My newsletter is named after a traditional Jewish blessing upon encountering the majesty of a large body of water: “Blessed are you, our eternal G-d, Ruler of the Universe, who made the great sea.” BTS is a free, bi/monthly publication which shares Jewish and non-Jewish approaches to mindful, contemplative living. Some come from from spiritual teachings from the past and the present; others from my ongoing training and practice of Zen and Judaism. I also include here some of my own writing and news as well. BTS is a conversation, and I enjoy hearing from and responding to the readers.
“Do you see how this practice of ‘I don’t know’ includes ‘I want to help. I love. I ache for suffering beings. I ache for myself. I’ll do my best. How? What?'”
— Rev. Domyo Burk, The Practice of Not-Knowing
Today, June 18, 2025, I was supposed to be on the plane to Israel. I was going to spend 2 months in Jerusalem, studying at Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies, volunteering, and visiting my family. I had a book talk in Jerusalem scheduled for July 15. I am still at home, in California.
The sudden outbreak of the war upended my trip. My flight got cancelled, then the apartment, then everything else. Distraught as I am over the loss of the dream to reconnect with the land, its wisdom and holiness that go to the core of my identity, I am aware of the smallness of my loss. It’s miniscule is in comparison to the hope for the much-needed security for Israel and the world at large this war is meant to bring, and the immediate suffering of people.
My heart aches for my relatives, all of whom live in the affected areas of central and northern Israel. May Hashem Shomer Israel (Lord Guardian of Israel) and the strength of the country protect them and everyone in the land. When missiles fall from the sky, they don’t ask if you are Jewish, Christian, or Muslim. They just fall.
The current situation has been teaching me about resilience and not-knowing.
In a recent article, Rabbanit Shani Taragin recalled how in Exodus 25-26, G-d instructs Moses to build the entire Tabernacle, including the Arc of the Covenant and the altar, using acacia wood.
Why acacia? It’s not much to look at, neither special nor valuable.
Per Taragin, Rav Ovadia Sforno, a medieval Italian rabbi, noticed that “unlike other trees, the acacia is known for its extraordinary durability and resistance for decay. . . . Just as the acacia stands firm in harsh conditions, the Jewish people have demonstrated remarkable resilience throughout history,” concluded Sforno.
Acacias are hardy. They withstand the extremes of the desert climate. They stand out in the sparse, stony landscapes of Negev and Sinai, and by doing so, provide shade and sustenance for people and animals.
I hear this resilience in the humor of my cousin describing how she finally managed to get everyone in her building to discuss building repairs – at the bomb shelter.
Or in the reports that “despite the devastation, beaches were full, shops even more so, and many people had returned to work, balancing between anxiety and routine.”
That’s resilience, but it is also found in the strength to check on one another and offer emotional support in times of hardship, wherever we are in the world.
On a personal level, accepting the uncertainty of the situation has been my way of dealing with it. Rev. Domyo Burk of the Bright Zen Way community in Oregon teaches the practice of “moving fluidly from knowing to not-knowing and back.” This fluid nature of knowledge, to me, is interrelated with resilience: we stay true to our core, while adapting to the circumstances.
“When we find ourselves getting lost in a thicket of views,” writes Domyo, “getting stressed, judgmental, or despairing – we stop and touch the absolute dimension of our lives, where the reality of this moment is potent and luminous, regardless of what has come before or what will come after.”
(Photo: Midsummer on Dan River, Israel © Lane Igoudin, 2019)
I can’t go to Israel now, but I still intend to go. Once the airplanes fly, and my schedule opens up, I will. But I accept that I don’t really know what’s going to happen. I am holding it all together, and I feel, for the time being, a sense of balance.
Peace to all of you,
–Lane
Related post:
A Jerusalem Notebook (2019)
Lane Igoudin | Author, Professor, Dad 