The Religion of Spirituality

Netanel Miles-Yépez

"The Tower of Babel" by Pieter Breugel the Elder c. 1653

In 1949, Max Zeller, a disciple of the visionary psychotherapist, Dr. Carl Jung, came to Jung with a dream he could not understand. In the dream, he saw a “temple of vast dimensions” under construction. As far as he could see, in every direction, there were multitudes of people participating in the building of the temple. Though the temple was only in its beginning stages, the foundation had already been laid, and he was himself working on a pillar. Hearing this, Jung simply nodded and said, “this is the temple we are all building today.” It is “the new religion.” We don’t know all the builders, of course, because they are “in India and China and in Russia, and all over the world.” But “this new religion will come together.”[1]

This is what Jung believed. The problem for us is that the process has only just begun, and we do not yet know what shape it will take or how it can help us. Looking at the rubble of the past and the chaotic building-site of the present, many people today—both spiritually-inclined and secular—are understandably declaring “the end of religion.” But what neither seems to understand is that religion cannot die unless we, as human beings, somehow cease to feel and long for that indefinable, ineffable awareness of the sacred to which religion is merely a response. Until that happens, we will continue to reach out to the sacred, and we will use religion to get it. The real question is, what kind of religion will we use to access the sacred? Will we continue to use the old religions of the past, whether in their conventional or mystical forms? Will we evolve and participate in new hyphenated fusions of traditions like Christian Zen or Sufi-Hasidism? Or will we embrace a greater religion of spirituality, as some are already suggesting?

I think the simple answer is, ‘Yes.’

Until fairly late in the 20th-century, no matter where you might find yourself on the map, you were likely to live in a more or less homogenous culture, where most people were ‘like you’ in language, race and religion. If you knew anything about another religion, you probably viewed it as something inferior. But today, we live in a world where cultures are increasingly bumping up against one another, and where religions are learning to co-exist. Today, we find that our neighbors are Hindu, and our co-workers Muslim. In almost every metropolitan area, we have access to Yoga classes, Buddhist meditation, Hindu satsangs, Muslim Sufi dhikrs, Christian Centering Prayer groups, and Jewish Renewal services. Living in this spiritual marketplace, in a time when many of us find ourselves cut-off from the religions of our birth, and with almost every religious possibility within reach, some are asking, “How do we choose between them?” Nevertheless, my sense is that this is not actually the question they want to ask; I think they are bewildered at having to make a choice at all . . . Indeed, I don’t think they want to choose anymore.

In the Jewish mystical tradition, the expulsion from Eden is characterized as the loss of the primal unity. Having eaten the fruit of the eitz ha’da'at, or ‘tree of knowledge,’ humanity suddenly found itself cast headlong into the world of separation, into a world devoid of the sacred, in which we could only see the differences between things.[2] But in the last century, we have again eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge—of other cultures and religions—and found, paradoxically, that we are really one people, one body, whose needs are the concern of all.

Our current access to all the religions of the planet is slowly (or perhaps quickly) putting an end to the myth of religious superiority, the view we call ‘triumphalism.’ But something else is happening as well. It is also eroding the clearly definable boundaries of our current religions, giving many the feeling that there is no longer any particular reason to be exclusively wedded to one religion or another. Many people no longer want to be boxed-in to any one tradition. Having had access to them all, and having seen the unique tools and beauty of each, who can believe that any one of them has all the answers anymore?

Given this awareness, which religion you choose really becomes a matter of emphasis and individual need. For a tall person, a ladder with rungs far apart is preferable, while a shorter person obviously prefers one with rungs set closer together. Still, both are ladders, and both are designed to facilitate access to higher regions. In the same way, religions have all developed the same basic tools to deliver an experience of the sacred, but each has a different emphasis and uses these tools in different ways, just as the ladder is used for different jobs. What the spiritual seeker is able to do today, which is different than through most of our past, is choose which religion (or even which aspect of a religion) is most suitable to their needs, their purpose, and their abilities.

Over the last forty or fifty years, the gradual dawning of this awareness of personal choice has led to an interesting evolutionary phenomenon, one I like to call, “hyphenated religion.”[3] With all the jostling and bumping up against one another that happens in the universe, new relationships are bound to form, just as atoms gain and lose electrons, or different chemical compounds are formed in seemingly random interactions. In the world of religion, such interactions have led to the development of hyphenated loyalties—Christian priests who have become recognized Zen roshis or Vedantic swamis, rabbis who have become Sufi sheikhs or embraced a more shamanic form of Judaism. Today, there is hardly anyone who doesn’t have some kind of ‘hyphen,’ whether they be dedicated Christians devoted to Jungian psychology or resolved atheists to Yoga practice, couples learning to handle the demands of inter-marriage or individuals integrating dual cultural identities. So why should it be any different with religions? Although there is certainly an element of choice at work here, it is also clearly an evolutionary process, the planet mashing things together, as it always has, creating new forms of life and a healthy diversity for itself.

But this phenomenon of hyphenated religion is just the beginning of a larger process. Each hyphen must, in time, join to form a part of the mortise-and-tenon construction of the temple of the new religion, described in the dream of Jung’s disciple. In this process, the magisterium—the body of spiritual teachings, lore, rituals and techniques—of each individual religion must, in the interaction with other religious traditions, begin to ‘surrender electrons’ and form a new magisterium that “transcends and includes” both.[4] The process will go on, contributing to and eventually forming a greater magisterium of all religions, where the myths and practices of each will become the rightful inheritance of all. In this sense, it will be a true religion of humanity, though I believe it will be defined as the religion of spirituality, with these basic values:

The religion of spirituality will recognize the centrality of the spiritual, valuing it above religion, which must serve exclusively as a cultivator of spiritual awareness. The religion of spirituality will be comprised of the magisteria of all religions and unified by the primordial mysterium at the heart of all. It will recognize the call of the spirit as the source of all previous religions, and will utilize the deep structures of religion, made clear by comparative analysis, as the catalyzing basis for further spiritual evolution. The distinctively nuanced teachings and practices of independently developed magisteria will continue to serve the needs of individuals and their unique spiritual orientations from within the greater, unified magisterium of the religion of spirituality.

Why is “the new religion” to be defined by spirituality? Because the ‘spiritual but not religious’ have declared it so. They have made it clear that spirituality is more important than religion. What they have not yet discovered is what to do about it; for doing is the territory of religion. Religion is the tool that allows us to access the spirit with regularity, to catalyze growth and spiritual maturity, to accomplish spiritual awakening and transformation. Thus, religion in the future must be the handmaiden of spirituality. One is clearly the servant of the other, though both are essential ingredients. Over time, these two ingredients—the deep structures of religion and heart-essence of spirituality—will be extracted from the individual religions, making a religion not of the Buddha or the Christ, not of the mind or the heart, but of Humanity and Wholeness, the parts and nuances of each the inheritance of all, a reflection of the primordial human archetype, Adam Kadmon, as it is called in the Jewish mystical tradition.

This is my conviction. But it is also clear to me that we are not there yet, and won’t be for a very long time. It is not enough to have a vision of the future and theoretical access to the ‘Greater Magisterium of the Religion of Spirituality.’ We must also understand those deeper structures of religion, the basic technology of how religion works to accomplish spiritual transformation, and put that understanding into practice over a long period of experimentation. Actual understanding will come slowly, organically. We are only beginning to understand what it means to have commitments in more than one tradition. We still don’t have a firm grasp on how one balances and honors each without making one or both anemic. And what will be the role of the old traditions in a universal structure which must, over time, make them all less relevant? How painful will the descent into a lesser degree of relevance be, and how will we deal with the inevitable reactions of violence, which we are already witnessing? Our questions still far outnumber our answers.

After Jung had interpreted the dream of the temple of “the new religion,” his student, Zeller, asked him if he knew how long it would take to build. Jung answered without hesitation, “About six hundred years.” “Where do you know this from?” Zeller asked. “From other people's dreams and from my own.”[5] Did he mean, six hundred years in transition to the new religion, or six hundred years for that religion to reach its peak? And what does it mean that the foundation has already been laid?

However we interpret the dream, three things are clear: our current religions will continue for a long time yet; they will evolve and begin to hyphenate; and the great experiment of the religion of spirituality will proceed, slowly creating the structures of spiritual practice that will define it as a true incubator for spiritual transformation. For this is what is lacking today, and the reason we must bear with the slow evolutionary process.

(Part three of a three-part series on The Religion of Spirituality.)

Notes

[1] Max Zeller, The Dream: The Vision of the Night, ed. Janet Dallett, Los Angeles: The Analytical Psychology Club of Los Angeles, 1975:2.

[2] Actually, the ‘tree of the knowledge of good and evil,’ etz ha-da'at tov va-ra, Genesis 2-3.

[3] After similar usage by Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, who often referred to the hyphen connecting a person to more than one religious commitment.

[4] A phrase used by philosopher Ken Wilber in his descriptions of holarchies.

[5] Zeller, The Dream, 2.

Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, Father of Jewish Renewal, Dies at 89

By Netanel Miles-Yépez

“Reb Zalman in celebratory prayer at Baker’s Beach, California.” Photo credit: Yehudit Goldfarb, 1987.

Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, a spiritual innovator who developed a new trend in Judaism over the last half-century, passed away peacefully in his sleep on Thursday, July 3rd, 2014, at around 8:40AM in his home. He was 89. He will be buried at the Green Mountain Cemetery in Boulder, Colorado.

Schachter-Shalomi, better known as 'Reb Zalman' (a less formal title he preferred), was often a controversial figure in his lifetime, beloved of many and reviled by others. Those who loved him saw him as the visionary father of the Jewish Renewal movement, as a spiritual revolutionary who infused religion and inter-faith relations with a new vitality and contemplative depth. Those who opposed his innovative approach to Jewish spiritual practice felt he had betrayed the traditional values of Orthodox Judaism. Though this opposition diminished in his later years as former opponents came to appreciate his spiritual integrity and the need for new perspectives. But whether embraced or shunned, his impact upon Judaism and modern spirituality is undeniable.

Father of Jewish Renewal

Beginning in the 1950s, Schachter-Shalomi addressed himself to the masses of disaffected Jews who found their own religious tradition bereft of spiritual depth in the wake of the Holocaust. Along with his friend and fellow revolutionary, Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach (d.1994), he set out to find Jewish youth 'where they were' and to show them the depths and options still available within Judaism. For his currency and participation in the spirit of the times, some dubbed him the "Hippie Rabbi" in the 1970s, just as in the 1990s, many called him the "Cyber Rebbe" for his mix of Hasidism and technological savvy.

For the most part, Schachter-Shalomi's success was based in his liberal acceptance of people exploring alternate paths of spiritual awakening (from LSD to Yoga), and his legitimizing of alternate possibilities within Judaism (from the rabbinical ordination of women to the acceptance homosexuals), and not least on his making available to them the deepest teachings of Jewish mysticism and meditation.

Today, Jews the world over wear the B'nai Or 'Rainbow Tallit' (prayer-shawl) he designed, and Jewish Renewal rabbis and teachers are at the forefront of modern Judaism and its encounter with the changing nature of society. ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal, the organization he originally founded as B'nai Or Religious Fellowship, continues to serve the core of Jewish Renewal communities all over the world; and OHALAH: the Association of Rabbis for Jewish Renewal, originally begun by rabbis personally ordained by Schachter-Shalomi, meets every year for fellowship, learning and the ordination of new rabbis.

Innovator in Ecumenical Dialogue

From the earliest days of Schachter-Shalomi's career, he was continually involved in ecumenical dialogue with leaders and practitioners of other spiritual paths, from Trappist monks to Sufi sheikhs. These frequent forays into what was then forbidden territory led Schachter-Shalomi to describe himself as a "spiritual peeping-Tom." But far from being a mere browser, Schachter-Shalomi became deeply learned in the most minute aspects of the theory and experiential practice of these traditions, praying matins with the monks and performing dhikr with the Sufis.

This deeply personal approach to dialogue led to significant friendships with many of the world's great philosophers and spiritual teachers, including: Father Thomas Merton, Pir Vilayat Khan, Ken Wilber, and the 14th Dalai Lama.

The twin peaks of this ecumenical work had to do with the increasingly significant dialogue between Jews and Buddhists. Always sensitive and sympathetic to Jewish involvement in Eastern traditions, in 1990, Schachter-Shalomi was invited to a meeting in Dharamsala, India, between the Dalai Lama and Jewish leaders, to discuss how Tibetan Buddhism might "survive in exile." This dialogue, and Schachter-Shalomi's remarkable influence upon it, became the focus of a best-selling book by Rodger Kamenetz called The Jew in the Lotus. Immediately, the book became a catalyst for Jewish-Buddhist dialogue and the sensitive issue of why so many American Jews were involved in so-called 'Eastern' spiritual paths.

Within a few years, Schachter-Shalomi was invited to take up the World Wisdom Chair at Naropa University, the only accredited Buddhist-inspired university in the Western hemisphere. Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado became home to Schachter-Shalomi and a new phase of his teaching career. By the time of his retirement from Naropa in 2004, he had influenced thousands of students and spiritual seekers of all backgrounds.

Myriad Dimensions

Despite his profound impact upon American Judaism, his renewal teachings are still only beginning to take hold in Europe and Israel. To many, he remains a misunderstood figure, representing far more 'innovation' than they are comfortable with, and yet 'guilty' of far less than they usually suspect.

A charismatic and infinitely accessible teacher, he was able to tap-in to the particular need and interest of a generation ready for a paradigm shift in consciousness. His expansive personality and brilliantly creative mind never found a place to rest, but continued to push the margins of spiritual growth, using the language of emerging technologies and ecological awareness. Nevertheless, he was deeply committed to restoring vitality to as much of tradition as was possible, and to "re-formatting" it for modern use. In many ways, this was his particular genius, to build the "spiritual technology" of the future from the traditional wisdom of the past.

Life-Spectrum

Meshullam Zalman Schachter was born on August 17th, 1924 in Zholkiew, Poland, to Shlomo and Hayyah Gittel Schachter. In 1925, his family moved to Vienna, Austria, where he spent most of his childhood.

His father, a Belzer hasid with liberal tendencies, had him educated in both a 'leftist' Zionist high school and a traditional Orthodox yeshiva.

In 1938, when he was just 14, his family began a long and harrowing flight from Nazi oppression through Belgium, France, North Africa, and the Caribbean, until they finally landed in New York City in 1941.

In 1939, while still in Belgium, the young Schachter-Shalomi became acquainted with and began to frequent a circle of Habad hasidim who cut and polished diamonds in Antwerp. This association eventually led to his becoming a Habad hasid of the Lubavitch branch, in whose yeshiva he later enrolled in 1941, in Brooklyn, New York.

In 1947, he received his rabbinic ordination from the 'Lubavitcher Yeshiva' (Yeshivat Tomhei Temimim) and continued the outreach and teaching work he had begun the previous year in New Haven, Connecticut.

In 1948 or '49, he began to travel to college campuses with Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach at the direction of the Sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe and took up a post as a congregational rabbi in Fall River, MA. From 1952 to 1956, he was a congregational rabbi in New Bedford, MA.

By 1956, he had acquired a Master of Arts degree in the Psychology of Religion (pastoral counseling) from Boston University and had taken up a teaching post in the Department of Religion at the University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada, which he would hold until 1975.

In 1958, with the blessing of the Seventh Lubavitcher Rebbe, he wrote and privately published what was perhaps the first book on Jewish meditation in English. Later reprinted in The Jewish Catalog, this little manual would be read by an entire generation of Jews, and would reach individuals as diverse as President Zalman Shazar of Israel and the Christian monk and spiritual activist, Thomas Merton.

In 1964, inspired by examples of Trappist spirituality, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the Hasidism of his teachers, Schachter-Shalomi founded the neo-Hasidic B'nai Or Religious Fellowship with a small circle of students.

By 1968, he had earned his Doctor of Hebrew Letters from Hebrew Union College and was effectively 'divorced' from the Lubavitcher hasidim over issues relating his controversial engagement with modern culture and other religions. Nevertheless, he continued on as an 'independent' hasid, teaching the experiential dimensions of Hasidism as one of the world's great spiritual traditions. That year, he was also influential among the group who formed Havurat Shalom in Boston.

In 1974, he ordained his first rabbi, Rabbi Daniel Siegel of British Columbia (one of the current leaders of ALEPH) and helped to found the Aquarian Minyan of Berkeley, California.

A few years earlier, he had begun to study Sufism and meet with Sufis in California's Bay Area. This eventually led to his being initiated and ordained as a Sheikh in the Sufi Order of Pir Vilayat Khan in 1975. That year, he also became professor of Jewish Mysticism and Psychology of Religion at Temple University, where he stayed until his early retirement in 1987, when he was named professor emeritus.

1984 saw the birth of a new period in Schachter-Shalomi's life. That year, he took a forty-day retreat at Lama Foundation in New Mexico and emerged with a new teaching about "spiritual eldering," which later developed into his popular book, From Age-ing to Sage-ing, and led to his founding the Spiritual Eldering Institute, whose work is now carried on by Sage-ing International.

In 1986, B'nai Or ('children of light') Religious Fellowship became P'nai Or ('faces of light') Religious Fellowship, which would later undergo one more transformation and take up its current name, ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal.

In 1995 he accepted the World Wisdom Chair at the Naropa Institute (now Naropa University) from which he officially retired in 2004.

In 2004, Schachter-Shalomi participated in the Vancouver Peace Summit, where he gave an address to the session on "Balancing Educating the Mind with Educating the Heart" at the Chan Centre for the Performing Arts and dialogued with Nobel laureates, the 14th Dalai Lama and Bishop Desmond Tutu. He also co-founded the "Sufi-Hasidic," Inayati-Maimuni lineage of Sufism, reviving the medieval tradition of Rabbi Avraham Maimuni and allowing the Hasidic lineage of the Ba'al Shem Tov to integrate with the Sufi lineage of Hazrat Inayat Khan.

In 2005, he witnessed the creation of The Reb Zalman Legacy Project, an initiative of the Yesod Foundation "to preserve, develop and disseminate" his teachings, which eventually led to the donation of the Zalman M. Schachter-Shalomi Collection to the University of Colorado at Boulder in 2011 and the creation, in cooperation with the Program in Jewish Studies, of the Post-Holocaust American Judaism Archives in 2013. Since then, the University of Colorado has hosted an exhibit on his life and work, as well as a symposium on his influence upon Jewish music.

In 2012, Schachter-Shalomi was awarded an honorary doctorate of theology from the Starr King School for the Ministry in Oakland, California, and gave a popular series of lectures on the "Emerging Cosmology" as a part of its inaugural symposium, "Living in the Differences."

In 2014, he was again awarded an honorary doctorate from Hebrew College in Boston, Massachusetts, for his many contributions to global Judaism and his influence upon the college itself. Shortly thereafter, he traveled to Connecticut to lead a Shavuot retreat at the Isabella Freedman Jewish Retreat Center. After this retreat, he fell ill with pneumonia. He recovered sufficiently to return home to Boulder on June 19th, and seemed to be improving steadily, before passing in his sleep two weeks later.

His greatest interest in his last years was to articulate the foundations of a new manifestation of Hasidism, which he called "The Fourth Turning of Hasidism," and to contribute to the evolving understanding of religion and spirituality. At the time of his passing, after hundreds of hours of dialogue on the subject, Foundations of the Fourth Turning of Hasidism, a short statement of principles written with a student, was being prepared for publication, the last writing he read and approved.

A few of Schachter-Shalomi's most significant books include: Spiritual Intimacy: A Study of Counseling in Hasidism (1991), Paradigm Shift: From the Jewish Renewal Writings of Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi (1993), From Age-ing to Sage-ing: A Profound New Vision of Growing Older (1995), Jewish with Feeling: A Guide to Meaningful Jewish Practice (2005), A Heart Afire: Stories and Teachings of the Early Hasidic Masters (2009), Sh'ma': A Concise Weekday Siddur for Praying in English (2010), Gate to the Heart: A Manual of Contemplative Jewish Practice (2013), and The December Project (2014).

He is survived by his wife, Eve Ilsen (married in 1994); ten children, Mimi Gess, Shalom Schachter, Joseph Schachter, Yale Schachter, Tina Duskis, Jonathan Schachter, Lisa Vito, Shalvi Schachter, Barya Schachter, and Yotam Schachter; and his child by donation, Rosi Greenberg; numerous grandchildren and many great-grandchildren; a brother, Joseph Schachter, and a sister, Dvorah Kieffer.

A Roots Music Sacrifice: A Review of Matisyahu's Akeda

Netanel Miles-Yépez

In the world of reggae, there is "roots music" and "dancehall music." Dancehall music is like it sounds, popular music to get you up and dance. No message necessary. Whereas roots music digs into the life of the artist—revealing troubles and spiritual trials—and occasionally delivers a message of hope and inspiration. Matisyahu, the Jewish singer-songwriter, who first achieved notoriety as a Hasidic reggae artist with a hip-hop style and inspiring Jewish lyrics, is generally known for both. And though he has long since shed his exclusively Hasidic reggae identity, he has continued to make what is essentially great dancehall music with an underlying message—that is, until now.

Matisyahu's new album, Akeda, is almost pure roots music, with a little dancehall sprinkled in the mix. It's the kind of album you put on when you need to get away, or shut the bedroom door and just kick-back, soaking in the music. If his previous album, Spark Seeker, was like a joyful leap into the mosh-pit at Red Rocks on a sunny day, Akeda is all on the ground, like a slow walk through lonely streets in the early morning or at night, letting one's thoughts churn with every step. It is music that comes from the inside-out, and that somehow makes you feel cleansed in the listening.

In all of his studio albums, Matisyahu has made a hallmark of daring creativity, and has demonstrated a unique ability to integrate diverse musical influences into his sound. He never plays it safe. Every album is a new musical—and spiritual—exploration; and because of this, he has sometimes disappointed his more genre-oriented fans who tend to pine over the "good-old-days" when he seemed to be a reggae super-star and Jewish icon. But no true artist can live in a box, any more than every fan of one period in an artist's life can follow them into the next. In the end, the artist creates for those who can hear the deeper melody, changing and evolving through each period, the same melody that haunts them and has to be delivered from within.

Akeda is the kind of album an artist makes when there is no other creative choice but to turn oneself inside-out, to scrape the insides and reveal everything raw. Past albums begin to feel like masks and a burden; successful collaborations with great producers—with their own vision for the music—begin to hang like a weight around an artist's neck. Something inside chafes at all the little incursions into the music, at the add-ons that sometimes work . . . and sometimes don't. In the end, there is no choice but to take back control and look for the original purity amid all the static. This impulse is what makes Akeda Matisyahu's most self-reflective and purely conceived album.

Like Marvin Gaye's radically experimental What's Going On in 1971, Akeda breaks all the conventional rules and reveals the musician behind the recording artist. A musician's musician, Matisyahu often seems to be singing in a backroom jam session with friends, or in some small, smoky venue trying to get a tiny crowd into a groove he's feeling in the moment. Many songs on Akeda have a quality reminiscent of those many great Bob Marley songs that get lost amid the anthems and "greatest hits." Matisyahu respects the music and isn't afraid to let a song find its own way. Not enslaved to catchy hooks and refrains, many songs on Akeda grow and open-out organically in new and unexpected ways; like life, they walk and fall down and get back up, and sometimes find that they can soar. There is also a driving, soulful undertone in them, delivered with a light touch and an obvious delight in letting the music be what it wants to be—regardless of fan expectations.

Paralleling the best music of the 1970s (and occasionally the 80s), Akeda is an album with easy, ambling rhythms, soulful and searching lyrics, and oddly playful effects—horns jumping in at unexpected moments to lighten the mood—totally renewing and reinvigorating that great sound from the past. The first track, "Reservoir," is the perfect tone-setter for the album, with its Dylan-esque walk through a host of edgy, painful emotions, full of fight and building to its own defiant brand of gratitude. Then, in "Watch the Walls Melt Down," a contrastingly meditative and triumphant song, Matisyahu achieves another brilliant musical fusion, created from equally complex emotions—watching your life fall apart, almost urging its destruction so you can start rebuilding. Struggles with inner demons and loneliness compete with an equally strong determination to love and rise from the ashes in many songs, like "Obstacles" and "Hard Way" (a personal favorite on the album). These themes are not new to Akeda, of course, but take on a much more personal and poignant tone in it. And yet, even as the album heads into new places musically, and in terms of its contemplative depth, it is still built on the foundation of Matisyahu's previous work and early influences. For those fans who missed his reggae sound in Spark Seeker, it makes a powerful return in Akeda. Indeed, the new song, "Black Heart" may be the most mature feeling reggae in the Matisyahu catalogue, having all the makings of a reggae classic. Likewise, the uplifting anthem "Champion" will delight as much as the questioning and reflective, "Confidence," with its easy reggae pop and beat.

But underneath all the externals of style, feeding this very personal "roots album," is the idea of sacrifice. In the Jewish tradition, akeda is a reference to the "binding" of Isaac on the rock of sacrifice—bound by his father, Abraham, in accordance with God's command. But unlike Judaism's traditional emphasis on Abraham's great faith and the reward for that faith, Matisyahu's Akeda is an exploration of the great "toll" such acts of faith take on one's life. Whether one is called to be an artist or a spiritual servant like Abraham, whether one is driven to follow the demanding call of one's muse or one's God, there is no promise of perfect happiness, no perfect life for the servant of the call—even if one is successful in following it. After all, what happened to Abraham's relationship to his son and his wife after the akeda? Some Jewish traditions tell of tragedy in the aftermath. Perhaps that is what was really sacrificed in his following God's command. Often, we do what we must, driven by the call from within; but it isn't always pretty. Matisyahu's Akeda is ultimately a Kierkegaardian contemplation on the aftermath of this act of faith, of answering the divine call, ayeka?—"Where are you?"—and how it is possible to find solace, and even a sense of wholeness amid the brokenness of the sacrifice.

Matisyahu’s “Akeda”

By Netanel Miles-Yépez

The Grammy Award nominated artist, Matisyahu, has come a long way since 2005 when he released his breakout album Live at Stubb’s (which reached #1 on the Reggae Albums Chart and #30 on the Billboard 200). Since then he has proven to be one of the most dynamic and creative artists in the industry today, breaking with convention at every turn and remaking his musical image with nearly every album. And his latest—Akeda (Uh-kay-duh)—is no different in this regard.

What is different is Akeda’s depth and naturalness; it is by far Matisyahu’s most personal album, and the one over which he has had the most creative control. Comparable to Marvin Gaye’s 1971 classic, What’s Going On, “Akeda is the kind of album an artist makes when there is no other creative choice but to turn oneself inside-out, to scrape the insides and reveal everything raw.” . . .  “Akeda breaks all the conventional rules and reveals the musician behind the recording artist.”

Though he achieved early success as a “Hasidic reggae super-star,” Matisyahu—the man and the musician—soon began to chafe under the constraints of that label and the projections that went with it. The music was continuing to evolve, and so was his spiritual identity. Reggae was just one strong influence in the sound he was seeking; and the mystical teachings of Hasidism had soaked-in to a degree that he felt the external trappings were no longer necessary. As he says on the new album, “Got it on the inside, don’t need to wear it out.”

By the release of Spark Seeker in 2012, Matisyahu’s appearance and sound had changed drastically from the days of his first success. And though his music was more successful than ever, having an even broader, multi-influence, cross-genre appeal, the backlash from his early reggae-oriented fans, and those who saw him as a “bearded Jewish icon” was overwhelming and deeply painful to him. The pressures of success and constant touring, coupled with this onslaught of superficial criticism, drove the singer into the intense feelings of isolation and introspection that eventually resulted in Akeda, his most “self-reflective and purely conceived album” to date.

Written on tour, and in his Los Angeles home, Akeda was recorded in Brooklyn’s Studio G with his touring band, Dub Trio (Dave Holmes, Stu Brooks, and Joe Tomino), and was personally produced by Matisyahu and bassist, Stu Brooks (with assists from Studio G owner, Joel Hamilton, and Dave Holmes). Matisyahu also worked on a number of tracks with long time friends and collaborators, Aaron Dugan, Rob Marcher and Mark Guilana.

When asked about the writing and recording process for Akeda, Matisyahu says: “On this record, I really just wrote from my guts. I wanted everything to come from the inside . . . I didn’t want to make any compromises with the music or the recording process. It was all done at my place, or at Studio G with my bass player, Stu Brooks, who produced the record. Our musical tastes are so similar, and we’ve been working together so long, there was no need to go out looking for the ‘right producer’ or the ‘right beat’ . . . Everything just came to us, and it was always right on the money.”

The result of this collaboration is a wide-ranging, radically experimental album that adds a new layer of sophistication to Matisyahu’s oeuvre. While in past albums, Matisyahu’s songs and lyrics were often drawn from inspiring themes and teachings in Hasidic Judaism; in Akeda, the lyrics are far more personal and Hasidic ideas play a smaller, supporting role. “They’re definitely in there,” says Matisyahu, “but they’re a lot more integrated than before. In some ways, I think I used to disguise myself behind them. But on this album, I was able to step into the world more, to come out from behind the glass and write more emotional songs, dealing with the real events and people in my life. And when I did this, I found that all the Hasidic and kabbalistic ideas I’ve studied for years came up naturally and were able to enter into my real life.” 

This is clear throughout the album, especially in intensely personal songs like “Reservoir.” In talking about this song, Matisyahu says: “In that song, I’m really dealing with the pain I felt—and continue to feel—from my ‘brothers’ who were so quick to throw me under the bus because of my changes. As usual, I make a lot of references to stories and motifs from Torah; only now, they are more internalized and deeply personal. The title, ‘Reservoir,’ refers to the reservoir in Central Park that I’ve found myself walking around at different times in my life. One day, it occurred to me that I’d never gone all the way around it, never completed the circle. It made me realize how much I wanted closure and a sense of completeness in my life.”

Another important song for Matisyahu is “Broken Car,” which sets up a theme found throughout the album. “This is really a song about refuge,” says Matisyahu, “about finding a home in the world; it’s about acceptance of oneself and others—with all the problems and flaws. It comes from the sense of profound ‘brokenness’ I’ve experienced in my own life over the past few years, which I’ve come to look at without judgment, with a kind of acceptance, patience and love. At this point, I just want to be grateful to God for the blessing of being able to continue growing and doing what I can to create a place of healing in this broken world.”

This, of course, brings us to Akeda, the album’s title. Akeda (‘binding’) is a Hebrew word that refers to sacrifice, or rather the near-sacrifice of Isaac by his father Abraham in the Bible at God’s command. But for Matisyahu, it is also a powerful symbol for the “toll” such acts of faith take on one’s life—even for a musician following his own heart and musical instincts. The success of “following the muse” brings its own problems, forcing an artist to look deep inside for the original purity that gave life to the music in the first place. This is the theme that shapes Akeda; for the songs on this new album deal with the intense loneliness and isolation of life on the road, processing complex feelings of betrayal from former friends and fans, as well the breakdown of longstanding relationships. But far from wallowing in these feelings and trials, the songs on Akeda deal with them, exploring them in the depths, and finally find their way back to the surface, where they achieve a kind of wholeness amid the brokenness of the sacrifice. In the end, “It is music that comes from the inside-out, and that somehow makes you feel cleansed in the listening.”*

* Some quotes are taken from my upcoming album review, “A Roots Music Sacrifice: A Review of Matisyahu’s Akeda.” Huffington Post.