News
Simple Oneness
by Rabbi Mattisyahu Brown
It was still pleasantly cool in the Holy Land, and I sat by the open door to my breezy balcony in Jerusalem, on the phone with a remarkable soul, a courageous Palestinian peacemaker from Jericho named Mohamed Jamous. I actually didn't know him well. We had actually met once before, briefly at an event of Praying Together in Jerusalem, where members of the 'Abrahamic faiths' pray in universal terms, in the same space, in this magical city. On Facebook, Mohamad had expressed his delight in the song that I had sung with guitar at that event: "Eyn od mi-Levado... La ilaha illa-Llah..."
As illumined Sufi Muslim teachers translate it, La ilaha illa-Llah means "There is no reality but the Supreme Reality." As illumined Chasidic Jewish teachers translate it, Eyn od mi-Levado means "There is nothing but Eternal Being." All things are ultimately a simple Oneness. When Jews and Muslims focus on the oneness of reality enshrined at the pinnacle of both traditions, perhaps we can perceive that oneness in each other. Perhaps we can laugh together and not shout. When the left hand knows that the right hand is another part of the one body, how can it attack, how can it actively retain anger and wounding?
According to Rabbinic tradition, Shalom, peace and wholeness, is defined by the uniting of opposites. Water and fire, generosity and withholding, can coexist when their hidden oneness is revealed. I hoped my song would enter someone's heart and we could eventually explore the effects of meditating on Simple Oneness across these sometimes 'opposite' traditions.
It is true that generational and personal trauma makes all sorts of relationships volatile or defensive and difficult to embrace in oneness. Victims become perpetrators. Spiritual by-passing of trauma is not the ultimate answer. We have to work on our own healing, then proceed with peacemaking our spouses and family, and then build steadily outward through our own communities before we can authentically heal larger groupings. Finger-wagging does not make others heal or change. However, the power of simple faith in the oneness of reality is a time-tested cure and empowerment, having brought countless individuals through unimaginable suffering into wholeness and non-violence.
As we were speaking, Mohamed kindly invited me to an iftar, a small Islamic fast-break meal, at his home in Jericho. I was drawn to get to know him better, and perhaps I could be of moral support to him. I had heard that the Palestinian Authority had thrown him in jail more than once for his friendly collaborations with Jews. Also, perhaps Mohamed could help me find others who would participate in a meditation retreat for spiritually engaged Palestinian Muslims and Israeli Jews, 'peace through conscious oneness'.
I accepted the invitation and he gave me precise instructions on how to get to his house; a public bus to a location where a trusted friend with a car service would pick me up and bring me into the Palestinian city. Apologetically, I offered to bring kosher pizza to share I only eat strictly kosher food. Mohamed accepted graciously, and then paused, and asked, "Do you have an American passport?"
"Yes, I have both American and Israeli..." I answered.
"Brother, please for your safety don't bring anything that would identify you as an Israeli citizen. Not even in your wallet or bag."
"My safety?" I was startled. Jericho is largely fed by tourism, streams of Christian internationals who visit their holy places there. The Palestinian Authority makes it as safe as possible for non-Muslims to visit this city, in order to preserve this vital livelihood.
"OK, thanks so much for the advice!" I laughed, but then became serious. "Brother, I look like a Jew, I have peiot (sidelocks) and tzitzit (fringes) and a kippah...."
"Oh... could you maybe tuck your peiot into a baseball hat? Tuck in the strings? Brother, I'm so sorry, if the Palestinian police stop you, I don't know... Please look like an American."
I was not going to back out, but I wasn't going to take any chances either. I couldn't find a baseball hat without Jewish inscriptions that would keep my peiot in place. This could be more like piku'ach nefesh (saving a life), I reasoned, reaching for the scissors. I left my peiot and tzitzit and kippah and ID cards in Jerusalem, removed Jewish apps from the screen of my phone, and ran for the bus. It was almost dusk, and I could already hear the Islamic call to prayer echoing from the taller buildings in Jerusalem; Muslims throughout the Land would soon break their fasts.
In very little time, I was in the lowest altitude city in the world, and its oldest. No sooner had I wondered where the walls were that Joshua had lowered by means of faith in Oneness alone, than I was at Mohamed's open gate.
Two other Jewish guests were already there, drinking sweet tea in the courtyard. One of whom was finishing his PhD in Middle Eastern studies while heading the Brazilian chapter of StandwithUs, an Israel advocacy organization. We all sat outside the house Mohamed had grown up in, and which still housed several members of his extended family. I offered lukewarm pizza, and we joked and swatted mosquitos and swapped stories, knowing that in only an hour later I would need to catch a ride back to Jerusalem with the Jews. We discussed ideas of how Mohamed might attract and host Christian tourists and tell his story of being a peacemaker. We discussed how a meditation meeting between Muslims and Jews might look. We discussed the seeming maze of obstacles.
"Maybe simple oneness is not so simple," I reflected, as my fingers reached to twist my non-existent peiot. "For example why should I have to give up my outer spiritual identity, not look like a Jew, in order to demonstrate a deeper oneness or bring peace? Can we not be 'one' without erasing our diversity?" The path of apology and assimilation has not produced peace better than 'standing with' our religious uniqueness.
Shouldn't unapologetically orthodox Jews and unapologetically orthodox Muslims be able to meet in a way where no one has to give up their cherished modes of living with the Creator? Can we experience oneness, while at the same time housing diverse, sometimes opposite, ways of thinking? Is not the One Source alone behind this universe of diversity? These inquiries only strengthened my drive. The Children of Abraham must go forward.
It was still pleasantly cool in the Holy Land, and I sat by the open door to my breezy balcony in Jerusalem, on the phone with a remarkable soul, a courageous Palestinian peacemaker from Jericho named Mohamed Jamous. I actually didn't know him well. We had actually met once before, briefly at an event of Praying Together in Jerusalem, where members of the 'Abrahamic faiths' pray in universal terms, in the same space, in this magical city. On Facebook, Mohamad had expressed his delight in the song that I had sung with guitar at that event: "Eyn od mi-Levado... La ilaha illa-Llah..."
As illumined Sufi Muslim teachers translate it, La ilaha illa-Llah means "There is no reality but the Supreme Reality." As illumined Chasidic Jewish teachers translate it, Eyn od mi-Levado means "There is nothing but Eternal Being." All things are ultimately a simple Oneness. When Jews and Muslims focus on the oneness of reality enshrined at the pinnacle of both traditions, perhaps we can perceive that oneness in each other. Perhaps we can laugh together and not shout. When the left hand knows that the right hand is another part of the one body, how can it attack, how can it actively retain anger and wounding?
According to Rabbinic tradition, Shalom, peace and wholeness, is defined by the uniting of opposites. Water and fire, generosity and withholding, can coexist when their hidden oneness is revealed. I hoped my song would enter someone's heart and we could eventually explore the effects of meditating on Simple Oneness across these sometimes 'opposite' traditions.
It is true that generational and personal trauma makes all sorts of relationships volatile or defensive and difficult to embrace in oneness. Victims become perpetrators. Spiritual by-passing of trauma is not the ultimate answer. We have to work on our own healing, then proceed with peacemaking our spouses and family, and then build steadily outward through our own communities before we can authentically heal larger groupings. Finger-wagging does not make others heal or change. However, the power of simple faith in the oneness of reality is a time-tested cure and empowerment, having brought countless individuals through unimaginable suffering into wholeness and non-violence.
As we were speaking, Mohamed kindly invited me to an iftar, a small Islamic fast-break meal, at his home in Jericho. I was drawn to get to know him better, and perhaps I could be of moral support to him. I had heard that the Palestinian Authority had thrown him in jail more than once for his friendly collaborations with Jews. Also, perhaps Mohamed could help me find others who would participate in a meditation retreat for spiritually engaged Palestinian Muslims and Israeli Jews, 'peace through conscious oneness'.
I accepted the invitation and he gave me precise instructions on how to get to his house; a public bus to a location where a trusted friend with a car service would pick me up and bring me into the Palestinian city. Apologetically, I offered to bring kosher pizza to share I only eat strictly kosher food. Mohamed accepted graciously, and then paused, and asked, "Do you have an American passport?"
"Yes, I have both American and Israeli..." I answered.
"Brother, please for your safety don't bring anything that would identify you as an Israeli citizen. Not even in your wallet or bag."
"My safety?" I was startled. Jericho is largely fed by tourism, streams of Christian internationals who visit their holy places there. The Palestinian Authority makes it as safe as possible for non-Muslims to visit this city, in order to preserve this vital livelihood.
"OK, thanks so much for the advice!" I laughed, but then became serious. "Brother, I look like a Jew, I have peiot (sidelocks) and tzitzit (fringes) and a kippah...."
"Oh... could you maybe tuck your peiot into a baseball hat? Tuck in the strings? Brother, I'm so sorry, if the Palestinian police stop you, I don't know... Please look like an American."
I was not going to back out, but I wasn't going to take any chances either. I couldn't find a baseball hat without Jewish inscriptions that would keep my peiot in place. This could be more like piku'ach nefesh (saving a life), I reasoned, reaching for the scissors. I left my peiot and tzitzit and kippah and ID cards in Jerusalem, removed Jewish apps from the screen of my phone, and ran for the bus. It was almost dusk, and I could already hear the Islamic call to prayer echoing from the taller buildings in Jerusalem; Muslims throughout the Land would soon break their fasts.
In very little time, I was in the lowest altitude city in the world, and its oldest. No sooner had I wondered where the walls were that Joshua had lowered by means of faith in Oneness alone, than I was at Mohamed's open gate.
Two other Jewish guests were already there, drinking sweet tea in the courtyard. One of whom was finishing his PhD in Middle Eastern studies while heading the Brazilian chapter of StandwithUs, an Israel advocacy organization. We all sat outside the house Mohamed had grown up in, and which still housed several members of his extended family. I offered lukewarm pizza, and we joked and swatted mosquitos and swapped stories, knowing that in only an hour later I would need to catch a ride back to Jerusalem with the Jews. We discussed ideas of how Mohamed might attract and host Christian tourists and tell his story of being a peacemaker. We discussed how a meditation meeting between Muslims and Jews might look. We discussed the seeming maze of obstacles.
"Maybe simple oneness is not so simple," I reflected, as my fingers reached to twist my non-existent peiot. "For example why should I have to give up my outer spiritual identity, not look like a Jew, in order to demonstrate a deeper oneness or bring peace? Can we not be 'one' without erasing our diversity?" The path of apology and assimilation has not produced peace better than 'standing with' our religious uniqueness.
Shouldn't unapologetically orthodox Jews and unapologetically orthodox Muslims be able to meet in a way where no one has to give up their cherished modes of living with the Creator? Can we experience oneness, while at the same time housing diverse, sometimes opposite, ways of thinking? Is not the One Source alone behind this universe of diversity? These inquiries only strengthened my drive. The Children of Abraham must go forward.