We’re back home in Philadelphia My teacher, Rabbi Dr. Nancy Fuchs-Kreimer wrote to say the Buddhist seminary across from the rabbinical college needs a homiletics teacher, would I be interested. What a cool compliment.

Meanwhile, just about everyone I know who’s Jewish knows more about Buddhism than I do and when I told the Won Reform Buddhist Seminary so and offered a referral to a colleague, the response was: We teach Buddhism, we want you to teach homiletics, public speaking in a western environment, to our clergy students.  Why not? I love teaching, feel most fully creative and alive when doing so.  I love world cultures and know little about Korea….this could make for a lovely cultural exchange…..Stay tuned for developments….

Curacao was heart-breaking. A world heritage site is located here that contains a room of a man named Jacob’s collection of biblical period and earlier artifacts is better known for its museum on the history of the slave trade on that island. Here individuals stolen from their villages in Africa spent two years being broken into slave-attitude, or killed or they committed suicide. The horrendous iron tools of the slavers are displayed, pens and housing, written policies and philosophical statements of slavers. Like at Yad VaShem, the Jewish holocaust memorial, I forced myself to stay present, to read, to learn more, to let hot tears of terror at what was and the knowledge this ability still lies within us, we who are inhumanity, let’s use our real group name, inhumanity.

You think I’m wrong? Read about the waves of complete mushuganosis that overtake human populations and lead us to acts of utter cruelty in every generation that the majority won’t act to stop until feeling threatened ourselves. Ashamnu, we who know as equally guilty….humanity is an organism on this planet, we can pull together…..to me that is messianic, not some dead Jew butchered by collusive men of power who people wish would come rescue us. We are it, it’s not toys are us folks, it’s G*d is us, not “him”, us…and beyond us in the fabric of all of creation. We’re potentially useful nodes that might be allowed to stick around by evolution if we stay differentiated and useful. Remember, when a species gets too specialized, it can’t survive. Watch Nova more often if that comes as a surprise. Diversity is a saving grace of creation, not unified beliefs, as some purport to be essential.

Curacao also has two synagogues, of course. One more orthodox, one more liberal. The latter has an impeccably preserved colonial temple which is still in use, the floor is sand covered, a few inches deep. The museum at this synagogue is fascinating because the lay/professional process of being in relationship pokes through the exhibits. For example, there is a tiny sterling silver and crystal hour glass that runs for exactly 20 minutes. It was commission for the president to use when the rabbi would start a sermon. Twenty-minutes, no more, fartig, as we say in Yiddish. Personally, I prefer 8 minute talks from those leading services, one point is enough to mull and that’s enough time to make one.

At this synagogue they also have ancient circumcision chairs of beautiful dark carved wood where the grandfather would sit with the child on his lap, high up enough for the mohel, the professional who excels at circumcision to kneel on a rung with his tools on a fitted tray and quickly perform the honors. (Jewish circumcision methods take under 1 minute 40 seconds, medical/surgical methods are done in the cold ambience of a med center and take much longer and are more traumatic.) The loving warmth of a grandfather or zandek (godfather’s) lap or these days in many community’s, that of the mother has to be infinitely wonderful as a memory being created for a child. When babies cry during Jewish circumcision (mine didn’t), by the way, it’s not cause it hurts (a local anesthetic I used) but cause, just as when you change their diaper and they protest, the air hits them and this is surprising. Medical circumcision, the kind done in hospitals involves the use of a tight clamp, which definitely triggers an infant reaction when one clamps you know where.

Another special stop was the moving bridge and floating market in St. Martin. Container ships come through the center of the town which is bifurcated by a channel. A pedestrian bridge connects the sides and when a ship is moving through, one instead takes a ferry. The pedestrian bridge has a motor so it can be steered back to the shore to allow ships to pass and you can stand on it while it’s moving, it’s fascinatingly smart. From

South America come tiny fishing vessels bearing fresh caught fish and veggies and they line up against a dock so locals can shop. The beaches here, while pretty, are plagued by crime, it was uncomfortable to have to keep watch on every little thing. Barry’s sunglasses were swiped when he set them down for seconds to change his t-shirt. Special here was seeing a really great mix of races as proprietors. Half the island is French, half Dutch.

Those who know me, know my first love (sorry Barry) is appel geboeck (a-pl kheh-bock), dutch apple cake. The best in the world we discovered here, topped with whipped cream, mitt shlag, of course. Note the utterly blissed out Goldie in the accompanying photo. [to be inserted]

The pride of place, language and culture we witnessed among residents of Puerto Rico resembled what I wish more Jewish people could recover. This sense of cultural pride was uniquely evident on the cruise ship we boarded for a week’s travels around the islands.  While I was serving as rabbi, there were few Jews with whom to celebrate the last days of Hanukkah, because of the 3000 aboard the ship, some 80% of paying voyagers were middle and upper class Puerto Ricans. When a band in a bar, or the dining room, or a walkway would play a Spanish folk song or popular Spanish love song, those eating or strolling simply, sweetly, and un-self-consciously, so far as I could tell, would burst out singing.  Oddly enough both in Puerto Rico and on the ship we rarely saw folks other than Caucasian Americans or the odd European smoking. And not once did anyone leave “sprinkle on the seat,” women, you know what I mean.

Paramount was the cultural norm of bringing one’s parents, children and grandchildren along for the cruise. There was little of the acting-out that American families with children often bring to a resort. There was dignity here. We were impressed. This cruise was one where the population took “formal nights” seriously. I wish you could have been there to watch the multi-generational family photographs being taken. Beauty radiated from each body present, the kind that is sometimes physical and also spiritual.

The ship itself, the meals, the cabin, the entertainment and the staff attention on Royal Caribbean were the best we’ve experienced anywhere. Definitely recommended.

There was even the improbable arrival of latkes and applesauce as we concluded services for Shabbat and the last two night of Hanukkah. The small batch of Jews who gathered from crew and passengers enjoyed a spate of English and one elder present was honored with turning the light bulbs each night in the candlebra, candles not being allowed due to fire hazard issues now prevalent in many public institutions. I taught on how each branch of the menorah corresponds in Kabbalah to a different quality in the Tree of Life practice known to ancient and contemporary Kabbablists. Not the new-agey stuff, rather the real material from Zohar and other traditional texts. This proved deep and meaningful for those present.

Puerto Ricans, we learned are typically genetic mixtures of Spanish conquerors and former black slaves or long ago present Taino natives and black former slaves. There’s some Christian imperialism warring, we noticed with efforts to embrace an earlier indigenous lineage among the youth. When one art museum tour guide spoke of how horrible it was that the local art had been burned during an insurrection action the government, it turned out she actually meant church art. When I asked about art by those who had been living there before the church took over, she looked briefly thoughtful and they responded, “Well, they must have been some primitive art before we brought civilizations here.” Other museums contained Taino art fragements/reconstructions.

What is Taino? Pre-Columbian indigenous inhabitants of the Bahamas, Greater Antilles, and the northern Lesser Antilles. It is believed that the seafaring Taínos were relatives of the Arawakan people of South America, how they came to Puerto Rico is under scholarly dispute. It is documented that their women were stolen for wives by warring Caribs for many centuries, and so were likely involuntarily added to the local genetic mix. The delightful musical instruments in a beautiful old mansion in Ponce, for example, does include instrument fragments attributed to Taino culture. Also a guitar that folds into a suitcase and soundscapes from room to room that teach the evolution of salsa. It was closed when we arrived, due to an air conditioning failure, but when we said we didn’t mind the young curator with a PhD in musicology took us through, picking up each instrument and playing it beautifully and with such soulful contact to our interest and the instruments capacity that we began to have tears of pure joy at the encounter.

On this huge cruise ship, recently known as the world’s largest, on many of the floors at various points in the day musicians play in combos. When one chose to play a Latin love song, everyone walking past spontaneously began to sing along in sweet, often rich voices. Soon perhaps 750 or 1000 people on that one floor of the ship were singing the song together. I wept, couldn’t help it. When the Dutch ship’s captain did his best to give daily welcomes in Spanish, they cheered. It wasn’t until later in the voyage when a mostly Spanish-speaking man from San Juan stopped me in the hall to thank me for trying to understand what he was saying at lunch, that it struck me how he wasn’t the first person to say that. So I asked him if other Caucasians on the ship were less friendly.” “They don’t want us on these ships.”  “The crew?” “No, they are mostly minorities too, the problem are the passengers.” (He showed me his meaning with a gesture towards the hoards passing by.) I told him I’d grown up in an anti-Semitic neighborhood and could relate. “Ah, but you could be quiet. Few Puerto Rican’s are quiet by nature, plus our color gives us away.” His humongous girth and hug almost erased me as he saw my tears for his words that I have heard in other cities and lands, and at home in Philadelphia. Even being quiet, the kids in my neighborhood had tried to crucify me after a priest preached that we killed their messiah. I didn’t both to explain that, just happy to have him and his six children, three grandchildren and wife as friends to touch base with during the trip.

Jews used to be considered people of color in North America. I once read a book about that. We come in quiet versions and all-too loud ones as well. The Puerto Ricans had a different relationship to body space than North Americans. They’d stand centimeters behind me chatting when I was playing ping pong, oblivious. Their boisterous enjoyment of it seemed most every minute of the day created a din that both enchanted and at times made us want to jump ship. With a strategic mass, my friend told me, they realized they could be themselves. How holy is that. Awesome.

Ponce was one place we perched for a few nights. An old, classically Spanish town, where noble buildings still are crumbling whilst streets are being made anew with major government funding, we wandered freely to the beautiful, rather new, elegant and eloquently assembled art museum. The paintings of a guest German artist David Schnell took our breath away. Stunningly skilled in the huge scale use of paints that give the impression of light, depth and architecturally fascinating spaces, he also includes what appear to be towers from concentration camps in many pieces. It was the first art we’d seen in years that engaged our imaginations with in-breath of awe and out-breath of oh. The message I took away was of a new Germany with the past increasingly far behind it in a bright and healthy way. Hope so!

El Junque, the rain forest region lived up to its name. All night sheets of rain alternated with the music of frogs found only in this eco-zone, nine species, each louder than any cricket you ever had in your bunk at camp. Owls punctuated the night too, it was like trying to sleep in New York City your first day back in town, impossibly fascinating just to listen to the soundscape. We were intrigued to learn the rain forest is destroyed by nature on a regular cycle of cyclones for as long as anyone can remember. This causes seeds of short-lived trees to germinate; they provide shade for longer-lived ancient palms and other trees to renew. These latter will gradually provide so much shade that the shorter lived trees will die, and on and on. The colorful snails were 4-6” wide. We didn’t do off trail hikes outside of the formal rain forest area after seeing our host return covered in mud over his waist, he thought we might have some trouble out there in the seasonal and rather junglish climate and terrain. We’re not writing the name of our B&B here in order to avoid lashon har-ah [unethical speech] since all things change. Let’s just say the breakfast was great, but with massive construction scenes underway on the property, the ambiance and personality of the owners were impediments to the manuscript work we have underway on this trip.

We have a food recommendation, eat the regional cuisine from food kiosks and food trucks in Puerto Rico. The “Puerto Rican” food in major city restaurants was a kind of bland bean/plantain scene, not really the Mexican Spanish Americans tend to like. The cuisine in Ponce at the restaurant at the Melia Hotel was particularly memorable - we give it five stars. Our hotel room there (ask for one’s in the older section, they are lovely with high ceilings and romantic courtyard-like overlooks) was lovely - large room, lovely large shower too. First they gave us one that was like a motel room in another wing, bleh - be sure to specifiy.

The kiosk row on the high way near the glorious beaches atLuquillo offer yummy indigenous fast foods – plantain is made into a kind of starch container for meats (if you eat that out), fishes and veggies, there are varieties of these and they are yummy, albeit deep fried. The fish is super fresh in the villages of Puerto Rico and definitely stop in the little fishing villages for just caught meals if you like we, reluctantly do eat food with a face. (I once had a dream that a fox went by driving a jeep, he leaned out the window and pointed at the bumper sticker which read: join the food chain, eat meat. I then wondered if my lack of energy might be resolved by ending 10 yrs as a vegetarian – yes, amazing how my skin and spirit began to improve over three weeks of renewing animal proteins in my diet. Guess I’m an aminal, as my kids used to say, after all, no denying it.)

Here is a photo of our improvised Hanukkah first night candles, which we lit at a beachcomber dining spot near the sea in Rincon after getting lost in the pitch dark and not making it back to our B&B in time for sundown. While streets signs are in Spanish and English, English literacy is not emphasized so far as we can tell. The city museum in

San Juan does not have signs in English, most of the art museums have at least some English interpretative signs available. Fortunately, Spanish is easy to learn for those familiar with other romance languages, typically the same root words, so we’re punting as quickly as possible. Plus, art speaks for itself.

Pretty churches are major tourist attractions. Out of curiosity about the varieties of world religious traditions, I drop in on services in most countries we visit. The attendance is sparse here in

San Juan’s large cathedral, maybe thirty-fifty. Striving for relevance and congregant participation is evident as a small rock band accompanies one service, and lay vocalists and many readers of the lectionary (bible selection) are part of another. No one under 50 appears to be at either service save for two of the electric guitarists. I stand and sit with everyone to be an accommodating visitor, but stop short of kneeling, which feels like it would be inappropriate given I’m not a Christian, nor inclined to be one.The woman beside me in the chapel, is wearing an employee badge from an area market is weeping deeply. I offer a tissue and touch my heart to show empathy. Later she touches my hand in appreciation and seeing my open-gaze to be there for her, she elects to hold my hand for much of the service. I visualize myself as a representative of a tethering rock, tzur hevli b’yet tzarah, like in the Adon Olam prayer those of us inclined to Jewish practice say each day, the “Rock which anchors in times of distress.”

When Barry beckons from his wandering amongst the glorious classical art in the various chapels and nooks through out the cathedral, fortunately she’d already dropped my hand and gone into her own reverie. I slipped away softly, the service was becoming long for me sinceI couldn’t understand much of the Spanish other than the holy, holy, holy, which comes from Christianity’s origins in Judaism, as well as the Latin G*d words in the congregational responses.  beisdes, I was allergic to the incense and sniffing up a storm, and having given away all my tissues…. Time for bright light and fresh air.

Often we proved a curiosity as Jews in Puerto Rico and when we did meet English speaking staff in museums, we were often asked questions about our people’s practices and traditions. As it happened, our host here at the B&B in Rincon proved to be Jewish. When she asked we explained how in the traditional blessing formulation, Barukh Atah Adonai, that Adonai has a root word, eh-den, meaning Threshold. It is also a place holder term for the letters yud hey vav hey, the “shmei rabbah” described in the Kaddish prayer, the Great Name. This most mysterious and holy name for the Jewish G*d idea, is made up of all the forms of the verb “to be”. So once could also say that for our people, G*d is the Infinite Potential for Change. It was wonderful to be able to share that with our host, as she’s been going to church to study bible with a priest and is married a Catholic from

Spain.

Having done my doctorate under a foundation grant that led me to study at a Christian Seminary, I now understand why the Jewish Scriptures (Torah) sounds rather alien interpreted through the lens of Christianity. Christians tend to read Jesus backwards into the biblical period by using key words like yeshua (it means “drawing out,” like Moses was draw out of the water, or in our Havdalah ritual, “the G*d who redeems me, who draws me out is, hinei el yeshua-ti” to mean that Jesus was already in the Torah. This core Christian belief, that he was predicted in such texts, is the heremeneutical device used to get Jews to think they can still be Jewish and believe in Jesus. Of course, educated Jews know our tradition allows no one human to be considered G*d. In Judaism, every human, in our tradition carries a G*d spark, a chip off the Old Block, if you will, our soul, and so we are each all-together b’tzelem elohim, made in the “image of G*d,” and yet like a flea could never grok the dog with which it is in symbiotic relationship, Jews accepted we can strive to grok The Big Picture, but never fully will. That existential condition is quelled by the experience of a Still Small Voice that can be heard within, light from the Spark if you will, that we learn to trust far more than dogmas from from professional institutional dogma generators who are inevitably tied to political dramas. Fortunately Christians and Jews share almost all the same behavioral values – so if your attention isn’t on the afterlife or committed to the Christian belief in the necessity of being “saved,” there’s no need for all that much conflict.  It is no fun for any one religion to imagine it holds the keys to the doorway to the kingdom of G*d, gosh, what hubris.  A G*d that doesn’t make one kind of rose, one kind of butterfly or one kind of universe, sure isn’t going to institute only one doorway to the Mystery beyond embodied life.

Jews believe everyone’s soul is evolving and that there’s no saving involved in moving on to the next plane of being, if there even is one, our musing on that question start with “no one knows” and include ideas from “we return to dust” to “re-incarnation.” In my next book, Living Jewish Life Cycle: Creating Meaningful Jewish Rites of Passage for Every Stage of Life (Coming out, if the publisher is on time, May 2008), I explain our life cycle perspectives in some depth, and also the wide range of contemporary and historical Jewish views on the after life.

The Passover Kiddush, a prayer for the holiday that is chanted over dark red grape wine or grape juice symbolizing the vitality of life reads, zman heyruteynu mikrah kodesh, “times we are free holiness happens.” Several things holy happened during free-time on our trip to Puerto Rico and the Caribbean islands.

The first was appreciating the difference between attending or teaching retreats and a trip that is mostly vacation. Definitely have to begin taking vacations more seriously. Feeling revitalized, filled with light in winter’s darkness from the outside-in. Teaching or taking intensives builds light differently, more so from the inside-out. Both are good and have different effects.

This is a dynamic, rather reborn Puerto Rico. In my youth I was an inner-city social worker and later, I served in Cumberland County, NJ, a farming area, so those born in

Puerto Rico who I tended to meet in the

US were more recent immigrant families and migrant workers. When I visited

San Juan some twenty years ago, it seemed a slum not dissimilar to living conditions of those I’d met in the

US. Not so on this trip.

The historic area of San Juan is colorful, completely rehabilitated, thriving, with boutique museums. In another section of town is a world-class art museum in a remarkable modern bulding.

In a tiny pharmacy museum, Barry was intrigued to see digitalis leaf among the containers. This triggered his memory of the US medical boards which, when he arrived only some 35 years ago, still contained something as irrelevant to modern practice as a question asking how many grams of ground leaf were required to treat some aspect of a heart condition.There are certainly areas here in Puerto Rico where homes have windows and balconies barred against crime, such as one sees in parts of

Jersey City, NJ. 4 million residents and not enough jobs leads to poverty and emigration, another 4 million Puerto Ricans live in the

United States, or so we heard on the news. Immediately next to the historic section of

San Juan, in a narrow area of land by the sea that one might have been temped to enter and wander, is the most notable area for drug-related crime. In the photo you see we’re walking with school teens and they’re message was unambiguous, go down there, into that neighborhood and you will get robbed, raped and shot dead.The many locals we went out of our way to encounter seemed actually happy to pause with curiosity on the beach or street to chat with us about their lives and ours. Catholic and Episcopal school uniforms abound and the youth did not exude the frighteningly wild behavior of kids near where we live do after school. Wonder what we will learn as we leave the town and tour the villages?