Recipes for a Sacred Life: True Stories and a Few Miracles by Rivvy Neshama (best books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

With that in mind, I began to remember my friend’s humor, her empathy, and how she was there for me when I was sick. Soon, she didn’t seem so scary or bad. In fact, she began to look again like my friend.

Seeing God in everyone isn’t easy. But when you see the good in them, you’re halfway there. And the funny thing is, what you see is what you get. You just need to know where to look.

WHAT THE DALAI LAMA SAID

There are few things that feel worse than being angry at someone, and few things feel better than forgiving them. And yet, I sometimes find it hard to forgive—especially when I know I’m right. What helps are these words from the Dalai Lama.

When His Holiness came to Boulder, John and I joined two thousand others to see him and hear him speak. He looked just like his pictures: same bald head and bushy eyebrows, same gold and crimson robes. What surprised us, though, was his laugh—a happy, almost goofy giggle interspersed throughout his talk. It seemed a little odd at first, like, Is this the Dalai Lama? But soon, it seemed transcendent and had me giggling too. And while I’ve forgotten much of what he said, I’ll never forget the brilliance of his smile. We felt he was smiling right at us; most likely others felt the same.

He spoke of many things that day, including forgiveness. But in the end, it was his joyful laugh and radiant smile that made us feel blessed to be in his presence.

A few years later, I found these guidelines for forgiveness offered by the Dalai Lama. I’m not sure where I read them, so it’s my words telling his thoughts as best as I recall them. Still, that’s how recipes get passed on, right?

THE DALAI LAMA’S RECIPE FOR FORGIVENESS

When you’re very angry with someone and having trouble forgiving them, do these three things:

Consider why you think the person did what they did that is bothering you. Given all that you know about them, what could have provoked or motivated them to do this? (Besides the fact that they’re one bad dude.)

Recall a time when you did something similar. (This one’s disturbingly easy.)

Think of all the good things about this person, the things you like. (Harder with some folks, but worth a try.)

Finally, His Holiness reminds us that forgiveness is a gift we give to ourselves. When we’re angry, we feel miserable, physically and emotionally. When we forgive, we return to our center, where things on a good day feel just right.

And if you doubt the Dalai Lama, consider this: Research confirms that “forgiveness interventions” are good for the heart, can relieve pain and depression, and enhance the quality of life among the very ill.

It’s enough to kill the charge I get from any righteous anger.

A DAY TO REMEMBER

One September, John had a sports-writing assignment in Salzburg, Austria, and he asked me if I’d come along. I immediately envisioned The Sound of Music, the film that was made there, where the actual story took place. Sure, I said, recalling pastoral scenes in which Julie Andrews ran about singing with a bunch of towheaded kids.

Then I found out that the week we’d be there included one of Judaism’s holiest days: Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and Day of Remembrance, when we recall what we did in the year gone by and remember our divine source. In Boulder, I spend this day alone in the mountains, praying for forgiveness and forgiving others, because Rosh Hashanah is also about forgiveness, clearing the way for a fresh start. But in Austria, I thought, I’d spend the day in a temple. I went online to search.

What I found was that Salzburg’s history included virulent anti-Semitism—especially in the 1400s and during the Third Reich—and its once vibrant community of Jews was now reduced to about a hundred. Of course. I had forgotten the dark story beneath The Sound of Music’s jolly songs: a tale of Nazism engulfing a city and its people.

I now felt a responsibility to attend Salzburg’s only remaining synagogue in solidarity. But I also felt a growing aversion and no longer wanted to go. I wondered how it would feel on a Jewish Day of Awe to be in a city once proud to declare itself “judenfrei,” free of Jews. I worried that I wouldn’t open my heart in forgiveness at a time when we’re asked to forgive. Which is why, before we left Boulder, I went to a preholiday talk led by Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, a renowned ecumenist, and his wife, Eve Ilsen.

I really liked Reb Zalman. He was the beloved father of the Jewish Renewal movement. He was also a Hasidic master with a zest for life and a sense of humor that was heimishe (the Jewish version of folksy). And Eve, his rebbetzin, was a gifted teacher with her own comic flair. So I told them my concerns, and they were deeply empathetic, for Reb Zalman was raised in Vienna and fled from the Nazis in 1939. They advised me to spend most of my time in Salzburg just looking at people and noting what I saw. Try to look without preconceptions, they said. See them as real, as human. See the good and the bad.

It was advice I followed. And what I generally saw were amiable people whose tastes were curiously similar to mine. They love to hike and polka (one of the few dances John and I can do together, galloping across the floor), drink beer and listen to Mozart (good choices both), and eat marzipan (which I love, even when it’s brown slabs like we bought in a shop there and polished off at dinner). And they seemed rightfully proud of their golden city with its winding river, whimsical gardens, spires, and domes. I also saw some people who seemed cold and aloof, and I learned that many Salzburgers, like many Austrians, were