to another, to take us on a journey of the imagination. These verses from Psalm 104 combine intimacy and grandeur in a remarkable image, starting our journey with an outward orientation, awed by the vastness and beauty of our natural world as we imagine God wrapping Himself in a garment of light and spreading the heavens like a curtain:

בָּרֲכִ֥י נַפְשִׁ֗י אֶת־יְה֫וָ֥ה יְהוָ֣ה אֱ֭לֹהַי גָּדַ֣לְתָּ מְּאֹ֑ד ה֭וֹד וְהָדָ֣ר לָבָֽשְׁתָּ׃ 

Bless the LORD, O my soul; O LORD, my God, You are very great; You are clothed in glory and majesty,

עֹֽטֶה־א֭וֹר כַּשַּׂלְמָ֑ה נוֹטֶ֥ה שָׁ֝מַ֗יִם כַּיְרִיעָֽה׃ 

wrapped in a robe of light; You spread the heavens like a curtain.

Bless the Lord, O my soul . . . Our soul, the consciousness breathed into us, blesses the consciousness from which it comes in this extraordinary image that points us to creation.

And then, bringing ourselves from the vast grandeur of creation to our present moment, we reflect God’s actions as we also wrap ourselves in a beautifully adorned garment: “I am enwrapping myself in the fringed garment . . .”

Next we imagine our action as a hope for ourselves in the “world to come,” that is, the Garden of Eden. We have come full circle in our imaginative journey, from creation, to our action in the present moment, to our future place, the Garden of Eden, another reference to creation. The steps of our journey have taken us from the vastness of creation as we view the heavens and the light of sun and stars to the intimacy of creation in the Garden, where we “began,” hope to “return,” and are now in the present.

We are in the timelessness of the ritual moment that embraces past, present and future in one, that brings God’s action and our action into unified reciprocity.

And now we recite the blessing for putting on the tallit:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה הָ׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אשר קדשנו במצותיו וצונו להתעטף בציצת.‏

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hit’atef ba‑tzitzit.

Blessed are You, LORD, our God, King of the universe, Who has sanctified us with His commandments and has commanded us to wrap ourselves with fringes.

The next in the series of morning blessings after al netilat yadayim (washing the hands) is al mitzvat tzitzit. Tzitzit are “fringes” on garments required in several biblical passages: “They shall make fringes for themselves on the corners of their garments throughout their generations.” (Num. 15:38)

Jews carry out this mitzvah by wearing the arba kanfot, the “four corners,” a garment with tzitzit, the first garment put on each day when getting dressed. There are also tzitzit on the tallit, the “prayer shawl” a Jew puts on for prayer. A post in theTorah.com provides a historical overview of meanings associated with wearing tzitzit. I’d like to focus on two ideas mentioned in the post and think about how they speak to me. But first, the blessing:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה הָ׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אַשֶׁר קִדְשָנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָנוּ עַל מִצְוַת צִיצִת

Baruch atta Adonai Eloheinu Melech ha’olam asher kid-sha-nu b’mitz-vo-tav v’tzi-vanu al mitzvat tzitzit.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us concerning the mitzvah of tzitzit.

The explanation I have heard most frequently of the meaning and purpose of tzitzit is that they remind us throughout the day of the commandments and in reminding, save us from sin. But here are two other ideas that speak more meaningfully to me:

A Reminder of the Shema

“Listen, Israel, Adonai is our God. Adonai is One.” The Shema speaks to us of the Oneness of God. But what does that mean?

Adonai, Lord, a stand-in for the Tetragrammaton, is most often thought of as a “personal” god, a god who engages in personal relationships with human beings. Maimonides makes this idea part of his 13 Principles of Faith. God creates and guides, rewards and punishes. ~ Principles 1, 10 and 11. God is often represented in Jewish tradition, in the Torah and rabbinic literature, with characteristics we associate with a human being. God feels great love, compassion, tenderness, anger, even regret. It is these anthropopathic qualities that allow a personal relationship with created beings.

At the same time, this god is wholly other than God’s creation: “nothing whatsoever can compare to Him [or be compared with Him]…” ~ Principles 2 and 3. Where there is no similarity, no point of identification, it is hard to imagine a relationship.

So we have a paradox, a being wholly other yet to whom human beings can relate. That suggests to me a range of meanings and different ways of experiencing what we refer to by phonemes (God, Lord, Adonai) as we attempt to live within the paradox.

The paradox has been expressed in many different ways within Judaism. Never speaking or writing the four-letter name for God, the Tetragrammaton. Referring to God as Ha-Shem, the Name. The Jewish mystics use the phrase Ayn Sof to refer to God, “without end.”

But even as we refer to the incomprehensibility and otherness of God, we imagine ourselves in relationship with a being who says with reference to freeing the Israelites from Egypt, “…how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Me.” The tenderness and beauty of this phrase speak of a profound relationship — yet we know there are no wings involved here other than in our imagination. “Religion is in the language of ‘as if.’” It is our stories and images and similes that give meaning to our lives, including the idea that we are in an intimate relationship with All That Was, Is, Will Be. But Maimonides reminds us that any story, any simile, cannot possibly express ultimate reality.

So for a moment as I recite this benediction, I will set aside all the names for what is unnameable, all the visualizations and stories. I will empty myself and in that empty state participate in oneness. For a moment, I am without cultural constructs, the limitations of language, space and time. I am aware of profound interconnection, of interbeing — I am in everything, and everything is in me. There is a oneness of being, a compassionate whole in which the miracle of diversified life unfolds. This is a meaningful space from which to enter my daily life.

The Seas and the Heavens

In the post from theTorah.com, there is a passing reference to “the mystical explanation that the tekhelet of tzitzit reminds us of the seas and of the heavens and of God,” as one of the few rabbinic explanations of why the tzitzit remind us of God. Tekhelet is a special blue dye mentioned 49 times in the Tanakh/Hebrew Bible. It was used in the High Priest’s garments, the tapestries in the Tabernacle and in tzitzit.

My earliest experience of anything like a “God-awareness” came from watching the sun on the water or lying on my back looking up to the heavens. Somehow I didn’t need and didn’t form a picture in my child’s mind of that “God.” I didn’t need to name my experience, define it or explain it. I just experienced vastness, intimacy, profound connection, beauty and deep peace. So understanding the tekhelet of the tzitzit as a reminder of those moments, as a path into them, is a powerful kavanah (intention, direction of the heart) for me.

Tzitzit. Unity of All That Was, Is, Will Be. I was, am, and will always be part of this extraordinary beauty. There is inexpressible peace and love in this space. Tzitzit wordlessly connect me to that.

I woke up this morning to sun coming in the window, and I felt joyful. Another day for a long walk with my husband, Andy, and my little dog, Rafi. Rafi was recently restored to good health and puppy-behaviors (even tho he’s ten years old) after six months of baffling pain, so I’m pretty joyful about that as well. None of us has coronavirus, and we are fortunate that we can just stay home. Both of my sons and their wives work at home — and my grandson is home-schooled. So there’s that.

But then I paused for a moment in my reflections and happy feelings and thought of how an observant Jew might begin the day, with this prayer:

I thank you, living and enduring King. You return my soul to me with compassion. How great is your faith (in me)!

מוֹדֶה (מוֹדָה) אֲנִי לְפָנֶֽיךָ מֶֽלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּים. שֶׁהֶֽחֱזַֽרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי ,בְּחֶמְלָה. רַבָּה אֱמֽוּנָתֶֽךָ׃

Modeh (Modah) ani l’fanecha, melech chai v’kayam, she-hazarta bi nishmati b’chemla. Rabba emunatecha.

The prayer is followed immediately with the first blessing of the day recited with the first action of the day after rising, hand-washing:

Blessed are you, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us through your commandments and has commanded us concerning the washing of hands.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה הָ׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָּנוּ עַל נְטִילַת יָדַיִם

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al netilat yadayim.

For many of us, reciting a structured prayer followed by a specific action and structured blessing might be problematic. Why not just relax in the moment of joy on waking? Do or say something spontaneous? Surely that’s more “authentic.” But perhaps there’s something to be said for managing our “mood” and shaping our worldview.

Here are some things that come into my mind and heart as I contemplate this prayer of gratitude and the first blessing of the day.

Modeh (modah) ani l’fanecha – I thank You, I am grateful before You. My awareness on waking is immediately directed beyond myself, though it includes myself, as I express gratitude…

Melech chai v’kayam – Living and enduring King. Despite what appears to be reality from our limited point of view, there is a greater reality in which All That Is lives and breathes and “endures,” is eternal…

She-hazarta bi nishmati – You return my soul to me. The breath of that greater Being-ness, of All That Is, reanimates our consciousness, our awareness of being…

B’chemla – With compassion. The very nature of all being is compassionate and the fact that we are here, that we have consciousness, is evidence of that…

Rabba emunatecha – How great is your faith (in me)! “in me” is added in the translation as an assumption since the conversation is about returning spirit or consciousness to the one reciting the prayer. But what if that faith is more universal? What if that faith is in All That Is, in the processes of creation as well as the Being-ness of what is as of yet uncreated? Faith in us but in so much more, in that of which we are all part…

So as we take our first breath, instead of focusing on our personal and particular blessings — or getting lost in what we feel we are missing — we turn our attention to the greater whole of which we are a part, to the inherent compassion of the whole and for ourselves in particular as we once again come into being, into consciousness.

And now, restored to the created world and remembering we are part of All That Is, celebrating our unique ability to be conscious of our connection, we take our first step into the day. We wash our hands.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam – Blessed are you, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe. Again, our attention and awareness are directed to All That Is, reminding us we are part of that and not isolated from it. We are not alone. We are part of a living, breathing, compassionate whole. And we are conscious of that, reminding ourselves of our consciousness and our role in creation through the act of saying a blessing…

Asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav – Who has sanctified us through your commandments. Imagine that! That which is so much greater than we, All That Is, “sanctifies” us, a part of the whole. First reminded we are part of an eternal wholeness, we now recognize we are simultaneously “sacred” or set apart from it. Or perhaps better, we are unique within it, and we have special responsibilities within it. Our responsibilities, those things we are commanded to do to fulfill our nature, are what sets us apart…

V’tzivanu al netilat yadayim – and has commanded us concerning the washing (lifting) of hands. The blessing now specifies the commandment we are recognizing and performing, our special obligation. Translated “washing,” netilat literally means “lifting.” We are first singled out from All That Is with commandments that allow us to fulfill our unique nature as human beings and as Jews. Then in performing the commandment we single out a part of ourselves, our hands, sanctifying them with water and lifting them to the heavens.

Think about this for a moment. The first action of the day, sanctifying our hands, setting them apart. There is a depth and diversity of symbolism here, something we can all meditate on, finding our own meaning.

But there is more. God — All That is — the greater Whole — within which we all are born, live our lives and die, compassionate infinity, makes conscious choices, first of us, setting us apart by giving us commandments, then in particular of our hands. There is a reason for this, a meaning in it.

And so with our first prayer, we recognize the compassion that has granted us another day of neshamah — breath, consciousness, a uniquely human consciousness. Then as we wash our hands and lift them, we recite the blessing that invokes our human uniqueness that can “reflect on and celebrate itself in conscious self-awareness.” (The Dream of the Earth, Thomas Berry, Sierra Club Books San Francisco, 1988, p. 132). And from that mental and spiritual space, we begin our day.

It’s still wonderful to wake up in the morning and feel happy because of my particular blessings, my family, my little dog, our home, our health, a relatively warm and sunny day. But this Jewish beginning, a formulaic prayer followed with a ritual action and the first of many berachot, blessings, centers me in a framework of meaningful action. And it does that even on the days it’s raining or hardships cause stress or sadness.

Blessed are You, O Lord our God, ruler of the universe, who entrusts us with the power to create and destroy worlds.

This is a blessing I composed as I considered the destruction we bring upon our Garden in so many ways.

I read an article this morning from Scientific American titled “Destroyed Habitat Creates the Perfect Conditions for Coronavirus to Emerge.” It is about pandemics in general, and Covid-19 in particular. On our current trajectory, this pandemic will be far from our last.

We need to talk more about this: “There’s misapprehension among scientists and the public that natural ecosystems are the source of threats to ourselves. It’s a mistake. Nature poses threats, it is true, but it’s human activities that do the real damage. The health risks in a natural environment can be made much worse when we interfere with it.”

Maybe the Torah expressed an important truth when it differentiated between domestic animals and wild beasts. Humans are responsible to care for their domestic animals. Domestic animals are to enjoy Shabbat along with their human caretakers. But between humans and wild animals, separation, respect, live-and-let-live.

Sometimes “awe and amazement” have to do with becoming fully aware of the power placed in our hands. I hope God’s trust in humanity wasn’t fully misplaced.

“. . .the human activates the most profound dimension of the universe itself, its capacity to reflect on and celebrate itself in conscious self-awareness.” (The Dream of the Earth, Thomas Berry, Sierra Club Books San Francisco, 1988, p. 132)

I’d like to think more about this idea in relation to Jewish blessings.

Berry presents this thought in the context of an idea of a “new story” of the universe that is emerging, a combination of a mechanistic scientific idea and a mythic, values-enriched idea. Years ago I heard a phrase that I put to work many times in my own teaching: “Myth gives meaning to history.” Yes, of course there are facts, historical facts, scientific facts. But it is how we understand the facts that gives our lives meaning. This, then, is our most important task as human beings, the meaning of our lives in the world: to reflect on and celebrate creation in conscious self-awareness.

I have come back to this idea of “the story” repeatedly in the past couple of years ever since I read Yuval Noah Harari’s Sapiens and Charles Eisenstein’s The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible. Harari tells us the unique ability of human beings is that we create fictions (stories) and persuade others to believe them — which in turns allows us to cooperate flexibly in large groups, the key to our success as a species. Eisenstein challenges us to choose the story in which we will stand. Our stories make our lives meaningful. Our stories represent our reflections on and celebrations of creation.

Jewish blessings are mini-reminders of a greater narrative of the universe, a story in which every living being is gifted with life and food appropriate for its nature. A story of creativity, wisdom, justice and compassion. A story that begins and ends with an aspirational vision, the Garden.

Jewish blessings are formulaic. Most begin like this: “Blessed are you, o Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, Who . . .” In our times, an age that prioritizes the authority of the individual, we are likely to dismiss or negatively characterize formulaic blessings and prayers. How could they be from the heart?

But then we would miss the teaching in this form. What do you usually think of when you think of blessings? I’m asking you for your blessing…please bless me with good health, with success…I am grateful for my many blessings. But these words sound more like prayers of supplication or gratitude to me.

I haven’t done a systematic study of this, but I think many if not most Jewish blessings, certainly those that are according to this formula, bless God for something that God does. The Blessing for Seeing An Unusual Being is a good example:

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יהוה אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶך הָעולָם משנה הבריות

Blessed are You, LORD, our God, King of the Universe, Who makes Beings different.

Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, m’shaneh habriyot.

Sometimes after blessing God, “Who” is followed with something God commands us to do:

בָּרוּך אַתָּה אַדָנָי אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶך הָעוֹלָם אַשֶׁר קִדְשָנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתָיו וְצִוָנוּ לְהַדְלִיק נֵר שֶל שַבָּת

Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav vitzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat.

Blessed are You, God, Ruler of the universe, Who sanctified us with the commandment of lighting Shabbat candles.

Both blessings bless God, one for the works of creation, one for engaging us with God as human beings, in this case by noticing and marking a space in time.

An amazing teaching that offers learning through repetition and performance. We continually notice and reflect on the fact that everything we see is gifted to us, came into being through a force beyond our comprehension. And we are invited to take a role in that creation, through noticing, marking time, performing specific acts including reciting blessings that acknowledge our role.

You are not IN the universe, you ARE the universe, an intrinsic part of it. Ultimately you are not a person, but a focal point where the universe is becoming conscious of itself. What an amazing miracle.” ~ Eckhart Tolle

We are creation becoming conscious of itself when we recite a Jewish blessing.

I’m not a multi-tasker, but I do it anyway. Who doesn’t? I’ve rarely seen a job description that requires mindfulness, but I’ve seen plenty that say, “Must be a good multi-tasker.” People pride themselves on their ability to multi-task. I feel inadequate.

But the truth is, we don’t really multi-task anyway. We rapidly serial-task. And research shows that attempted multi-tasking is both inefficient and stressful.

I can certainly vouch for the stressful part. When I owned and operated a cafe (and everyone knows restaurants are the ultimate in multi-tasking businesses), I used to regularly lock myself in the bathroom and cry. A little meltdown from the constant and immediate demands that made me go brain-dead.

I’ve never liked talking on the phone, but I’m a writer, and I text and email. And people text and email me. But whether it’s phone time or texting and emailing time, the constant and immediate possibility of sharing the most recent thing that comes into our heads enhances our multi-tasking addiction. We can take care of that most recent message immediately, no matter what else we’re doing.

But what we can do isn’t necessarily what we should do. When we try, we decrease focus, intelligence and productivity for each of the things we’re doing and increase stress.

So what does all this have to do with blessings? My stress levels have been unusually high this past year. So high that I’ve actually had what I can only describe as an “out-of-body” experience. Usually very context-sensitive, I am aware of being disconnected from my environment and hearing words that are not contextually appropriate coming out of my mouth.

I decided to engage in a conscious process of reducing my stress levels. This isn’t very easy for me. Have you ever tried bio-feedback? I did once, at the Museum of Science and Industry. A friend who was with me tried it first and worked the feedback like a symphony. Then it was my turn. I clipped my finger into a particular spot, and the feedback was at a pretty shrill level, much like my insides. I tried everything to bring it down. Then I thought, well, if I can’t bring it down, maybe I’ll bring it up. No problem.

All of which is to say, I need time for this process, and I need techniques, something shorter than a half hour meditation session at this stage of my work. Jewish blessings seem like just the thing. A brief moment in time of total focus. If I have one today, maybe I can have two tomorrow. And three the next day. Maybe I’ll even get to 100 blessings a day.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it back to myself and the calm that comes from knowing I am part of everything, and everything is part of me.