The Dalai Lama's Summit on Happiness

Today I attended His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama’s Interfaith Summit on Happiness. The Dalai Lama took the stage with Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of the UK; the Most Reverend Dr. Katharine Jefferts Schori, Bishop of the Episcopal Church; and professor Seyyed Hossein Nasr, international scholar of Islamic studies.  The religious leaders discussed happiness, in a conversation facilitated by Krista Teppett, host and producer of the public radio program “Being.”

While I felt most cognitively stimulated by rabbi Sacks and professor Nasr, I most enjoyed watching the Dalai Lama and experiencing what he was experiencing. The Dalai Lama, it turns out, is a very creative listener.

The Dalai Lama is just too adorable to watch—like a teddy bear. He can charm a whole arena. When he came out on stage, he bowed to the audience. Some bowed back. He stared at us. We stared at him. He stared right back at us. We stared right back at him. Until finally he threw his hands up and said “Okay!” Then we all laughed and sat. He’s a little comedian. He has this Fred Flintstone laugh, this deep, happy chuckle. He often cracks himself up! Late in the conversation, professor Nasr provided the literal meaning of the word jihad—a cleansing of inner negativities. His Holiness then punned that the whole goal of Buddhism is one giant jihad, to much laughter and applause. And when his colleagues told impressive stories or flashed their wit, His Holiness took a good chuckle. As professor Nasr noted, His Holiness exudes happiness.

Chief Rabbi Sacks told a story that I particularly enjoyed: A rabbi was standing in the town square watching all of the people rushing here and there, and to and fro, and back and forth. Until finally he stopped one of them and asked, “Excuse me, what are you chasing after?” The stranger replied, “I’m chasing after life.” The rabbi replied, “Why are you so certain it’s ahead of you, that you must chase it? Maybe it’s behind you. Maybe you need to stop and let it catch up with you.” When we stop, we feel the happiness of Shabbat. “It’s the only day Daddy doesn’t have to run off somewhere else.”

And yet at the same time, biblical Hebrew has two distinct words for happiness—osher, the happiness we experience, and simcha, the happiness we create. Osher is the happiness we experience when hearing music, when witnessing nature, when reading stories. It is a personal happiness, a happiness that happens to us. Simcha, on the other hand, is the happiness we create when celebrating at a wedding, when singing together, when laughing as a family. It is a communal happiness, a happiness we build in the company of others.

So there are many types and flavors of happiness. As much as we need to stop and let happiness catch up with us, feel osher, we need to seek and create happiness among ourselves, make simcha. There’s the sweet, pure, natural happiness of Mozart, and there’s the wrought, tried, weathered happiness of Beethoven.

Rabbi Sacks emphasized the insightful words Jacob utters after wrestling with the angel. He says, “I will not let you go until you bless me.” Life is full of struggle, but our struggles can also give us blessing. We must insist upon it. We must roll with the difficult times, until we have found blessing in them, at which point we have to let them go. Jacob wrestles his angel, insists that the angel bless him, and comes out with the name Israel.

Professor Nasr discussed the relationship between beauty and goodness. A thing may have much outer beauty and no inner goodness, and eventually the outer beauty will fade. Think of a cracked and ancient urn. On the other hand, if a thing has inner goodness, it will retain its beauty over time. Think of a grandmother.  So beauty is related to goodness. In fact, in Arabic, the word used for beauty also has a number of other meanings, including goodness and virtue.

His Holiness described how there are two types of happiness—external happiness, which is often found in the material world, and internal happiness, which he describes as a deep state of profound understanding.

Professor Nasr echoed His Holiness, describing how often times our material possessions, which are supposed to bring us happiness, are sometimes the biggest obstacles to our happiness. A television is supposed to entertain us. But think of the stress we cause ourselves every time we rush home to catch our favorite show. With greater possession comes greater worry. We have these very words in our US Constitution—the pursuit of happiness. Maybe happiness is not something to be pursued, but the act of pursuing. Professor Nasr joked at how even for the audience to see a summit on happiness, they had to endure an hour-long line in the sun!

Reverend Jefferts Schori discussed the physical embodiment of happiness. How a runner can let go of all in his mind and feel only the joy in his body. The even peace in washing dishes.

Watch video from the Summit here:

A Visit to Ioannina

Last week, I traveled with my family to the town where my mom’s grandparents are from, Ioannina, Greece. Ioannina was once a center of Romaniote Jewish life. Today, the Jewish community is only 35 people.

My great-grandfather, Jessoula Cohen, was the
lay rabbi at the Romaniote synagogue Kehilla Kedosha
in New York. He performed Isaak Dostis's bar mitzvah.

Our tour guide in Ioannina was Isaak Dostis. Isaak grew up on the lower east side of Manhattan, near where my mom was born, in the center of Romaniote life in the States. Later in his life, he decided to move to Ioannina to pursue a quieter, more relaxed life-style. Isaak and his wife Diana were incredibly hospitable—when we arrived in Ioannina, they were waiting to greet us at our hotel. After only a few minutes of conversation, we discovered that my great grandfather Jessoula performed Isaak’s Bar Mitzvah.

Ioannina, to my surprise, is a very cute town. Home to University of Ioannina, the town has high-end shopping, lots of pedestrian culture, cute open air cafes lining the narrow streets, lake-front dining, a very nice walking/biking path around the walls of the old city, and is surrounded by impressive mountains. At the center of Lake Ioannina is a small island with little motorboats docked all along the shore. On the island are cute cafes and shops where you can drink beer and buy leather products and glass beads. My brother David reflected on how beautiful the whole scene was—“Our ancestors sure had good taste.”

On the night we arrived—Friday night, erev Shabbat—Isaak took us to the home of Samuel and Stella Koen, who grew up and have lived in Ioannina their whole lives. Stella is a Holocaust survivor, and Samuel fought the Nazis with the Partisans.

Looking through old photos in the home of Stella and Samuel Koen

Immediately upon entering their flat, I felt I was back in my grandpa’s apartment in South Florida. The furniture looked the same, the decorations looked the same, the dishware looked the same, the color on the walls looked the same. Samuel doesn’t speak much English, but his children live in Israel, so he and I were able to communicate in Hebrew. Stella, upon seeing my brother David, nearly burst in to tears—she said he looked exactly like her brother, who died in the Holocaust. At another point in the evening, she got very upset. My great-grandparents left Greece around 1913. Why, Stella asked, didn’t they ever come back? Why didn’t they come to see what had happened to their old friends? She was very happy that we were there today, but why did our families have to wait so long?

Stella and Samuel served us a small oneg—chocolate covered almonds and pound cake—and we made l’chaim over a decanter of homemade cherry liquor.

David with Stella Koen. She felt he looked like her brother,
who perished in the holocaust 

The next day, Isaak told us the story of when the Jews of Ioannina were rounded up by the Nazis. A couple of days before the round-up, the president of the Jewish community was arrested. While in prison, he overheard the Nazi police saying that in a few days, something major would happen to the Jews. Later that evening, his wife was allowed to bring him dinner. He slipped a note into a piece of bread, gave it to his wife, and said, “Get this to the vice president of the community.” His wife brought the vice president the note—but he did nothing.

It’s very hard for us to judge this man, the VP of the Jewish community. Why didn’t he do anything? Maybe he was afraid—afraid that any attempt to organize a resistance would only lead to a more horrible fate for the Jews. Maybe he knew it was too late—that no matter what the Jews did, their fate was sealed. Maybe he was a bad leader, and didn’t have the capacity to organize his people to flee or to resist. Maybe he was scared and struck to inaction from fear.

Singing Romaniote songs in the Second Synagogue, Ioannina

The next morning, Isaak took us to the old synagogue. Samuel met us there, and was so proud to show us around. He is the chazzan there on the holidays, and he pulled out his machzor to show us his favorite songs. The Romaniote melodies are different from any other Jewish melodies in the world, and the according to Samuel, the Jews of Ioannina sang them more beautifully than any other Jews in Greece. Samuel told us that people would come from Thessaloniki and Athens for High Holidays just to sit in the shul and listen the music. He sang us his favorite tunes. His voice was booming and deep. Such simcha!

And here were we, the great-grandchildren of Ioannina Jews, singing Romaniote melodies with this old man—his favorite songs, the songs he is most proud of. Songs my great-grandpa Jessoula would have led on the High Holidays. Songs that aren’t often sung, but when they are, are sung with tremendous joy.