The events of recent weeks [This was originally published on July 21 2014, as a Facebook Note.] have caused me to do some soul searching. Many things from the past have been dredged up and re-examined. I was particularly struck today by my first encounter with Hasidism, fifty years ago, in 1964. I read Martin Buber's HASIDISM AND MODERN MAN, I read about the Baal Shem Tov, I read the TALES OF THE HASIDIM, Part I and Part II. What it really was, for me, was pure mysticism. In my youthful enthusiasm I wrote a small paper (in Esperanto, the language of those who are ever-hopeful) about the similarities between Hasidism and Transcendentalism. I was entranced by the idea of the Shekhina, the Divine Spirit, and how it becomes entrapped in the "shells," or kellipot (qliphot). It then becomes our duty and our mission to liberate them. One can best do this, it seems, by being a heretic, or at least a mystic.
I was struck today by how formative that time was. It was much more important than I could have foreseen. I met a real, live Hasid (of the Lubavitcher variety), and was duly influenced. He introduced me to the music of Shlomo Carlebach.
I eventually met Rabbi Carlebach in person. In fact, at a concert in the Berkeley Community Theater, I went up, with many others, to receive "The Rebbe's Kiss" from him. After the concert was over, he said, "Come to the shul (the synagogue), we'll dance and sing 'til the sun comes up. We followed this mad rabbi through the streets of Berkeley, dancing and singing. People came to their windows, and we shouted, "Come to the shul!" Some of them did. At one point, Carlebach stopped, and turning to us, said "I want to sing a song called Samchem. It means, "make them happy, let them be joyful." Not this silly thing that we are doing tonight, but real, true happiness and joy." Entering the shul, I grabbed a kipá that I had no real right to wear (though many politicians have done the same). Shlomo Carlebach danced and sang. We danced the hora. Rabbi Carlebach broke a string, and asked me if I had another. (I wonder if, somehow, he knew that I was a guitar player.) He was the most charismatic person I had ever met.
That was in the middle '60s. In 1967 I was a hippie in the San Francisco "Summer of Love." That was another peak experience. A lot of other things happened, as the years rolled on. In the mid-seventies I consciously became a feminist. I studied and absorbed a great deal of Hinduism, over quite a few years. At some point, perhaps in the '80s, I learned that Shlomo Carlebach's wife had left him, perhaps because of infidelitiies. [I later learned that it was because of inappropriate conduct with his female students, which is even worse.] I was crushed. One of my idols had feet of clay. Now, at the age of 71 [That was then--I am now 76.], I realize that life is not so simple, not that that excuses anything.
Please understand that I was raised as a Catholic. At some point in the dim, pre-America past, there had been some Jews in my family, and there is still the trace in my DNA [I now know that I have Jewish "DNA cousins" in the Ukraine, northwest Russia, Finland, Norway, and Sweden, as well as in the US.]. At some point in the 1980s I started to convert, but I never found the right fit. I heard about other, somewhat wilder flavors of Judaism, such as the Aquarian Minyan in Berkeley, but I questioned whether they were really Judaism. Now, of course, I wouldn't care. It's the spiritual content that counts.
Now, after many twists and turns of life's path, I have to recognize that, in a strange way, the Jews are my people. I was converted by Martin Buber, by the Baal Shem Tov, by Rabbi Nachman, by Dov Baer, by Shneur Zalman, by Isaac Luria, and, yes, by Shlomo Carlebach. Their work cannot be undone, not even by me. And that is why what is happening now [This was written in 2014.] in Gaza pains me so very, very much. Samchem, make them happy and joyful. That is my prayer now. Instead of death, let them experience the joy that is the birthright of all of us. Too many dark years have already passed. Shalom. Salaam. Peace. Peace. Peace.
Text © 2014-2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
