Solitude in Jewish Contemplative Practice - February 2012

In the tractate of the Mishnah known as the “Ethics of the Fathers”, we are strongly advised “not to separate ourselves from the community” (Pirkei Avos 2:5). Anyone attempting to lead a Jewish solitary life has to come to terms with this directive, yet there have always been Jews who have felt inspired to make solitary lives of prayer and study their main spiritual discipline and a major part of their contribution to the life of the Community of Israel.

If you consult a modern Hebrew dictionary, you will discover that the word for solitude is “b’didut”. In Jewish mystical theology the related term “hitbodedut” (often transliterated as “hisbodedus”) has been used for centuries to denote interior and exterior seclusion for contemplative prayer and meditation. Despite this history, a non-Jewish observer might find it hard to see evidence of physical or spiritual solitude in Jewish practice—and many Jews might even declare that there is no place for it in Judaism at all. In this short essay I hope to shine a little positive light on that gloomy misconception.

The two main reasons for the apparent dearth of solitary practice in Judaism are its insistent focus on communal activity and its objections to life-long celibacy. Judaism does not generally encourage physical withdrawal from society, it encourages the pursuit of justice and mercy through social action. Judaism does not encourage monastic celibacy as a way of expressing devotion, dedication, or as a spiritual technique. Instead, Judaism regards procreation (Genesis 1:28) and the education of children by the family unit (Deuteronomy 6:7) to be positive mitzvos—commandments to be observed. It also insists that communal liturgical prayer is the ideal form of Jewish worship, and it makes the presence of a minyan (ten worshippers) the condition for many full liturgical usages in order to assert this directive somewhat forcefully.

Nevertheless, if we look at the lives of Jews with a leaning towards meditation, contemplation, and meticulous religious observance we may find surprising and highly significant anomalies in the practice of religious solitude. I am not merely referring to fringe pietist groups or minority eccentrics here, but towering figures like Moses our Teacher, Elijah the prophet, Rabbi Isaac Luria the eminent kabbalist, and the Baal Shem Tov, founder of “modern” chassidism. These are not Jews on the fringe. They are the generators and exemplars of quintessential Jewish spiritual practice.

What is even more remarkable—given the usually universally observed commandment to procreate—there are even Tzaddikim who have practiced celibacy as an exceptional form of Jewish spiritual dedication. Examples of lifelong celibates in Judaism include the prophets Elijah and Elisha (see Zohar Chadash 2,1; Midrash Mishlei 30; and Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 33), as well as the Talmudic sage Rabbi Simeon Ben Azzai (see the Bavli tractate Yevamot 63b and also the remarks on religious celibacy in the Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 1:4).

Moses and Elijah were both advocates of religious solitude by example. Moses spent two very long retreats on top of Mount Sinai in deep solitude. He also left his wife and family behind and lived in celibacy for many years. Elijah appears to have been unmarried and childless yet, in a sense, his progeny are the contemplative Jews in each era. In every generation, each contemplative Jew follows Elijah into the cave of solitude to refine his/her spiritual attentiveness to the inner voice of the divine, and our tradition declares Elijah to be the archetypal mentor of those blessed to receive the gift of “his” mystical instruction. To be “under the mantle of Elijah” is to receive a profound contemplative awareness—a change in perspective— which is brought about by God’s inspiration.

When Moses went “into the Cloud” (Exodus 24:18), it was for a solitary retreat of forty days. Elijah’s encounter with the “still small voice” in the cave on Horeb (I Kings 19:9-18) was the climactic event which concluded a long solitary journey of forty days (I Kings 19:8). This was a biblical “zen walking meditation” par excellence. These experiences were not the biblical equivalent of a short “weekend retreat”. They were significantly long periods of isolated meditation intended, I would suggest, as models for future Jewish practice.

The giving of the Torah at Sinai was a unique religious event in that it was not an individual but a communal revelation. All of Israel experienced this event and yet, in a sense, the Torah was received by each individual in their own heart—in a spiritual solitude which is deeper than any mere physical solitude ever could be. It is “solitude within a crowd” and it is reflected each and every day in the traditional Jewish liturgy. Each communal service has periods where congregation members recite the central prayer of eighteen blessings (the Shemoneh Esreh) silently. At this and at other times during communal worship, they pray in secluded privacy under their tallisim ( prayer shawls), often at their own pace while absorbed in a text on the pages of their own prayer-book. They are worshipping in community, yet praying alone in interior solitude.

Elijah was only able to hear the “still small voice” when he had ignored the hustle and bustle of normal existence. The earthquake, and the wind, and the fire of our frenetic business and social lives can sometimes obscure a call to experience a deeper level of daat (religious encounter) or a more profound revelation of God’s will (ratzon). The messages of the “still small voice” are often the very ones which we are trying to avoid confronting, receiving, or putting into practice ourselves. Perhaps it is in a combination of external and internal solitude that we can best be aware of this tiny and hidden spark of inspiration (ruach ha-kodesh). Elijah was a Jewish mover and shaker, for certain—but even he went on a retreat. His is a Jewish example of religious solitude which many Jews ignore.

In chapter thirteen of his manual for Jewish pietists (Sefer Ha Maspik, in Rabbi Wincelberg’s English translation, “The Guide to Serving God”), Rabbi Abraham Maimonides (1186-1237) considers the biblical use of solitary meditation and suggests that we might follow the examples of Isaac meditating in the field (Genesis 24:63); of Moses on Mount Sinai (Exodus 34:3) and in his “Tent of Meeting” outside the camp” (Exodus 33:7); and Joshua during his long retreat there ( Exodus 33:11). He also gives us one of the most comprehensive definitions of Jewish solitary practice in existence when he writes:

“Outward retreat (hisbodedus) might be total, such as to separate from the city to isolate oneself in deserts, mountains, or other uninhabited places. It might be partial, such as to isolate oneself in houses. It might be frequent, or occasional, for long periods, or for short periods. But it is impossible in this world for one to retreat for an entire lifetime.”

(from the “Sefer HaMaspik” Chapter 13 trans Rabbi Yaakov Wincelberg in “Guide to Serving God” p 495)

Rabbi Abraham’s definition holds good for every Jewish solitary from the biblical era to the present day.

It is worth noting that attempts to incorporate solitude into Jewish life have most often been a case of a single Jew practicing a temporary hermit lifestyle rather than the communal monastic one. Christian solitaries have usually chosen to live as anchorites (confined in a building); as hermits (living in physical solitude); or as communal but eremitical monks ( sharing some aspects of religious life but spending the majority of time in isolation in a cell). Yet even these forms were not without some representation in Jewish practice. For example Rabbi Chaim Vital (1542-1620) writes when speaking of the “early saints” (chassidim rishonim) mentioned in the Talmud:

“These individuals would travel to rocky caves and deserts, secluded from the affairs of society. Some would seclude themselves in their homes, as isolated as those who went into the deserts. Day and night, they would continuously praise their Creator, repeating the words of the Torah, and chanting the Psalms, which gladden the heart.”

From “Sha’arey Kedushah” trans Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan on p94 of “Meditation and Kabbalah.”

There is, however, one notable example of a Jewish “communal eremitic monasticism”: the Order of the Therapeutae. The sole surviving historical source for knowledge of this Jewish religious order is Philo’s “De Vita Contemplativa” written early in the First Century C.E. (A.D.) Some scholars suggest that the community must have been formed of elderly “retired parents” and temporarily dedicated young pre-nuptual assistants. They were each secluded in a small hermitage with a private garden and prayer room with the cells grouped around a communal building, rather like the arrangement used by the Carthusian monks of the Christian religion. Each of the “communal hermits” of the Jewish monastic order of Therapeutae (both female and male) lived in solitude during the first six days of the week, but on the Sabbath, the entire community would gather for communal meals and services.

By combining Sabbath assembly with weekday solitude, perhaps the Therapeutae were attempting to reconcile the need for community observance with the countervailing impulse to lead solitary contemplative lives. It was this “Sabbath/weekday compromise” that was most often taken up by those later kabbalists and chassidim who felt particularly drawn to solitary practice— though almost exclusively in a solitary eremitical rather than a monastic form.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907-1972) writes:

“As a young man, Rabbi Yitzhak Luria, the founder of the Lurianic Kabbalah, removed to the banks of the Nile. For seven years he secluded himself in meditation, visiting his family only on the Sabbath, speaking seldom and then only in Hebrew, which was not commonly spoken in his time. Chassidic lore tells us that as a young man the Baal Shem Tov spent many years alone in the Carpathian Mountains.

Solitude was a common practice among mystically inclined Jews. Even the non-mystical Jewish writers of the Middle Ages seemed to agree that solitary living was indispensable to the attainment of spiritual purity. This view may be found in the writings of Abraham Ibn Ezra, Maimonides, Badarshi, Falaquera, Gersonides, Albo, Crescas, and Abravanel among others.”

(from “A Passion for Truth” p 214, Rabbi A.J.Heschel)

The subject of that essay, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859), spent no less than nineteen years secluded in a single room adjacent to his shul, only venturing out when called to the reading of the Torah. Rabbi Joseph Horwitz of Novhardok (1848-1919) spent eighteen months as a “Jewish anchorite” in solitary retreat in a room with a bricked-up door and holes in the wall for delivering his food. He agreed to marry, but only on condition that he be allowed to spend all the weekdays in solitude in a forest hermitage. He lived like that permanently for twelve years. In the Breslov community, kabbalist-ascetic Reb Avraham ben Reb Nachman Chazan (1849-1917) also spent his weekdays in solitude in the woods outside Uman for many years, returning home each week only on the Sabbath.

But these, one must admit, are exceptional examples of an extreme practice of seclusion. In many ways, the more typically Jewish use of solitude as a religious discipline is one which is practiced in comparatively short retreats, or in regular periods of secluded meditation whose duration is measured in just hours, or even minutes. Rabbi Abraham Abulafia (1240-1291) writes:

“Choose a special place for yourself where your voice will not be heard. Meditate alone with no-one else present. If you engage in this by day do so in a darkened room. It is best if you do this at night.”

(“Chayei Olam HaBah,” trans. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan in “Meditation and Kabbalah,” p. 107)

The same practice is recommended by Rabbi Chayim Vital (1542-1620):

“You should be in a room by yourself...It should be a place where you will not be distracted by the sound of human voices or the chirping of birds. The best time to do this is shortly after midnight”

(“Shaarei Kedushah,” trans. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan in “Meditation and Kabbalah,” p. 197)

The practice of such solitary prayer is especially dear to the followers of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772-1811) who used the word hitbodedus to denote a form of informal prayer in solitude to be practiced on a daily basis by Jews of every type and spiritual capability. Here are three short examples of his advice on this:

“It would be good if we could spend our entire day in hitbodedut. However, not everyone is capable of this. Therefore, we should spend at least one hour each day alone, meditating and speaking to God.

However, if a person's heart is strong, and he wishes to accept upon himself the yoke of Divine service, in truth he should aspire to practice hitbodedus all day long. Thus, our Sages declared: "Would that a person could pray all day long!” (Berakhot 21a)”

(Likutey Moharan 11, 96, trans. Rabbi David Sears in “The Tree that Stands beyond Space,” p. 78)

“It is also necessary that you should meditate in an isolated place. It should be outside the city, or on a lonely street, or some other place where other people are not found. (...) You must therefore be alone, at night, on an isolated path where people are not usually found. Go there and meditate.”

(Likutey Moharan I, 52, trans. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan in “Meditation and Kabbalah,” p. 310)

“Hitbodedut meditation is the best and the highest level of worship. Set aside an hour or more each day to mediate, in the fields or in a room, pouring out your thoughts to God .... Every person can express his own thoughts, each according to his own level. You should be very careful with this practice, accustoming yourself to do it at a set time each day.”

(Likutey Moharan II, 25, trans. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan in “Meditation and Kabbalah,” p. 309)

In his Sefer HaMaspik, Rabbi Abraham Maimonides tells us that the “great sages” (gedolim) used to pronounce the following blessing:

“May God enable you to feel companionship in solitude and loneliness in a crowd”

(op.cit. p 529)

This is perhaps the most perfect Jewish way to practice the spiritual discipline of solitude. Most contemplative Jews do not seek withdrawal from society for too long, yet  they all appreciate that physical solitude is often necessary for spiritual health and growth. A contemplative Jew is like Jacob in Genesis 35: He is one who wrestles with both God and Humanity in the privacy of his own heart. But in that solitary struggle he is not simply a “Jacob,” an individual in solitude. He is also “Israel,” - a spiritually generative and essential part of his greater religious community. As Rabbi Moses Cordovero (1522-1570) writes:

“All Israel is related one to the other, for their souls are united, and in each soul there is a portion of all the others.”

("Tomer Devorah" 4:6)

When Jews practice solitude as a spiritual discipline, they take the Community of Israel with them into their own personal “desert”—they have not withdrawn from Jewish or global society at all, but have chosen a particularly deep form of spiritual engagement with them. Their seclusion and solitude is not a form of self-regard or a method of character development because, above all else, they cleave to the Solitary One in order to become useful as conduits of His Light. Whether physically isolated or not, they have withdrawn into the cave of the heart—and from there they hope to draw down the compassion of the God of Israel on all creation.

©Nachman Davies

January 1 2012

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For those interested in a more advanced study and practice of “hitbodedut”, I highly recommend the online archive of classical Jewish texts to be found on the website “Solitude-Hisbodedus” which can be accessed HERE. 

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Jewish Monastic Renewal: An article for Zeek Magazine (October 2010)

"What do you do if you are a Jew who wants to live a life which is totally dedicated to contemplative prayer in a religion which usually promotes intense social and communal activity?  What do you do if you want to live a solitary life when the Judaism around you stresses the pre-eminent duty of having children and living in families to ensure the survival of both the tribe and its religion?  What do you do if you are not attracted to the legal, teaching, and leadership roles of the rabbinate yet feel a strong call to be in a professional state of intentionally-dedicated and community-sanctioned contemplative practice?  Expressing that on one leg:  What do you do if you feel called to be a Jewish monk or nun in a religion which has no existing monasteries? " 

Those were questions which I asked myself....and recently, Zeek Magazine in the USA  asked me to write an article for them  to share my answers and thoughts on this subject.

You can read the full article on their website HERE

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Contemplative Prayer: The Pouring of the Waters (Sept 2010)

In the days when the Jerusalem Temple functioned, the Chol ha Moed days of Sukkot began with the ceremony of “Rejoicing at the pouring of water”- Simchat Beit HaSho’eivah. It is thought by many to be a ritual connected  to the  seasonal prayer “for rain at the appropriate time”, and as its name (simchat) implies, it was very joyous.

"And you shall draw waters with joy from the wells of salvation (Isaiah. 12:3)

Obadiah ben Maimon, the Jewish sufi, describes the soul of the contemplative as being like a water cistern or well which needs constant cleaning. (Treatise of the Pool ch.10). In his view, the work of the contemplative is to remove everything there which is not God. This includes any attempt to codify and define the nature of a God who cannot be pinned down...and all the "idols" or God-substitutes we might place in the empty niche of our hearts. That space needs to be cleared if it is  to be filled by the "indescribable"  God alone.

This image restates what is obvious to all sincere contemplatives of whatever religious affiliation: that a singularity of purpose in making space in our hearts for the well-spring of God’s presence is not just the only way to progress in the spiritual life, it is also the only way for a true contemplative to feel untarnished happiness and fulfilment.

“Solo Dios basta” as the Carmelite Teresa of Avila would say...

--- Only God can satisfy us.

“Soli Deo” as Bruno of the Carthusians (and some translators of the Sh’ma) would say...

--- God alone.

And in the words of Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev:

“A person must fear God so much that his ego is totally nullified. Only then can he attach himself to Ein Sof. Then a new sustenance, filled with all good, flows to all universes.”

Cleaving to God means a positive attachment but it also requires our own active “soul-cleaning” from all that might become a God-substitute.

If we have that “singularity of purpose” which enables us to work at clearing the debris in that source-pool of water, we may begin to reflect something of the light of God. The water which then flows out may then do God's will and not ours.  In doing this,our acts of contemplative prayer themselves become the vehicle for something greater than our own satisfaction or even our own personal well being. They become an act of healing and repair.

-Simchat Beit Ha Sho'eivah

-Rejoicing at the Pouring of the Waters

This "Cleaving to God alone"  is a Jewish Contemplative’s deepest core practice.

By "celebrating" it, a contemplative may enable the Waters of Life to flow out from Jerusalem.

That is boundless Joy.

(The photo which heads this  short reflection is of an aquaduct built by Juan de la Cruz  at a  Discalced Carmelite monastery in Granada).

N R Davies

Sept 26 2010

Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives Article (2007)

In October 2007, I was asked to write an article for  use in a rabbinical training course  at Leo Baeck College in the UK. My brief was to summarise and consolidate the main “thesis” of Part One of my booklet called “The Cave of the Heart” ( in Hebrew: Kuntres M'arat ha-Lev) -and those updates which related to it- in a single continuous article. As such the article was to be a restatement, the "second take" so common in Jewish tradition. But this time I was to illustrate it with an account of my own lifestyle in its day to day expression.

It is given a special place among the posts on this website because it contains developments of terminology e.g. "Jewish Contemplative"/"Dedicated Jewish Contemplative", "Beacon Group"; and because it also refers to supportive historical texts and movements which were unknown to me at the time of writing Kuntres M'arat ha-Lev in 2005. In a sense it is the document which began the development of the ideas of the kuntres into practical lifestyle suggestions for the renewal and development of Jewish eremitic traditions in our own times.

What follows here on this website is a selection of extracts from that article. It was written  at a  time  when  I was still a "Progressive Jew", following my Reform conversion in 1992.  Since  that time I completed an Orthodox Jewish Conversion ki halachah (in 2016) and now live a contemplative  lifestyle  as part of a thriving Orthodox Jewish Community in Malaga Province,Spain.

The Original article was later published in the Berghahn Journal "European Judaism" and its full text can be found  in issue 41 (Spring 2008).  Though  the day to day details  will have changed since  my Orthodox conversion, my commitment to a contemplative  and fundamentally solitary lifestyle  has not changed.

(View of my hermitage in Granada)

Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives

 
In 2005 I wrote a booklet called “Kuntres M’arat ha-Lev” (Cave of the Heart). It was concerned with two questions: “Is there a place for dedicated contemplative lifestyles in contemporary Judaism?” and “Is it possible to live a Jewish life if there are no other Jews living anywhere near you?”

My  aim here is to describe my personal lifestyle and just a little of its rationale. I’ll use a time-honoured formula and ask Four Questions: Who am I?- Why have I chosen to be a hermit?- What do I do?- So what?


1:Who am I?
I was born in Merseyside but now live in Spain.  I have been living a solitary contemplative lifestyle since 2004.  Long before my Conversion to Judiasm I began my jouney on the contemplative path with the Discalced Carmelites in Oxford. [i]  At the time I was a confused novice. Confused because I had entered the Carmelites on a sort of Pre-Raphaelite wave of fantasy and romance. I was a would-be “jongleur de Notre Dame” but I didn’t like giving up my study of the symphonies of Mahler. I wanted to be a priest and that particular order had a special devotion to the Virgin Mary which suited me fine, but amazingly, it had almost passed by my attention that the order was principally a contemplative one. I wasn’t particularly interested in “contemplation” per se at the time. This was a fact which rightly shocked my novice master who nevertheless believed all his life that I was very specifically “called to be a contemplative”. It has taken me these thirty-five years to finally accept that he was (probably) quite right.

   I left the Carmelites to become a music teacher and I spent most of my teaching career in South East Asia. I specialised in Javanese Gamelan [ii] but also led large music departments in various British International Schools. I spent four happy years as the cantor of the multi denominational Jewish Community of Jakarta [iii] …and then six (not quite so happy) years hovering around outside the Orthodox Synagogue in Singapore, occasionally going inside to join Shabbos or Festival services incognito. ( My unease was because I had not been converted by an Orthodox Beit Din.)  Fortunately an Israeli family whose children I taught were members of that Singapore Orthodox congregation (Magen Aboth) and they made me feel more than welcome there, something I have never forgotten and which deserves mention here.)

   My twenty-something years as a music teacher ended quite suddenly when I became partially deaf (through occupational deafness and ischemia). I lost the ability to hear certain pitches and decided that conducting 400 children in school concerts largely by sight was more than I, and perhaps they, could bear.


I bought a small house with a tiny enclosed garden in a coastal Andalusian village in Granada, and there I attempted to start a new life. At first this meant looking for part time work (no luck) and composing (nobody liked the stuff I wrote) and trying to find a romantic partner (but failing). I slumped into the deepest and longest depression I have ever experienced. I felt useless, lonely, isolated, unsupported etc. etc. etc. But I emerged with a purpose when I “became” a Jewish Hermit. That last sentence still seems almost laughable to me even now. But it’s the truth.




2:Why have I chosen to be a hermit?


I have never had any trouble believing that prayer was a form of action or that contemplatives are as spiritually/cosmically valuable, and perhaps as necessary, as any other professionally philanthropic group. But in my thirties and forties, I never imagined that I would be re-joining that contemplative work-force myself. What surprised me even more was that I was attempting to do this as a Jew. I suppose that gets me full marks for chutzpah.


My depression-generated transmutation from “bitterly lonely” to “alone but content”, from “agonisingly inactive” to “dynamically contemplative”, was less a quantum leap than a slow and almost imperceptible sea-change. But you can believe me when I say it is as real as it was unexpected. Currently I am comfortably celibate and I no longer play, write, or listen to music. I can honestly say I am too busy relating to G-d to have time, energy, or inclination for much else.


For all of my “post-Carmelite” life I had been sociably active with no desire to change that. My job as a Director of Music ensured that I was a creatively productive workaholic for whom extrovert behaviour was a daily prerequisite. So what happened?


Well, although I poked fun earlier at some of my adolescent aspirations in the Carmelites, and though it is certainly true that I gave my novice master a nasty shock on announcing I was not keen on being principally contemplative…it would also be true to say that I had been attempting to communicate with G-d as a contemplative since the age of six. My parents were not “religious” and I was an only child. I saw Patrick Troughton as “Paul of Tarsus” on the TV (1960) [iv] and the next day I was hooked. It was as simple as that.


Not all of those who have invisible childhood friends encounter the animal or human variety. Some seem to prefer the divine. Neither are we all insane, though we often verge on lunacy at various times in our development. I had no “Secular World” angst about whether or not G-d existed. As far as I was concerned His Presence was palpable. Through all the changes in my perception of what the term “G-d” might mean… with the exception of a few months in a “Dark Night” (lets call it a “Dark late-Afternoon”) and a continuous “Cloud of Unknowing” (which was sometimes a “Cloud of thinking I had knowledge”)…I have been talking to Him all my life. In this sense I was always a contemplative. But I would describe myself now as a “dedicated contemplative” [v] . Big difference.


What happened in the “sea change” was simple. I began to see my “curses” as “blessings”. My “wilderness” (midbar) was actually a potentially productive “vineyard” (karmel)… and it had been all along though I had not seen it for what it was.


Composing had been a way of praying. My hearing difficulties took music away. I was left with the sound of silence…which made space and time for a still small voice to be heard.  Relationships failed or, even worse, dwindled into acquaintanceships at a distance. I was left with the One who had been waiting for me all along … the One I now believe to be my only intended “life-partner”.


My career was in shattered ruins … but in fact it had only ever been a shell for something else. I couldn’t hear well enough to teach music any more and I didn’t know what other skills I could use. I despaired trying to see what I had left. The answer was ….. “you can pray/give G-d your full attention”. Choosing to do that “full-time” was a risky choice which I fought against for a very long time.


In agony, I had complained to Him daily, and to my distant but long-suffering friends periodically. I spent so much time moaning on and on about my lack of purpose, my health, my poverty, my needs etc that I bored myself silly….and the fire of that particular hell simply burnt itself out. But the Hound of Heaven is no respecter of denominational fences and it had been at my heels since I left the Carmelites. I finally accepted that I had been pursued and was now cornered in Judaism. I stopped worrying, and “left everything to G-d”. I turned my whole attention to G-d in devekut [vi] by attempting to maintain a nebulous but near-constant awareness of Him. That produced an unexpectedly dynamic move into prayerful Tikkun Olam [vii] as I found myself thinking about others for a change.


And almost imperceptibly …. in jerks and bounds …. over a period of around two years in almost complete solitude… it had simply clicked into place:


Not lonely--- but alone with G-d;
Not alone ---but united in spirit to all other “G-d-Wrestlers”;
Not unfulfilled--- but now seeking fulfilment in G-d alone;
Not inactive or escapist ---but actively “praying for all creation” all of the time;
Not sexually frustrated---but allowing an intimate relationship with G-d to flourish without restraint.


So … To answer the question: “Why have I chosen to be a Jewish hermit?”… Vocation can be a question of intuition or spiritual insight. It can also be a natural development of personality and individuation. But sometimes it is also a response to challenges thrown up by Providence. The choice was perhaps G-d’s as much as mine for I think I am now what I was meant to be all along. The choice was in choosing to see that now.




3:What exactly do I do all the time?


My models for the “dedicated contemplative lifestyle” came at first from Christianity. From the communal eremitic (hermit) traditions of the Carmelites and the Carthusians [viii] . I was in a quandary in 2003-4 because I was painfully aware that contemporary Judaism has no equivalent contemplative professions or organisations. Furthermore, what I was attempting to do had been disapproved of by the majority Jewish opinion for centuries. I would have to go it alone.


The pattern of living which developed in those years has stabilised and been constant since 2004. I will outline its form to try to give you an idea of what the nitty-gritty of my lifestyle involves.


I experience a year as divided into two units which are marked by the potential presence or absence of fire in the cave-room’s wood-burning stove. “Summer” is May to October and “Winter” is November to April.


I leave the village about three times a year travelling on a bus either to the next town or to Granada city. These are purely recreational day-trips though I often return having spent a few Euros on something unavailable in my own small town.

In summer months, an ice cream at the bus stop is enough to produce a childlike ecstasy. Once every six months or so, one of my friends will come and stay for a few days “on retreat”. About once a month I meet up with an old work colleague for coffee. The phone rings about once every two months. Twice a week when I sweep the street, [ix] I chat for a few moments with the neighbours in my appalling Spanish. I sing when I make kiddush on Shabbos…and some of my prayers are vocalised … but the rest of the time is spent in total silence.


My week is very clearly perceived as being divided into three units: (i) “The weekdays” which seem like a series of hours in one long “day”; (ii) “Shabbos” which seems like a recurring and virtually identical still point; and (iii) “Sunday” which is a sort of limbo between the two. Obviously, I work on a Sunday but I stay in my “ hermitage” [x] and it often feels like a sort of extension of Shabbos.


I leave the house once a day on weekdays for a short food-shopping trip. Its prime purpose is exercise now as I make the trip even if there is nothing needed. I live on a very steep hill and the round trip takes about an hour with a ten minute break in a bar. There I have a milky coffee and a piece of toast every day for lunch and although I am greeted by name and patted on the back by the Spanish as a regular there, I am never spoken to at length and I find the whole experience bizarrely reminiscent of eating in the companionable silence of a Carmelite refectory.


Though I may greet those I pass in the street with a smile, a wave, a “Buena(s)” or an “Adio(s) ”, the whole journey is literally a walking meditation which is hardly ever disturbed. Apart from this: the rest of the day, every day, is spent alone in the house or in its tiny high-walled garden doing manual jobs, reading, studying, writing letters and praying. My emphasis is very firmly on the latter.

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DAILY HORARIUM 
(obviously this refers to the "Granada" period when  I was living without  a Jewish Community.)

I rise between 8am and 9am and retire somewhere between 12.30am and 3am. In my time-keeping I am certainly not following a monastic model at present. But it is regular.

My first act of the day is to go straight to my “place” in front of the framed shivviti in the cave-room which is the hub of my house. A “Good morning Lord”, a “Thank you for…” a “May this day be….” and then a slow and profound bow while saying “May Your Name be blessed in all the worlds.” gets things moving. Short but heartfelt.

After a breakfast cup of coffee, I  recite the Shacharit Service (Morning prayer). After this I read any emails from friends or visitors to my website, check the world news on the “GoogleNews” web-page. Between them, the emails and the world news provide ample supplementary material for me to reflect on and talk over with G-d.

The rest of the morning is spent in study and “Hegyon Ha-Lev” (Spiritual reading – what Christian monks called lectio divina and which is basically studying meditatively and using a text  as a springboard for prayer. Its aim is to open the mind to inspiration.) Occasionally I will spend some of this time doing some graphic or calligraphic work but as I am having eyesight problems this occurs less frequently now. After the (already described) prayerful walk to my “silent communal lunch” I return and eat some fruit then either work on an item or some admin for one of my three websites or take a short siesta.

In the mid afternoon, coffee and a few biscuits are followed by the recitation of Minchah and then a period of manual work. (housework, decorating, laundry, gardening, or street maintenance) which lasts flexibly from mid afternoon to early evening. To paraphrase St. Bruno, it is a time of “leisure which is occupied and work which is performed in tranquility”. As such, it is often my favourite time of the day. Throughout this period I rest in G-d. My hands and body are almost always in unflustered motion but my attention totally on or in Him. Ninety percent of the time I choose only tasks which will enable this. I am well aware that being able to do that is a blessing in itself.

The main meal of the day usually follows sundown. May to November this means home-made hummus, tomatoes and bread, or cold canned fish and rice. Usually with some salad vegetable and fruit to follow. In the winter months it is usually a hot meal: cheese on toast, spinach and cheese sauce, or fresh fish and rice. I used to drink a glass of Malaga wine at each meal, though now this is a treat reserved for Shabbos Evening. Despite my repetitive menu and my awful cooking, every day at this point --- I feel like a king. I am very much aware that I am fortunate to have been able to put food on the table for so many years through the blessing of G-d. (As a Dedicated Jewish Contemplative I receive no external salary or financial aid, and have been living entirely on my modest savings. I know I have been blessed to be able to do this for so long.)

After the evening meal (or before and then again, after it, in high summer) I begin the main event of my day: The recitation of Maariv (Evening Prayer) followed by the core of my day: the evening “mental prayer” session.

This is a period of hitbodedut( informal conversation with G-d) and hitbonenut (receptive contemplation) spent seated and/or standing and lasts between one and four hours. From May to October this “evening mental prayer” takes place on the roof. In the other months, in the cave-room. 

So what form does the “mental prayer” take? Well, I can begin by saying that I have never intentionally or formally “meditated” in my life and have no personal connections with or training in Eastern forms of meditation. As a Carmelite I was simply left to get on with it, with the whole community sitting together in silence for two separate hours a day...and we received no “tuition”. This then, has been the model for my contemplative prayer all my life since then: No Teacher. No Textbook. Just G-d. My “mental prayer” is simply a contemplative dialogue with G-d - sometimes with words, sometimes not.

It begins with prayers of petition and supportive thoughts for my friends or for people whose need I am aware of. Our thoughts and prayers may not be able to prevent some disasters, nor can we will the impossible. But our prayers can often provide support, and “positive thoughts” may change more than we realise.

This is followed by a period of “conversation”. As such it resembles the Hassidic variety of hitbodedut promoted by the Baal Shem Tov and Nachman of Breslov. You will see from Part Two of “The Cave” how I came to realise that this prayer is a dialogue and not a monologue. Our inspired thoughts are the messengers through which G-d intervenes in our world moment by moment. In our contemplative prayers, we co-create such “angels” with Him.

Where that period in my mental prayer session leads is very much experienced as being “up to” G-d …and though I can assure you that I am not scaling any mystical heights or approaching states or levels of awareness being denied to me at other times….. I am simply unable to describe what exactly does go on at this time. I don’t understand it myself! Most often it seems like very little has happened but I firmly believe that my attentiveness is required.

I have cheap internet access in the evening, and I make full use of it. The internet is my library and most of my surfing time is spent on Jewish sites. I have no access to Jewish library books and cannot afford to buy new ones so the internet is gold to me. Because of this, the rest of the evening is spent in what I would call “Online Torah Study” and reading online articles on Jewish Thought and Practice.

Shabbos is obviously very different. I finish the weekend food-shopping by noon on a Friday and from that time till noon on a Monday I do not leave the house. ( My Shabbos observance increases in depth as each year passes- though at the time of writing this 2007 article I was not fully shomer Shabbos.)

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The apparent lack of variety in my “schedule” simply makes space for an active interior life. I am not bored by any of the above though I frequently question the value of what I am doing.


I do not feel alone, though I sometimes ache for specifically Jewish company. Sometimes, despite having knocked on numerous doors, I feel sadly left out in the cold by “organised Judaism”, but even that gloom passes. I manage to maintain an awareness of the friends who are my “invisible community” on Shabbos. When I declare it a “Day of Assembly” in the evening Kiddush and when I read the Torah on Shabbos morning, I am specifically conscious of the British congregations meeting at more or less the same time.


Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur can feel very vibrantly alive in solitude. Somehow, knowing that the majority of the World Jewish Community are “at prayer” breaks through the stone walls of my cave and I feel as though we are all truly in one place. Hanukah is usually a gentle comfort and not a wild fight for sweets. I just about manage a solitary seder, and there is always enough food for an Elijah as well so I live in hope. So far, I have given waving branches or jiggling round the cave on my own with a Chumash for a bride a miss. But what I do not currently ‘observe’ in festival practice I certainly ‘remember’ in study and thought. Being a Jewish hermit: You win some. You lose some.


Though I am on the alert for a “call out of the cave” should my time here have “expired” or “run its course”. I now hope that such a call does not come unless it is to develop what I have started in some way. I am more than content to maintain this lifestyle as long as my finances last out. I am content now whatever happens. My current path through the desert seems to be to live in the present moment and I count myself very lucky to be able to do that even though I am well aware of the risks.


In the website update Jewish Hermits in the Desert—(August 2007), I wrote:

“I hope I will live to see contemplative communities formed in Contemporary Judaism. If I don’t, and I admit I won’t be holding my breath…… I can at least take comfort that I have done a little “promotion-drive” here in an attempt to hasten that day.


Jewish tradition holds that permanent solitude and isolation are not to be encouraged as they put so many mitzvot out of the reach of the hermit. Communities of solitary Jewish Contemplatives seem to me to be “the Jewish way to go” for those of us with a monastic/eremitic heart.


The Kotzker Rebbe called out for “Ten Hasidim who would follow him into the desert and eat manna”. I’m certainly not looking for “followers”. But I’ll keep alert for the emergence of others with similar aspirations.”

4:So what?


At first sight, it might appear that what I have described is simply the record of a personal solution to adversely changed circumstances. A possibly defeatist or quietist approach to accepting the vicissitudes of life with equanimity. Firstly, I do not believe it to be defeatist/quietist as the process of “turning things on their head” to see “curses” as “blessings” is a combative struggle which is anything but passive. It is a process which produces an active mode of acceptance which needs constant renewal and reaffirmation. Secondly, I will admit to believing that the quest for a state of equanimity is the answer to many of our “problems” and in this I discovered by experience what the Eastern religious-philosophies have been telling us for centuries. Contentment is something to do with seeing things in a certain light not something to do with what we can “have and hold”.


But there is more to this “Tale of a Jewish Hermit” than that. I am writing all this down because I feel compelled to make a case for the “Dedicated Contemplative lifestyle” in Progressive Judaism. That’s something I am trying to demonstrate by the effectiveness of my own life. Writing and talking about it is much more difficult for me to do. But I feel that the “time is right for it to be said” ….that’s why I wrote “The Cave” and its why my website exists. I also believe that such a lifestyle has an application in the lives of isolated or marginalised Jews generally.


On my (this) website, Part One of Kuntres M’arat Ha-Lev deals with my justification for saying this. In the monthly updates section: The “Bar Yohai” posting for May 2007 delves into the history of traditional Jewish objections to “dedicated contemplative lifestyles”, and the “Jewish Hermits in the Desert” posting for August 2007 highlights the history of monasticism and eremitism within Judaism so far. Here is a digest of the principal points to be found there together with a little amplification:


The majority of Jewish opinion throughout the ages has viewed family and congregational lifestyles as both “good” and “essential”. Though leaders, priests, prophets and mystics have frequently undertaken solitary “retreats in the desert” they almost invariably return to society for further “action”. Though biblical nazirites undertook short periods of ascetic retreat, they too always returned to “normal” lifestyles. This way of seeing the history suits most Progressive Jews. It also suited many of the prophets. The idea that social justice and community service are viewed as prime goals in Judaism is sound by anyone’s reading. In rabbinic Judaism those goals ultimately take precedence over prayer, religious study and liturgy. I am ultimately in sympathy with that.


But there is a complementary Jewish history too. In the century before the Christian Era, Judaism produced many experimental lifestyles. Most people have heard of the communities of Essenes, but there were also Therapeutae [xi] communities of what can only be described as “Jewish monks and nuns”. There is also a longstanding Talmudic discussion (which is still ongoing and awaiting Elijah) which is voiced there by “Shimon bar Yochai” [xii] claiming that “Study of the Law” (read “contemplative lifestyles” or “Yeshiva culture” depending on your allegiances) takes precedence over “active mission” (read immersion in physical “good works”).


Our Jewish-Sufi movement produced Avraham and Obadiah ben Maimon who advocated times of spiritual retreat . Our Kabbalah tradition was stimulated by Isaac Luria who lived as a hermit for seven years and most certainly believed that “contemplation” was actually “action” of an extremely powerful variety. The “modern” Hasidic tradition was initiated by the Baal Shem Tov who spent nearly ten years living far from any Jewish community other than his wife, with (according to legend) several months in each year spent in solitary isolation. And then there was the mysterious and unique Kotzker Rebbe, Menachem Mendel of Kotzk who isolated himself in a kind of Jewish “Anchorage” attached to the House of Prayer for twenty long years. He only left his confinement when called to the Torah during the services he would normally observe through holes cut in the wall.


These constitute Jewish tradition too. Yes, they are not “mainstream”. They are complementary. Yes, they represent a minority. But I believe that they are a source intended for our times. The various “movements” of progressive Judaism seem to be cyclically in danger of becoming detached from our G-d. The “Secular World” approves of our social conscience and our “works” so there is a tendency to sweep the sacrificial bones and ashes under the altar, out of sight lest the “superstitious” debris should offend “Enlightened” eyes. We ought not to be fooled that the import of the trappings of business and corporate culture into organized Judaism will endear us to that “Secular World” or make our mission more effective.


We ought to be proud and encouraged if Judaism is at the forefront of Social Action, World Charity drives and Ecological awareness programmes. That’s where it belongs.


But there is more to us than that. We are not a club. We are not a political party. We are Israel…the one who wrestles with G-d. These are times when we need to be reminded that He/She/It is the “flag we wave”. [xiii]

My call for the emancipation of the closet-contemplative in Judaism arises from a desire to be inclusive of the single or isolated Jew and from reflections on the contemplative monastic traditions of the Therapeutae and the “Mystics”. It comes also from an observation on the role of the Levites. In “The Cave” I wrote:

“All Jews are commanded to pray, study, and act but this inclusiveness did not preclude the establishment of the tribe of Levi. Where are they now? In Progressive Judaism their caste and its cultic status have become obsolete but should the essence of their function and service be regarded as similarly redundant?”

My point was that the Levites had been a sort of “beacon” group [xiv] within the community in Temple-based Judaism. The role and functions of the biblical Priests and Levites have not yet been “restored”. My suggestion is that (i) praying contemplative communities, (ii) individual lay people living dedicated contemplative lives, and (iii) Jews in isolated or otherwise “inactive situations” could be encouraged to contribute to the process of Tikkun Olam by “supporting and complementing” the work of the “actives” in Jewish congregational communities or social action organizations. They would effect this support simply by developing the intensity of their prayer-lives.


The formal and informal acknowledgement of this support would, in return, bind otherwise fringe or uncounted Jews back into the community. This “acknowledgment” could take many simple but effective forms. I believe the internet to be the underused tool for expanding and consolidating a scattered Jewish community. Solitaries could affiliate with congregations they never see in the flesh. Those congregations could mention such people in their liturgies in a way which recognises their spiritual contribution. Broadcast services and “virtual minyanim” could help turn the emphasis away from buildings and back to people.


The first two groups of “dedicated contemplatives” might also provide “retreat centre services” for the occasional use of the Jewish community [xv]. I have read much recently about the harnessing of the energies and interests of the mobile and energetic young in an attempt to stem the secularisation and “disappearance” of Progressive British Jewry. What of the marginalised?.. The role of the old and sick for example? Are they to be viewed as a section of the community needing “support and care” or are they “potential contemplatives” with an “as yet undiscovered purpose”. It all depends on which flag you are waving.




It’s not just the “old and sick” either. Here is a passage from page 17 of “The Cave” highlighting some groups which might constitute a power-house of prayer :

“Some isolated Jews may have found themselves made redundant or incapacitated through illness or other circumstances.


Of that group, some of them will have been disabled all their lives and thus prevented from many forms of activity or normal communication with humanity.


Some people may be living and working in unavoidable isolation from Jewish community centres or even in situations of restriction or oppression.


Some may have lost a life-partner, and in that, lost also the only practically functioning community they had.


Some may be people who are naturally inclined towards a single life. People who have chosen that state for (selfish or unselfish) career reasons, or whose attempts at partnership formation have simply not worked out.


Some people may be both single and desperately lonely and thus feel excluded/exclude themselves from the world of “family life”. Their isolation can be physical or internalised or both.


Some may simply be people in isolation who for one reason or another have found themselves with more time on their hands and fewer opportunities for a social expression of their religious feelings and aspirations than they had expected.


Within this group there will be Jews who are in prison, and the quarantined or terminally ill.


Some isolated Jews may be retired people, with or without dispersed families, who have found themselves unexpectedly confronted with questions which they had been cushioned from in the bustle of their previous working lives.


And, I have to add, some may feel called to solitary life both naturally and supernaturally and have no idea how to go about it. As Jews, they will very possibly feel marginalised and embarrassed.”

The way to remove the marginalisation of the “isolated Jew” [xvi] is through a more spiritual and expansive view of the concept of what constitutes “Jewish Community”. On page 21 and following I wrote:

“Community life means more than social or cultural gatherings, synagogue seats filled, or events on an organisation’s agenda or calendar.


If one accepts that there is a Knesset Yisrael, an eternal Community of Israel which is not bound by the limitations of time, space, or number…. If one accepts that there is a “Soul of Humanity” of which we are the re-uniting fragments… It should be a small matter to see that neither can be contained by synagogues, by movements, or by religious denominations. The best they can do is to facilitate points of focus for some of the fragments. The only real point of focus is the spiritual one they hope to represent. They worst they can do is to allow themselves to think that they embody it exclusively.


The laudable social, cultural, educational, liturgical and fund raising functions of the synagogue are only the tip of the Jewish iceberg. A prayer-based and pre-eminently spiritual notion of “Jewish Community” would not only include the minority of “contemplative solitaries”, the much larger number of isolated potential “congregants” and the multitudes who simply feel estranged from the “synagogue scene”. It might also provide inspiration for the development of personal prayer outside the usual synagogue environment and a more intense awareness of world-wide Jewish Community solidarity and purpose.”

If “Jewish Contemplatives” are in any sense a “beacon”, they would be so by highlighting and pointing-out what should really be obvious: We are not a club. We are Israel.

“…Whenever the ark moved forward then Moses said: ‘Rise up, Lord’…”
(Numbers 10:35)

In our progress through this “Secular World”: Let’s not leave G-d behind us.


Norman R Davies
October 7th 2007
Tishri 25 5768


Footnotes

[i] Carmelites: are a Roman Catholic religious order of friars and nuns whose rule of life originated in the mediaeval Christian hermit community on Mt Carmel. The Discalced branch is the more contemplative group in the order and has its present day form from the hands of two sixteenth century Spaniards of Jewish ancestry: Teresa of Avila and Juan de la Cruz. They are communal hermits whose life consists in simple community services, two separate hours of “mental prayer” in common each day, and a great deal of time spent in one’s cell in silent work, study, or contemplation. Liturgy is simple and spartan. Their emphasis is on contemplative prayer. In recent years the friars have undertaken a more active ministry as well. The nuns have maintained the purely contemplative lifestyle to the present day.

[ii] Javanese Gamelan: is percussion music performed on large sets of bronze or iron metalophones and gongs. Whereas the Balinese forms are excitable and frenetic, Javanese gamelan is (usually) so sedate and meditative that it is often viewed as a form of meditation itself. It is often however, very loud. And constant exposure to this kind of music frequently produces deafness over time. I was involved in the introduction of this type of music into the English National Curriculum in the 1980s and my Gamelan group from Frodsham High School performed on British television and in the Albert Hall during the “Schools’ Prom” in 1984.

[iii] Jakarta Jewish Community: This was small and informal community of expatriates under the eminent leadership of Joseph Stern during the Suharto period. It was composed largely of American Conservative and Reform Jews with a few broadminded Orthodox members. Joseph Stern led the services (assisted by Jonathan Fink) and I sang/led anything that needed to be sung. I have never had a cantorial voice by any stretch of the imagination. But I did my best. 

[iii] "Paul of Tarsus”: was a BBC serial dramatization of the life of St Paul. The episode in question was the famous encounter on the road to Damascus in which Paul was temporarily blinded and heard a bat kol. The morning after this episode was broadcast, I was to be found “preaching” to the nations: Dressed in full Middle-Eastern-style sheets and towels, I propped the Bible up on a wooden ashtray stand in the vestibule of our terraced house and delivered my message to anyone who happened to be passing. One of them was the local “Lollipop lady” who referred to me as “Paul of Tarsus” every morning from that day on (until I was ten) as I approached her zebra crossing. From that I assume that my “preaching” as a six year old had made an impact. Patrick Troughton went on to play “Doctor Who”. I have exchanged the towels for a tallit, but am otherwise more or less the same. Tranmere seems to have recovered from the shock of my debut appearance relatively unscathed.

[v] Dedicated Contemplative: is the term I use to describe the Jewish equivalent of “Canonical hermit or anchorite” which is the term used by the Roman Catholic Church to describe someone who has chosen to live a specifically and intentionally orientated life of solitude and reflection. In the Christian sense it involves ceremonies and vows of dedication. In the Jewish context I use it to mean someone who has “made a conscious choice” to develop in this specific lifestyle for a limited or open-ended period of time.

[vi] Devekut: usually translated as ‘cleaving to G-d.’ ( What the Carmelites called “the Practice of the Presence of G-d.”) The Jewish (and Sufi) ideal is to be aware of G-d in the midst of business. Most of us need to compromise and choose a contemplative/active “balance” which suits our own personality.

[vii] Tikkun Olam: usually translated as ‘ healing of the world ’ , this term has very recently come to be understood as a synonym for ecological action. It was originally a term from the Kabbalistic tradition. I use it to mean the repair of all creation, worlds, bodies, souls, whatever is…..by prayer as well as by action.

[viii] Carthusians: are the “strictest” contemplative Order in the Catholic church. Founded by St Bruno in 11th century, the monks and nuns of this order live in cells in the form of individual houses which are grouped around a huge cloister. Their level of silence and solitude is quite extreme and they spend all of their time alone in cell or together in Church.

The Liturgy is ornate and performed in sung Latin. This routine is broken by a weekly communal meal (in silence) and a weekly communal walk (with light chat). They have no “active” ministry. As “communal hermits” they resemble the Desert Fathers of early Christianity and the Therapeutae of the Jewish tradition of monasticism. I visited the Parkminster Charterhouse when I was a Carmelite novice, and I have never left it, such was its impact. I recommend Nancy Klein Maguire’s stunning book “An Infinity of Little Hours” (2005) for anyone interested in reading more on communal eremitism or on the subject of “ religious vocation” generally.

[ix] Street maintenance: I live in a barrio of ten houses divided into two separate pedestrian streets, one above the other. Our “upper” street is lined with hundreds of potted plants both on the ground and on the walls. We water these ourselves using a communal hose….the whole street at a time. The area is very dusty and the winds are strong. I have made it my responsibility to sweep the street twice a week. The town council cleaning services have not quite “reached us” yet!

[x] Hermitage: My “hermitage” is a small, detached house built into a rock. The area where I pray and work is walled on two sides by this rock and so it looks and feels like a cave. The house has a small high walled patio-garden and a roof terrace with a partial view of the Mediterranean and of mountains. (That is a “partial view” as it is obscured by a neighbouring forest of washing-lines and cables, a barbecue chimney and two enormous satellite dishes (none of which are mine). It also has a soundtrack of three yelping dogs, three delightful but often screaming children and several hours each day of teen moto-cross rallying going on in the valley below…….. There. That should go some way to rid you of any overly romantic notion of my location!

[xi] Therapeutae: “Our sole surviving historical source for the details of this Jewish religious order is Philo’s “De Vita Contemplativa”. Though this document was written early in the First Century C.E. (A.D) it describes a specific organisation and lifestyle which he states was already well-established by that time. He defines the Essenes as an “active” order and the Therapeutae as “contemplative” one. He is talking about Jewish groups here, so that categorisation is in itself a remarkable one.

Each of the hermits of this order (both female and male) lived in solitude during the first six days of the week. Their cell was a small house bearing interesting similarities to the Carthusian cell in so far as it included a room used exclusively for the study of holy texts and for prayer (cf the Carthusian Ave Maria) as well as an individual enclosed garden. The “order” practiced a certain level of asceticism during the week, but on Shabbos the entire community would gather for communal meals and services. The place of assembly had a mechitzah to preserve the modesty of the separated men and women.”

(taken from “Jewish Hermits in the Desert -Aug 2007”---Jewish Contemplatives website)

[xii] Shimon bar Yohai: “The format of the discussion from the tractate Shabbat33a-b. (heavily simplified) is as follows: Rabbi Yishmael states that we have a duty to engage in worldly occupations. Rabbi Shimon states that if we are too occupied with our work-load we will have no time for Torah study. As the arguments develop, Rabbi Shimon is understood to be putting forth the view that the obligation to study Torah overrides the importance of earning a living. Centuries of commentary and discussion follow but ultimately, apart from the statement from Abaye that“many have followed the opinion of Rabbi Yishmael and have been successful others have followed R.Shimon Bar Yohai and they have not been successful.” The issue remains open to this day. I am living (as opposed to discussing) an answer to the question at the moment.”

(taken from “The Holy Fire of Bar Yohai –May 2007” -Jewish Contemplatives website)


[xiii] The Flag we wave: The reference is to the penultimate verse of the eleventh century hymn “Adon Olam”. Probably not written by Ibn Gabirol himself but certainly written here in Andalusia:

This is my G-d, my life He saves,
The rock I grasp in deep despair,
The flag I wave, the place I hide,
He shares my cup the day I call.

[xiv] “Beacon Group”: “Countless times I have read a classic Christian justification for the existence of contemplative monastic orders which takes as its stance: In order to emphasise the truth of the phrase “Man does not live by bread alone”, there are always those who elect to separate themselves and live contemplative lifestyles as a kind of beacon, a reminder that the “other world” exists. Was that not a part of the rationale behind the Levite and Nazirite lifestyles too?”
(taken from “Jewish Hermits in the Desert -Aug 2007” -Jewish Contemplatives website)

[xv] Retreat Centre Services: There is a kind of “retreat” which resembles a “corporate conference”, and another a “ short residential course” with a religious or self-improvement theme. There is, however, nothing quite equal to the spending of a few days in the company of a community whose normal existence is one of silence and contemplation. It can be both relaxing and challenging at the same time and I am sure Lionel will vouch for its unique effectiveness. The provision of this kind of retreat service has long been the speciality of the monastic groups in Christianity. It is the classic form of “active ministry” for a contemplative. I attempted to provide such services myself here for two or three years. The idea being to offer individual retreats (totally unprogrammed) lasting for a long weekend or equivalent number of days. For financial reasons I shelved the idea though it is not wholly forgotten. I believe it to be an area in European Judaism which is in need of some development. In “The Cave” I wrote:

“Israel’s compunction to “keep working” and indeed “keep talking” can sometimes be as counter-productive as it can be dynamic. Might short “neo-nazirite” periods of retreat in solitude, for example, give G-d the chance to get a word in edge-ways?”


[xvi] Isolated Jews: “A few weeks ago I read an article on the EJP website (European Jewish Press) discussing the composition of Jewish households in Britain since the 2001 census. I was particularly struck by this statement:

“More Jews than almost any other religious or ethnic group live in single-person households.

This fact, together with the large number of “Jewish households” in which not all members are actually Jewish, forces a rethink of the nature and boundaries of what is called the “Jewish community.”

The article continues: “Jews live in every county and district in Great Britain. The identification of around 20,000 Jews in areas that were regarded as containing very few—for example, Northumbria, Cumbria, Derbyshire and Warwickshire—and where there are no formal communal facilities, is an issue that policymakers will need to take seriously”

(taken from “The Priestly Blessing -June 2007” -Jewish Contemplatives website)

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