One of my favorite cartoon characters is Snoopy. I love the way he sits and lies on his kennel and contemplates the great things of life. So when I thought about compassion, my mind immediately went to one of the cartoon strips, where he's lying there and he says, "I really understand, and I really appreciate how one should love one's neighbor as one love's oneself. The only trouble is the people next door; I can't stand them." This, in a way, is one of the challenges of how to interpret a really good idea.
Unul din personajele mele animate preferate este Snoopy. Iubesc felul in care se aseaza si sta in canisa lui si contempleaza lucrurile marete ale vietii. Asa ca atunci cand m-am gandit la compasiune, mintea mea a zburat imediat la una din benzile animate in care sta si spune: "Inteleg si chiar apreciez faptul ca ar trebui sa-ti iubesti vecinul precum te iubesti pe tine insuti. Singura problema sunt insa vecinii mei. Nu ii suport." Aceasta, intr-un fel, este una din provocarile modului in care poti sa interpretezi o idee buna.
We all, I think, believe in compassion. If you look at all the world religions, all the main world religions, you'll find within them some teaching concerning compassion. So in Judaism, we have, from our Torah, that you should love your neighbor as you love yourself. And within Jewish teachings, the rabbinic teachings, we have Hillel, who taught that you shouldn't do to others what you don't like being done to yourself. And all the main religions have similar teachings. And again, within Judaism, we have a teaching about God, who is called the compassionate one, Ha-rachaman. After all, how could the world exist without God being compassionate? And we, as taught within the Torah that we are made in the image of God, so we too have to be compassionate. But what does it mean? How does it impact on our everyday life? Sometimes, of course, being compassionate can produce feelings within us that are very difficult to control.
Cu totii, presupun, credem in compasiune. Daca ne uitam la religiile lumii, la religiile majore ale lumii, vom gasi in ele invataturi privind compasiunea. In Iudaism, mai exact in Tora noastra, exista ideea ca ar trebui sa-ti iubesti vecinul asa cum te iubesti pe tine insuti. Iar in invataturile evreiesti, in predicile rabinilor, Hillel ne spune ca nu ar trebui sa faci altora ce tie nu ti-ar placea sa ti se faca. Toate religiile mari au invataturi similare. Si din nou, in iudaism, avem invataturi despre Dumnezeu. care este numit Ha-rachaman, adica "cel milostiv". La urma urmelor, cum ar putea sa existe lumea fara un Dumnezeu plin de compasiune? Si, asa cum se spune in Tora, ca suntem creati dupa chipul lui Dumnenezu, ar trebui sa fim cu totii plini de compasiune. Dar ce intelegem prin asta? Ce impact are acest fapt asupra vietii noastre de zi cu zi? Cateodata, bineinteles, a fi compatimitor poate produce inauntrul nostru sentimente care sunt foarte dificil de controlat.
I know there are many times when I've gone and conducted a funeral, or when I have been sitting with the bereaved, or with people who are dying, and I am overwhelmed by the sadness, by the difficulty, the challenge that is there for the family, for the person. And I'm touched, so that tears come to my eyes. And yet, if I just allowed myself to be overwhelmed by these feelings, I wouldn't be doing my job -- because I have to actually be there for them and make sure that rituals happen, that practicalities are seen to. And yet, on the other hand, if I didn't feel this compassion, then I feel that it would be time for me to hang up my robe and give up being a rabbi.
De multe ori cand am asistat la inmormantari sau cand am stat cu persoane indoliate ori pe patul de moarte, mi s-a intamplat sa fiu complesita de tristetea, de dificultatea, de provocarea cu care se confrunta familia si persoana in sine. Eram atat de emotionata incat imi dadeau lacrimile. Si totusi, daca mi-as fi permis sa fiu complesita de aceste sentimente, nu mi-as fi facut treaba, pentru ca de fapt misiunea mea e sa fiu acolo pentru ei si sa fiu sigura ca ritualurile au loc, si ca formalitatile sunt puse la punct. Si totusi, pe de alta parte, daca nu as fi simtit aceasta compasiune atunci cred ca ar fi fost timpul sa imi pun roba in cui si sa renunt la a mai fi rabin.
And these same feelings are there for all of us as we face the world. Who cannot be touched by compassion when we see the terrible horrors of the results of war, or famine, or earthquakes, or tsunamis? I know some people who say "Well, you know there's just so much out there -- I can't do anything, I'm not going to even begin to try." And there are some charity workers who call this compassion fatigue. There are others who feel they can't confront compassion anymore, and so they turn off the television and don't watch. In Judaism, though, we tend to always say, there has to be a middle way.
Iar sentimentele acestea sunt acolo pentru noi toti atunci cand infruntam lumea. Cine nu e atins de compasiune, atunci cand vede ororile cauzate de razboi, de foamete, sau cutremure si tsunami? Cunosc oameni care spun: "Vezi, se intampla atatea lucruri in lume, incat nu pot face nimic. Nici macar nu am sa incerc sa fac ceva." Exista filantropisti care numesc asta "osteneala de compasiune". Sunt altii care simt ca nu pot sa se mai confrunte cu compasiunea, prin urmare isi inchid televizorul si nu mai privesc. In iudaism insa, avem tendinta mereu de a cauta calea de mijloc.
You have to, of course, be aware of the needs of others, but you have to be aware in such a way that you can carry on with your life and be of help to people. So part of compassion has to be an understanding of what makes people tick. And, of course, you can't do that unless you understand yourself a bit more.
Trebuie, desigur, sa fii constient de nevoile altora, dar trebuie sa fii constient intr-un asemenea mod, incat sa iti poti continua viata si sa fii de folos oamenilor. Asa ca o parte a compasiunii consta in a intelege ce ii motiveaza pe oameni. Si, bineinteles, nu poti sa faci asta fara sa te intelegi pe tine putin mai bine.
And there's a lovely rabbinic interpretation of the beginnings of creation, which says that when God created the world, God thought that it would be best to create the world only with the divine attribute of justice. Because, after all, God is just. Therefore, there should be justice throughout the world. And then God looked to the future and realized, if the world was created just with justice, the world couldn't exist.
Si exista o interpretare rabinica a inceputului facerii care spune ca atunci cand Dumnezeu a creat lumea, Dumnezeu a crezut ca va fi cel mai bine sa creeze lumea numai cu atributul divin al justitiei. Deoarece, pana la urma, Dumnezeu este drept. Asadar, justitia trebuie sa existe in intreaga lume. Dumnezeu s-a uitat in viitor si a realizat ca daca lumea ar fi creata doar cu justitie, nu ar putea exista.
So, God thought, "Nope, I'm going to create the world just with compassion." And then God looked to the future and realized that, in fact, if the world were just filled with compassion, there would be anarchy and chaos. There had to be limits to all things. The rabbis describe this as being like a king who has a beautiful, fragile glass bowl. If you put too much cold water in, it will shatter. If you put boiling water in, it will shatter. What do you have to do? Put in a mixture of the two. And so God put both of these possibilities into the world.
Asa ca, Dumnezeu s-a gandit: "Nu, voi crea lumea doar cu compasiune." Si apoi Dumnezeu s-a uitat in viitor si a realizat ca de fapt, daca lumea ar fi doar plina de compasiune, ar fi anarhie si haos. Trebuie sa existe o limita pentru toate lucrurile. Rabinii descriu acest lucru facand o comparatie cu un rege care are un bol de sticla frumos si fragil. Daca pui inauntru prea multa apa rece, se va sparge. Daca pui in bol apa fierbinte, se va sparge. Ce trebuie sa faci? Sa torni un amestec din cele doua. Asa ca Dumnezeu a lasat ambele posibilitati in lume.
There is something more though that has to be there. And that is the translation of the feelings that we may have about compassion into the wider world, into action. So, like Snoopy, we can't just lie there and think great thoughts about our neighbors. We actually have to do something about it. And so there is also, within Judaism, this notion of love and kindness that becomes very important: "chesed."
Trebuie sa mai adaugam ceva in amestec. Si asta consta in aplicarea emotiilor pe care le avem despre compasiune in lumea larga, in actiuni. Stiti, nu putem doar sa stam, precum Snoopy si sa gandim lucruri minunate despre vecinii nostri. Trebuie sa facem ceva in privinta aceasta. Astfel exista in iudaism aceasta notiune de iubire si de bunatate care este foarte importanta: "Chesed" (bunatate).
All these three things, then, have to be melded together. The idea of justice, which gives boundaries to our lives and gives us a feeling of what's right about life, what's right about living, what should we be doing, social justice. There has to be a willingness to do good deeds, but not, of course, at the expense of our own sanity. You know, there's no way that you can do anything for anyone if you overdo things. And balancing them all in the middle is this notion of compassion, which has to be there, if you like, at our very roots.
Toate aceste trei lucru trebuie sa fie combinate. Ideea de justitie care stabileste unele limite in vietile noastre si ne arata ce este corect in viata, cum se traieste corect, cum ar trebui sa ne comportam, ce este justitie sociala. Trebuie sa existe o dorinta de a face lucruri bune, dar nu, bineinteles, in detrimentul cumpatarii proprii. Stiti, nu este posibil sa faci ceva pentru o persoana, daca exagerezi. Echilibrand toate astea, obtii notiunea de compasiune. Ea trebuie sa fie acolo, daca doriti, la radacinile noastre.
This idea of compassion comes to us because we're made in the image of God, who is ultimately the compassionate one. What does this compassion entail? It entails understanding the pain of the other. But even more than that, it means understanding one's connection to the whole of creation: understanding that one is part of that creation, that there is a unity that underlies all that we see, all that we hear, all that we feel. I call that unity God. And that unity is something that connects all of creation.
Gasim in noi ideea de compasiune pentru ca suntem facuti dupa chipul lui Dumnezeu. Care este, in cele din urma, Cel plin de compasiune. Ce cuprinde aceasta compasiune? Cuprinde intelegerea durerii altuia. Ba chiar mai mult de atat, inseamna intelegerea legaturii proprii cu creatia intreaga, intelegerea faptului ca suntem o parte a acelei creatii, si ca exista o armonie in tot ceea ce vedem, auzim si simtim. Eu numesc aceasta armonie Dumnezeu. Iar aceasta armonie este ceva ce leaga toata creatia.
And, of course, in the modern world, with the environmental movement, we're becoming even more aware of the connectivity of things, that something I do here actually does matter in Africa, that if I use too much of my carbon allowance, it seems to be that we are causing a great lack of rain in central and eastern Africa. So there is a connectivity, and I have to understand that -- as part of the creation, as part of me being made in the image of God. And I have to understand that my needs sometimes have to be sublimated to other needs.
O data cu miscarea ecologica din lumea moderna, am devenit cu totii mai constienti de legaturile dintre lucruri, ca ceea ce fac aici conteaza in Africa, ca daca folosesc prea mult carbon, se pare ca duce la o lipsa importanta de ploi in Africa centrala si de est. Deci exista o legatura. Si trebuie sa inteleg acest lucru ca o parte a creatiei, ca parte din mine care am fost facuta dupa chipul lui Dumnezeu. Si trebuie sa inteleg ca nevoile mele trebuie sa cedeze uneori in fata nevoilor celorlalti.
This "18 minutes" business, I find quite fascinating. Because in Judaism, the number 18, in Hebrew letters, stands for life -- the word "life." So, in a sense, the 18 minutes is challenging me to say, "In life, this is what's important in terms of compassion." But, something else as well: actually, 18 minutes is important. Because at Passover, when we have to eat unleavened bread, the rabbis say, what is the difference between dough that is made into bread, and dough that is made into unleavened bread, or "matzah"? And they say "It's 18 minutes." Because that's how long they say it takes for this dough to become leaven. What does it mean, "dough becomes leaven"? It means it gets filled with hot air. What's matzah? What's unleavened bread? You don't get it.
Ma fascineaza aceasta activitate de 18 minute. Deoarece in iudaism, cuvantul si numarul 18 in litere ebraice, inseamna viata, cuvantul viata. Deci, intr-un fel, cele 18 minute ma provoaca sa spun "Asta este ce e important in viata cand vorbim despre compasiune", dar si altceva in acelasi timp. De fapt, 18 minute sunt importante. Deoarece, de Paste, cand trebuie sa mancam paine nedospita, rabinii intreaba care este diferenta dintre aluatul din care se face paine, si aluatul din care se face paine nedospita: matzah. Si ei raspund: 18 minute. Deoarece atat dureaza ca aluatul sa ajunga dospit. Si ce inseamna cand aluatul devine dospit? Inseamna ca se umple cu aer fierbinte. Ce este matzah? Ce este painea nedospita? Nu intelegeti.
Symbolically, what the rabbis say is that at Passover, what we have to do is try to get rid of our hot air -- our pride, our feeling that we are the most important people in the whole entire world, and that everything should revolve round us. So we try and get rid of those, and so doing, try to get rid of the habits, the emotions, the ideas that enslave us, that make our eyes closed, give us tunnel vision so we don't see the needs of others -- and free ourselves and free ourselves from that. And that too is a basis for having compassion, for understanding our place in the world.
In mod simbolic, ceea ce rabinii spun, este ca de Paste, trebuie sa incercam sa eliminam aerul fierbinte, mandria noastra, sentimentul ca suntem cei mai importanti oameni din intreaga lume, si ca totul ar trebui sa se invarta in jurul nostru. Asa ca incercam sa ne debarasam de acestea, si deci sa ne debarasam de obiceiurile, emotiile, ideile care ne robesc, care ne inchid ochii si ne dau o viziune de tunel astfel incat nu vedem nevoile altora, si nu putem sa ne eliberam de acestea. Si aceasta este si ea baza compasiunii pentru a ne intelege locul in lume.
Now there is, in Judaism, a gorgeous story of a rich man who sat in synagogue one day. And, as many people do, he was dozing off during the sermon. And as he was dozing off, they were reading from the book of Leviticus in the Torah. And they were saying that in the ancient times in the temple in Jerusalem, the priests used to have bread, which they used to place into a special table in the temple in Jerusalem. The man was asleep, but he heard the words bread, temple, God, and he woke up. He said, "God wants bread. That's it. God wants bread. I know what God wants."
In iudaism exista o poveste superba a unui om bogat care statea in sinagoga intr-o zi. Si, precum multi oameni, atipea in timpul slujbei. In timp ce se citea din Leviticul din Tora, el atipise. Tocmai ce spuneau ca in timpuri stravechi in templul din Ierusalim, preotii obisnuiau sa aiba paine, pe care o puneau pe o masa speciala in templul din Ierusalim. Omul dormea, dar a auzit cuvintele paine, templu, Dumnezeu si s-a trezit. Si a spus, "Dumnezeu vrea paine. Asta este. Dumnezeu vrea paine. Stiu ce vrea Dumnezeu."
And he rushed home. And after the Sabbath, he made 12 loaves of bread, took them to the synagogue, went into the synagogue, opened the ark and said, "God, I don't know why you want this bread, but here you are." And he put it in the ark with the scrolls of the Torah. Then he went home.
Si apoi s-a grabit acasa. Iar acolo, dupa Sabbath, a facut 12 paini, le-a luat la sinagoga si a intrat, a deschis chivotul si a spus, "Dumneze, nu stiu de ce vrei aceasta paine, dar poftim." Si a pus-o in chivotul incare se aflau sulurile cu Tora. Apoi a mers acasa.
The cleaner came into the synagogue. "Oh God, I'm in such trouble. I've got children to feed. My wife's ill. I've got no money. What can I do?" He goes into the synagogue. "God, will you please help me? Ah, what a wonderful smell." He goes to the ark. He opens the ark. "There's bread! God, you've answered my plea. You've answered my question." Takes the bread and goes home.
Omul de serviciu a intrat in sinagoga. "O, Doamne, am o problema atat de mare. Am copii de hranit. Nevasta mea este bolnava. Nu am bani. Ce pot sa fac?" Intra in sinagoga. "Dumnezeu, poti sa ma ajuti, te rog?" "A, ce miros frumos." Se duce spre chivot. Deschide chivotul. "Este paine aici! Dumnezeu, mi-ai raspuns rugamintii! Mi-ai raspuns la intrebare." Ia painea si se duce acasa.
Meanwhile, the rich man thinks to himself, "I'm an idiot. God wants bread? God, the one who rules the entire universe, wants my bread?" He rushes to the synagogue. "I'll get it out of the ark before anybody finds it." He goes in there, and it's not there. And he says, "God, you really did want it. You wanted my bread. Next week, with raisins."
Intre timp, omul bogat se gandeste, "Sunt un idiot. Dumnezeu vrea paine? Dumnezeu, cel care controleaza intregul univers, vrea paine mea?" Se grabeste inapoi la sinagoga. "O voi scote din chivot inainte sa o gaseasca cineva." Intra si nu gaseste painea acolo. Si spune, "Doamne, chiar ai vrut-o. Ai vrut paine mea. Saptamana viitoare, paine cu stafide."
This went on for years. Every week, the man would bring bread with raisins, with all sorts of good things, put it into the ark. Every week, the cleaner would come. "God you've answered my plea again." Take the bread. Take it home.
Asta a continuat timp de patru ani. In fiecare saptamana, omul aducea paine cu stafide, cu tot felul de lucruri, si o punea in chivot. In fiecare saptamana, omul de serviciu venea. "Doamne, mi-ai raspuns la rugaciune din nou." Lua painea. O ducea acasa.
Went on until a new rabbi came. Rabbis always spoil things. The rabbi came in and saw what was going on. And he called the two of them to his office. And he said, you know, "This is what's happening."
Asta a continuat pana cand a venit un nou rabin. Rabinii mereu strica lucrurile. Rabinul a venit si a vazut ce se intampla. Si i-a chemat pe cei doi in biroul lui. Si a spus, stiti, "Asta s-a intamplat de fapt."
And the rich man -- oh, dear -- crestfallen. "You mean God didn't want my bread?"
Omul bogat, descurajat, a spus: "Vrei sa spui ca Dumnezeu nu a vrut painea?"
And the poor man said, "And you mean God didn't answer my pleas?"
Iar omul sarac spuse, "Si vrei sa spui ca Dumnezeu nu mi-a raspuns la rugaciuni?"
And the rabbi said, "You've misunderstood me. You've misunderstood totally," he said. "Of course, what you are doing," he said to the rich man, "is answering God's plea that we should be compassionate. And God," he said to the poor man, "is answering your plea that people should be compassionate and give." He looked at the rich man. He held the rich man's hands and said, "Don't you understand?" He said, "These are the hands of God."
Iar rabinul a raspuns: "M-ati inteles gresit." "M-ati inteles complet gresit", a spus el. "Bineinteles ca ceea ce faci", i-a spus omului bogat, "este sa raspunzi la rugamintea Domnului de a fi plin de compasiune." "Iar Dumnezeu," i-a spus omului sarac, "iti raspunde la ruga aratandu-ti ca oamenii ar trebuie sa fie plini de compasiune si daruitori." S-a uitat la omul bogat. I-a luat mana si a spus, "Nu intelegi?," a spus, "acestea sunt mainile lui Dumnezeu."
So that is the way I feel: that I can only try to approach this notion of being compassionate, of understanding that there is a connectivity, that there is a unity in this world; that I want to try and serve that unity, and that I can try and do that by understanding, I hope, trying to understand something of the pain of others; but understanding that there are limits, that people have to bear responsibility for some of the problems that come upon them; and that I have to understand that there are limits to my energy, to the giving I can give. I have to reevaluate them, try and separate out the material things and my emotions that may be enslaving me, so that I can see the world clearly.
Deci asa simt, ca pot sa abordez aceasta notiune de a fi plin de compasiune, de a intelege ca exista o legatura si armonie in aceasta lume, si ca vreau sa incerc sa servesc acea armonie, si ca pot sa incerc sa fac asta prin intelegere, sper, incercand sa inteleg ceva din durerea altora, dar intelegand ca sunt limite, ca oamenii trebuie sa-mi asume responsabilitati pentru unele din problemele cu care se confrunta, si trebuie sa inteleg ca energia mea are limite, si ca nu pot darui la nesfarsire. Trebuie sa le reevaluez, sa incerc sa separ lucrurile materiale de emotiile care pot sa ma subjuge, astfel incat sa vad lumea intr-un mod clar.
And then I have to try to see in what ways I can make these the hands of God. And so try to bring compassion to life in this world.
Si apoi trebuie sa incerc sa vad in ce moduri pot sa fac din mainile astea mainile lui Dumnezeu. Si astfel sa aduc compasiune in aceasta lume.