How often do we truly feel seen by others? A part of a community that will hold us in the good times and the bad? I have been reflecting on how rare that feeling has been for me - of true love and acceptance from a community.
This week, I had a couple of interesting moments that gave me a glimpse into the possibility of this sort of "community love."
1. At the center where I meditate on a weekly basis:
At one point, the speaker of this Tuesday evening's dharma had us turn to the person next to us and just look at one other, without talking. It's such a small act and something that feels so awkward because it's not something that we do. We don't stop and look into each other's eyes - and we are just talking for a couple of minutes here. It's uncomfortable because we are used to hardly looking at one another. Whizzing by strangers and never stopping to even notice them. Maybe even talking to people with whom we are interacting without making eye contact (looking at our phones instead, or up at the sky). And here I was, on a cushion, staring into this woman's eyes - they were sparkly and kind and I never felt such warmth from a complete stranger. This feeling of goodness and acceptance, without knowing anything about me. And I looked back at her, in kind - a true moment of goodwill.
2. At Rosh Hashanah services last night:
I think that part of why I am thinking about this concept of "community love" is because I never had it growing up. It's something that I chose to try and create for myself as an adult because it's something I wanted. I never felt quite accepted at the temple that my family belonged to as a child, and I never felt fully accepted by the Chinese/Asian community. Some of that has changed as I've grown older, but aside from Swirl, there aren't many places where I can feel such a sense of community belonging. Last night was the first time I ever felt at home and happy in a synagogue. You may argue (others have) that I don't go to the right temples. That there are diverse ones where I would be more accepted. That may be true. I'm realizing that for me, more important than the diversity of the congregation is probably the Rabbi. The Rabbi of the synagogue of my childhood made that experience such a terrible one for me, so it makes sense that the leader would be most important to my sense of belonging. What sort of tone does the Rabbi set? How does he build community and promote the coming together of people? This is what is important to me. Last night, Rabbi Marc Wolf at the Jewish Theological Seminary talked about the concept of "hamish" (yiddish for cozy or homey). And explained that "hamish" was what they were going for at that temple. They wanted to be the kind of place where people felt united, a community. Not the kind of place where people feel a coldness toward one another (a la "You stay over there, and I'll stay over here"). Where they just come and go. And I think that his very personality and way of being absolutely helped to promote this homey feeling. He was down to earth, funny, and kind. I wish I wasn't so surprised to actually enjoy the service, but I was. I suppose that after years of being disappointed and not really feeling any kind of connection, it was nice to feel that way last night.
I suppose the opportunities for community love are not always right there waiting, but they are possible. And if one can feel such kindness from an utter stranger who decides to start from a kind and accepting place, and assume good intent first, I think the possibilities for us living together in a more peaceful way are endless...
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1. At the center where I meditate on a weekly basis:
At one point, the speaker of this Tuesday evening's dharma had us turn to the person next to us and just look at one other, without talking. It's such a small act and something that feels so awkward because it's not something that we do. We don't stop and look into each other's eyes - and we are just talking for a couple of minutes here. It's uncomfortable because we are used to hardly looking at one another. Whizzing by strangers and never stopping to even notice them. Maybe even talking to people with whom we are interacting without making eye contact (looking at our phones instead, or up at the sky). And here I was, on a cushion, staring into this woman's eyes - they were sparkly and kind and I never felt such warmth from a complete stranger. This feeling of goodness and acceptance, without knowing anything about me. And I looked back at her, in kind - a true moment of goodwill.
2. At Rosh Hashanah services last night:
I think that part of why I am thinking about this concept of "community love" is because I never had it growing up. It's something that I chose to try and create for myself as an adult because it's something I wanted. I never felt quite accepted at the temple that my family belonged to as a child, and I never felt fully accepted by the Chinese/Asian community. Some of that has changed as I've grown older, but aside from Swirl, there aren't many places where I can feel such a sense of community belonging. Last night was the first time I ever felt at home and happy in a synagogue. You may argue (others have) that I don't go to the right temples. That there are diverse ones where I would be more accepted. That may be true. I'm realizing that for me, more important than the diversity of the congregation is probably the Rabbi. The Rabbi of the synagogue of my childhood made that experience such a terrible one for me, so it makes sense that the leader would be most important to my sense of belonging. What sort of tone does the Rabbi set? How does he build community and promote the coming together of people? This is what is important to me. Last night, Rabbi Marc Wolf at the Jewish Theological Seminary talked about the concept of "hamish" (yiddish for cozy or homey). And explained that "hamish" was what they were going for at that temple. They wanted to be the kind of place where people felt united, a community. Not the kind of place where people feel a coldness toward one another (a la "You stay over there, and I'll stay over here"). Where they just come and go. And I think that his very personality and way of being absolutely helped to promote this homey feeling. He was down to earth, funny, and kind. I wish I wasn't so surprised to actually enjoy the service, but I was. I suppose that after years of being disappointed and not really feeling any kind of connection, it was nice to feel that way last night.
I suppose the opportunities for community love are not always right there waiting, but they are possible. And if one can feel such kindness from an utter stranger who decides to start from a kind and accepting place, and assume good intent first, I think the possibilities for us living together in a more peaceful way are endless...
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