I was browsing the shelves at Barnes & Noble one afternoon last spring, looking for something that might help Ean with his Hebrew lessons. As a convert to Judaism, I am pretty ill-equipped to help him with anything more than the occasional reminder to go from right to left, NOT left to right! I stood in the isles, surrounded by books on Jewish prayer, parenting, cooking, history, ect., and I felt self-conscious and frustrated. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.
I converted to Judaism. My conversion started with a year of study and culminated with a Beth Din and a mikveh. I was well-informed and I had no doubts that it was the spiritual path I needed to be on.
My conversion story is here, here, here, and here, if you're interested.
Despite my unwavering belief that converting was the right thing for me, I continue to struggle. The fundamental spiritual beliefs are the easy part. I love Judaism as a private, home-based spiritual practice. However, identifying as Jewish when sitting through services has been very challenging for me. I could write tombs on why I think this is, but it can really be broken down into 2 simple facts: 1) Judaism is often as much of a culture as a faith. As much as I share the faith, I don't share the cultural experiences or the language. As a result, I often feel like an outsider among other Jews; 2) my own ego has prevented me from letting go of that separation and just emersing myself in the experience, therefore making me complicit in deepening my own sense of isolation.
That's where I was that day in Barnes & Noble. I was standing on the sidelines of my faith and looking for a way to step into it. I needed to find something that would help me identify as Jewish, without the pressure stammering my way through Hebrew prayers and Yiddish greetings.
I picked up a book called Every Day, Holy Day, a book about the practice of Mussar, and declared it a starting point.
So, what is Mussar?
There are probably dozens of ways to answer that question -- each answer with its own slightly different nuance, but the best explanation I've seen comes in the form of a story. The story has been attributed to a numerous people, and to different times in history, which either speaks poorly of its credibility or highly of its universality. I vote for the latter.
Here's the story:
A wise and beloved leader was asked how he managed to exert such great influence in the world.
He said that he started out wanting to change the world, but he failed.
Then he decided he wanted to change his country, but failed again.
Next, he tried to change his small town and failed there too.
He thought that, at the very least, he should be able to change his family. He failed again.
Finally, he set about changing himself and, in doing so, he changed the entire world.
That is the story of Mussar.
Mussar is, in theory, a Jewish practice -- although its teachings and ideals are universal and can be applied by everyone from Buddhists, to Jews to Christians to Secular Humanists. The Mussar Institute describes Mussar as "a path of contemplative practices and exercises that have evolved over the past thousand years to help an individual soul to pinpoint and then to break through the barriers that surround and obstruct the flow of inner light in our lives".
Those of use with a spiritual inclination can view the inner light as the source of holiness or divinity in our lives. Secular humanists or atheists can consider that inner light to be a self-defined sense of morality or duty.
The practice of Mussar is not mystical or esoteric or religious or new-agey. There are no predefined edicts. It's not undertaken to for the purpose of gaining entrance into an afterlife or to escape the weighty minutia of the physical world.
The goal of Mussar is to balance the extremes in our individual personalities -- extremes that prevent us from experiencing our divinity and/or embodying our ideals. Recognition, and, eventually, mastery of these extremes will free us to give our best (true) selves to the world.
Here's another great story, copied from Everyday Holiness by Alan Morinis:
When Chuck Cadman, a respected member of the Canadian parliament died, a member of the federal cabinet came to pay his respects to his widow. When the minister praised the late member lavishly, his widow said that Chuck saw himself as just an ordinary person. "'Yes" responded the minister, "but he was an extraordinary ordinary person".
This is what Mussar helps us become.
An extraordinary ordinary person. That's what I want to be.
