Pesach (Passover) - Chag Stories

We had our family seder, just my Mom and Dad, sister and myself.  We had four little cups of wine, and as a kavannah/intention for each cup, I added a verse from Proverbs or Psalms out of the book Dad had published when he was in his eighties - "The Romance of Wine and the Bible".  We recited the prayers of the Haggadah, sang the songs, performed the ritual acts, as we used to do as a family 40- 50 years ago.  I even included the little bibliodrama of the Fiery Rebbe of Kotsk.  The Rebbe instructs his student to open the door for Eliyahu, then chastises him - "Fool, don't you know, Eliyahu enters through the heart, not the door!".  Some of you are no doubt bored with my inclusion of this deep teaching!  This was the first real seder for my parents in many years.  It was a joy.  It was an oasis in time from the daily crazy-making situation with my folks.

The following day - still "Chag" (the first and last days of the week of Passover are Chag - special holydays) - I walked up the hill to the religious neighborhood of Bayit Vegan.  Even more than Shabbat in Jerusalem, the absence of cars in the streets and the festive atmosphere of people out walking in the streets, was apparent.  This person and that one, who normally would avoid your glance, offered a friendly "Chag sameach"  - Happy Holyday!  Of course this was a daati neighborhood, so the men wore black coats or robes, women had head covering.  Then one particular fellow, with prominent shtreumel (the large cylindrical fur hat described in the Pesach at the Zoo posting), and long stockings, actually started talking to me.  I was somewhat startled and tripped on the curb - something only my beloved Joe would appreciate.

So it was that I met Moshe and his son Yoseph.  I turned to Yoseph, a shy young boy 8 - 10 years old, whose side curls or payus seemed especially long, and said:

"Yoseph, do you know the significance of your name?  Yoseph (Joseph), our forefather, through the circumstances of his life, gave us the understanding of the saying 'Gam zu l'tovah' (This too is for the good - a belief in the ultimate goodness of the world - that was a major theme of the early Chasidic rabbis.)".
Yoseph was underwhelmed by my remarks; however Moshe turned to his son and said:  "Yoseph, did you hear that teaching?  That is a very important teaching about your name.

I then added:  "You know, when we close our eyes during the Shema, we then block out all the disturbances of the world around us, and we are able to really focus on Gam Zu L'tovah - the ultimate goodness of the world.  That is the secret of the Shema."

Moshe was delighted .  He thanked me for sharing this Torah, which he said he didn't know, and said it made his day.  I then learned Moshe was originally from Dallas.  His parents were followers of Reb Shlomo Carlback of blessed memory, and his family joined a Chassidic community here named after a shtetl in Poland.  We talked some more about the challenges of helping aging parents.  It also made my day making this connection.

One irony in the teaching about Gam Zu L'Tovah is that my real appreciation and work with this belief/concept/philosophy comes through my Chinese Tzeneng Qigong practice and the chanting of "Hoala" - All is Well, So Be It.  So many times I would feel exasperated by the crazy making situation with my parents, and I would go out onto a landing on a staircase overlooking the hills, or climb up some knoll to a flat spot with a view, and there I would close my eyes, blocking out all perceived and unperceived disturbances, and practice Chen Chi.  I would pour all my concentration into the physically challenging movement.  And I would pour all my concentration into chanting Haola - All is Well, So Be It.  So the connection with Moshe and Yoseph was cross cultural in more ways than one.

But there's more to tell regarding Reb Shlomo Carlbach's followers, and that is a story of the later Chag of the last day of Pesach.
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Rimona and I took a taxi to the Jaffa Gate.  We walked outside the old walls, on a beautiful recently restored walkway with gardens alongside the wall, then entered the Old City.  There we continued on picturesqe alleyways, the Jerusalem stones glowing in the late afternoon light, to the restored Jewish Quarter, and after that, to the Western Wall plaza.

Hundreds of people gathered there for the remaining hours of Hag, and for the coming of Shabbat.  I could hear the soft niggun of a circle of black coated Chassids , in the rear of the Western Wall enclosure.  Soon I recognized the melody as the Niggun of the Besht, also known as the Baal Shem Tov - the founding rabbi of the Chassidic movement in the 1800's.   The melody is deeply soulful, as if you can hear the joy and grief of a lifetime in its notes.   I made plans with Rimona to reconnoiter in an hour.  Unfortunately the Western Wall - last remaining wall of the Temple Mount of 2000 years ago, including the large praying areas, are completely segrated, with a much larger area for the men.  I went and joined this group of black coated men for prayer.

I was invited to partake in wine and shemura matzoh.  Shemura matzoh is 'guarded matzoh', watched carefully during its preparation to make sure the flour is not exposed to water more than 18 minutes, to ensure that no leavening takes place.  It is also prepared in large rounds and baked in a stone or brick oven, imparting a handmade slightly burnt look and taste.  It is also quite expensive to purchase. I was told it was a mitzvah to eat matzoh during the final remaining minutes of Chag.  There was one other fellow in modern dress - David - who recently made aliyah.  He told me where I might find followers of Reb Shlomo Carlbach later towards sunset.

The singing transitioned to a d'var Torah - a sermon - in the Hebrew, and while I could make out bits and pieces, including the Midrash of Nachshon who had the courage to go shoulder deep in the Red Sea before God caused it to part,   nevertheless, I started zoning out.  I heard another group, more masorti (conservative, modern dressed) in style and joined for a while, but felt no group spirit there.  The hour was up and I rejoined Rimona.  Meanwhile the numbers of people at the Kotel multiplied.  I couldn't remember ever seeing the plaza so packed.  Again I made plans with Rimona to reconnoiter.

I found it quite impossible at first to walk in this crowd of thousands of fervently praying men. But I wanted to get closer to the Kotel.  Then I saw occasionally a man who somehow managed to create a path here and there, and I managed to follow in their wake.  Eventually I made it to the Kotel.  I gave up on the ridiculous idea of looking for the Shlomo Carlback followers.

I prayed at the Wall.  I practiced energy exchange - La Chi - a Qigong practice, and found the powerful energy of this place allowed me to enter deeper practice.  In the distance off to my right I thought I could hear the familiar sweet melodies of Reb Shlomo.  Was I imagining?  Was it possible to join them?

I was mastering the art of wiggling my way through the crowd, and slowly, slowly, I made my way to them, in time for one of my favorites that I often play on the guitar - ya lai la lai lai, ya lai la lai lai - you know that one?  This was a fairly large and distinctly mixed crowd.  I stayed and sang and prayed with them some time.  A youngster gave me a bundle of geranium sprigs to smell.  I offered this around.  A group of four handsome, very  clean shaven, young men arrived and asked me some questions.  Their countenance was quite familiar.  I wondered if they might be Mormon.  They were indeed visiting and studying at the Mormon University.  We shook hands and exchanged names.  They were very friendly.  I again saw Bryson later in the evening, as well as at the small synagogue with the Chagall windows at Hadassah Hospital - another day.

Conveniently, the crowd thinned as the praying slowed and as the sky darkened, and it was easy making my way back to Rimona.  We enjoyed the 'afterglow' of this experience at the Kotel, taking in the festive atmosphere, the glow of the lights on the ancient walls, and slowly wondered out of the plaza.  At some point I felt far enough to try a picture, having seen others doing so without getting reprimanded by the 'camera police'.  I had gone into spectator mode.  It was time to go find a taxi.  It was a sweet ending of the Chag.