The Rabbi Who Studies Aikido

God-wrestling apparently has a long tradition in my family. My grandfather—who serves as my primary role model—seems to have been quite a God-wrestler himself. The only son of a Chassidic Rabbi from Romania, he came to New York around age 11 certainly expecting to be the next Rabbi in his father’s line, as that’s how things were done in Chassidic families. But by the time he was 16-years-old, he was attending engineering classes on Friday nights (the Sabbath), at Cooper Union College, and ultimately became a civil engineer instead of a Rabbi.

My grandfather’s life seems full of religious contrasts:

• He almost couldn’t marry my grandmother because he didn’t want to set foot in a synagogue at the time.

• He gave my mother and uncle Hebrew lessons after dinner every single evening during their youth.

• He was a member of one of the largest, most impersonal and non-spiritual synagogues around during his kids’ formative years.

• He and my grandmother were founding members of the first Reconstructionist synagogue in Denver.

• He spent hours each night in his basement study writing his own commentaries on Talmud, Jewish Ethics, and Psalms.

But, you know, God-wrestling is the most fundamental of Jewish practices. In fact, Yisra-El (Israel—as in “the people Israel”) literally means “the ones who wrestle with God.” So to me, my grandfather’s legacy is one of a dedicated Jewish life—continually searching for meaning in a tradition that he loved, but a tradition that offers more questions than answers. I have always found that reality to be both the most frustrating and the most invigorating realities of Judaism: that the tradition simply helps focus each of us on the key questions of the universe—origins of the world; good & evil; tragedy; mortality; efficacy of prayer; etc—but demands that we seek our own answers by mining the tradition and our own hearts.

The Talmud makes a very ecumenical statement about where we should explore life’s great questions: “Who is wise?” the Talmud asks, “He who learns from every person,” is the answer (Pirke Avot).

In our day, age, and culture, we Jews have the incredible privilege to learn not only from our own teachings and cultural traditions, but also to explore the richness of the traditions around us. Some might claim that doing so is blasphemous. I would argue that it is doing exactly what Judaism expects of us—to learn from every person.

The Institute for Jewish Spirituality—whose Rabbinic training course I completed a couple of years ago—made a bold statement: “We have searched Jewish tradition for an effective body-based spiritual practice, and have found nothing so effective as Yoga. Therefore we are including Yoga in our curriculum despite it having no foundation in Jewish tradition.” Rabbi Yitzhak Miller studying Yoga—who would’ve thought?

As a visceral, body-centered person, I appreciate this focus. Yoga has been a key component in my spiritual practice, helping me to truly internalize key Jewish concepts. For example, a Yoga back-bend helps me internalize the key Jewish concept of “opening the heart” and makes sure that I am as receptive as possible to my encounter with daily life, its challenges, its joys, and its lessons. The personal centering focus of Yoga has been exceptionally helpful in deepening my Jewish prayer as I am that much more able to focus on my own intentions, limitations, and presence.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel—one of my grandfather’s cousins—is quoted as saying, “When I was young, I admired clever people—now I admire kind people.” I am finding that quote to be an anchor for the current focus of my lifelong spiritual journey. I have always been very clever. My kindness, however, could sometimes use some work.

So recently I added another practice to my Jewish and Rabbinic “toolbox”—Aikido. John Stevens’s book “The Art of Peace” is a biography and collection of sayings from the founder of Aikido, Morihei Ueshiba. One quote in particular caught my attention: “The Way of a Warrior is to manifest divine love, a spirit that embraces and nurtures all things.” This seems quite a statement for one of the most accomplished Samurai Warriors of all time.

I’ve always considered myself sort of a “warrior,” though I’m not sure I would have used that term. Not a physical warrior, but more of a spiritual warrior—one who was never willing to back down from the fight for justice, equality, morality, decency or honor. But enacting that reality has often meant I find myself in conflict with those around me—a reality that is unpleasant for anyone—how much more so for a Rabbi. I continue to believe that my motivations are right, but my techniques could use some improvement.

Stevens’s description of Ueshiba’s spiritual goals has been inspiring and motivational for my current spiritual pursuit. Rather than learning how to avoid an attack or how to counter-attack, Aikido teaches the practitioner how to use the aggressor’s own energy to subdue the offense without injury to either person. I rapidly realized that Aikido’s teaching is a lesson I have been taught many times—but always in an intellectual, rather than a visceral way. Most of us have been taught that there are three ways to interact in a conflict: passively (avoiding); aggressively (counter-attacking); or assertively (harmoniously balancing one’s own needs and the needs of others). This body-based practice that helps me internalize harmonious balance and assertiveness without passivity or aggression has proved an invaluable tool for my spiritual growth.

Who would’ve thought a Rabbi’s God-wrestling would take place on the Aikido mat? But, I guess serious spiritual practice has made me open to more things than I would have ever believed. So, now we can not only find Rabbi Yitzhak Miller studying Talmud, Rabbi Yitzhak Miller teaching Jewish history and philosophy, Rabbi Yitzhak Miller officiating weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, and Rabbi Miller providing pastoral counseling and spiritual direction—but we can also find Rabbi Yitzhak Miller at the Yoga studio, Rabbi Yitzhak Miller in his morning sitting meditation, and Rabbi Yitzhak Miller at the Aikido dojo. On the cusp of ambiguity so goes the spiritual journey…

B’shalom,

Rabbi Yitzhak Miller



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