It was time for Mincha (the afternoon prayer). The Rabbi just looked at me with those incredible eyes of his – eyes that can see what others do not see, eyes filled with caring, love and compassion, eyes which were tearing, eyes revealing a depth of human understanding beyond our normal experience.
I met Yehudit Shabta in Jerusalem only about four years ago. She was recommended to me by my friend Thomas Nisell. Yehudit had spent many years working in the Steinsaltz institutions. She is a translator and editor with much practical experience, which includes working on many of the Rabbi’s books. Prior to my visit, we sent her a draft copy of my writings for preliminary evaluation.
It was motzei Shabbat (Saturday night, after the Sabbath is over). We had arranged to meet in the lobby of my hotel – a public place, yet somewhere where we could talk. Somehow, we seemed to recognise each other and sat down at a table. We ordered weak black teas and started talking. We seemed to feel comfortable. I showed her photos of my family. When we got to the subject of this book, Yehudit was very polite. Without wishing to cause any offence, she softly tried to explain that she didn’t think she could do the job. We agreed to meet at the Rabbi’s office the next morning.
I arrived first and had a coffee with Schwedi. “Nu?” he asked me. “How did it go?” I explained our discussions and said that I didn’t think Yehudit would be able to edit this book.
“Why?”
Because her world was too far away from my world and she really was not my primary audience, I heard myself respond. I am not a writer and my work is not presented in any conventional, logical manner.
Then Yehudit arrived. Same questions. She looked at me.
“Please, Yehudit,” I said, “please, just tell it the way you see it and the way you feel.” The Rabbi called us into his study and we sat down. He was puffing at his pipe in his characteristically Steinsaltz fashion. He was surrounded by piles of books and manuscripts. We were all multilingual and very comfortable together, but decided to speak in Hebrew because I thought that this would be the most natural for Yehudit on this occasion.
Same questions, this time from the Rabbi. Yehudit looked at me. I encouraged her just to tell him the way it was.
Yehudit looked at the Rabbi, then at me and back at the Rabbi.
“Ze lo mesudar.” (Literally: it is not orderly; meaning: it’s a mess and I really can’t do this.)
The Rabbi looked at her with those eyes of his. It was as if he could read inside her mind. He said to her, “I think this will be good for you to do.”
“I don’t understand,” she meekly responded.
“I think that this will be a very good thing for you to do,” he repeated.
“But, I don’t understand,”, she offered. “Ze lo mesudar.”
The Rabbi smiled and asked her in his soft, very human voice. “Have you ever seen a Japanese garden?”
“Actually, yes, I have,” Yehudit replied with some surprise in her voice.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“I don’t understand,”, she repeated.
Then we all heard what only Rabbi Steinsaltz could say. “You see, there are all kinds of gardens. For example, consider a French or an English garden: what do you see? Everything is perfectly put in place. Every leaf is manicured. It is very beautiful to some people and is mesudar (in order).
“Now you walk past a Japanese garden. It is not for everyone. You might not stop to look in. But if you do go in, what do you see? A rock over there. A tree over here. Maybe even some water. Maybe you find a seat. If you look closer you might imagine a picture – some kind of colours and patterns and textures. It is a bit like some forms of modern art where you see a bright yellow ear over here and a red shape of a leg, upside down, over there and a blue hand sticking out of a distorted green body. That is what you have here. Sometimes there is a deeper beauty, even though on the surface it appears lo mesudar,” he said. “It is not for every person, but some people like it. I think this will be good for you.” Yehudit sat silently, deep in thought.
Thus began our working relationship. It has only grown and become much deeper and open, full of mutual respect. It has also been lots of fun. You can just imagine the “in jokes” about me.
Why is the book not mesudar? Because real life is not mesudar and most people think and live in a non-mesudar way.
Few people have had the opportunity and privilege to be able to be truly inspired intellectually. Many people have become “turned off ” by bad experiences, mainly perpetrated by bad examples. Consider the schoolroom: how many people feel excited to re-enter a classroom? Most of us lack motivation and inspiration to even give it a try!
If my book does anything positive to help people to improve their lives by exciting their imaginations to experience new, positive and creative experiences, then I am a very happy and fulfilled person.
I hope to offer some kind of a glimmer of light which shines or sparkles out through the small window of such an apparently empty classroom – out onto the street. I hope to attract some curiosity for a passer-by, who probably would not have given this simple, plain classroom even a first look, let alone a second.
If I succeed in this, if I make the passer-by pause and think and notice the window, then, maybe this person might feel like coming a bit closer and taking a little time to peep inside the window. And if this casual peep of initial curiosity yields an attractive picture, then perhaps these people might wish to step inside to gain a closer look. This is where they will personally meet my very dear friend, Rabbi Steinsaltz. Then a new panorama of life will open up for them, a new dimension, a new relationship.
I explore the idea of happiness in life and try to build it into a framework of freedom and liberation. Liberation from what? From the mundane, the physical and the material that are devoid of the spiritual.
I play with the whole concept of rules, regulations, restrictions and limitations (“fences”) in societies and in communities. We do need fences; fences define who we are and, even more importantly, who we will become.
Who makes the fences? Who defines the rights and the wrongs? What have morality and ethics got to do with everyday living? Why? Who is inside the fence and who is on the outside? Who is sitting on the fence?
The true fence lies inside each person. We can think, imagine, dream and experience life within the fence, which is healthy – or risk exposing ourselves to dangers by allowing, or even enticing and then encouraging our minds to venture outside the boundaries imposed by the fence.
This is about human behaviour.
In this book I float through water, life and numbers. An apparently strange combination? I venture out on a voyage of discovery to explore the differences and similarities between science and belief in G-d. Science? Religion? Are they mutually exclusive? Or can they coexist in harmony and equilibrium?
I question what life is and the process of living and ageing: birth and death and what lies in-between. Beginnings and endings. The forces of good and of evil. Why? What is this all about? This is the unique journey which every person experiences through living life.
I have become so enriched, personally, by applying my mind to such issues and by putting pen to paper. I have discovered the joy and the privilege of growing and of understanding, the pleasure of fulfilment, the peace and serenity of being.
Living through