A Jewish Dialogue with Howard Thurman: Mysticism, Compassion, and Community Edward K. Kaplan Forged in the crucible of a rural, segregated African‐American community in Florida, and nourished by closeness to the Divine Presence, the spirituality of Howard Thurman (1899‐1981) is governed by a deep, abiding inwardness, a solitary relation with God, which nourishes responsiveness to other people. He was a mystic who translated “the experience of love” into realistic, dynamic connections with fellow human beings. His ethical gift did not necessarily lead to social action, however. By temperament Thurman was not a militant. Solitude remained his distinctive mark and the slow, introverted flow of his written and spoken meditations appeals to our essential loneliness, probing our tender spots, allowing us to face pain and disenchantment with a gentle courage.1 Dialogue was Thurman’s essential mode of communication, one to one conversation, which he might then translate into prayers, sermons, meditations, or other public utterances.2 I was privileged to know Howard Thurman—and Mrs. Sue Bailey Thurman, whose vivid independence completed her husband’s optimism with a sharp critical edge. To help convey my particularly Jewish response to his thought, I share one intimate conversation with him. In 1981, I visited Dr. Thurman at his home in San Francisco. By that time he was dying from a cancer which afflicted him for several years, and I expected him to be quite weak and unable to spare much time. The opposite occurred. Thurman sat with me for over three hours and systematically asked me to review my most compelling life tasks: my divorce, my relationship with my young son, my writing, my teaching, and my mother’s recent death. At that point, I expressed my mixed feelings about her, and especially my doubt about whether she truly loved me. Thurman stared at me silently and then said, “All mothers love their children.” In anguish I asked how he could know that. “Because she gave birth to you,” he replied. I responded skeptically, “That is just a pure biological fact.” Thurman, more frail than I had ever seen him, but so much stronger than I was during those intense hours, slowly gazed at me and answered, “There is no such thing as a pure biological fact.” And still looking straight at me, he threw out his long arms and burst into exuberant laughter. I looked at this man I knew for over twenty‐five years, since my high school days, felt his deep understanding of me, and I burst into tears. Thurman’s confidence in the Divine Presence within all human beings had convinced him of my mother’s ability to love. His confidence in me challenged my ability to accept her, and to love her, as she truly was. From inwardness to compassion Beyond such individual encounters, Thurman’s skill as rhythmic, poetic writer and speaker helped form around him an interreligious, interracial and international community, from Rankin Chapel at Howard University, to the Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples in San Francisco, to Marsh Chapel at Boston University. As for my growing Jewish identity, it was Howard Thurman’s gentle, meditative style that nurtured my attraction to spirituality as such. His gentle probing put me in touch with a hunger for God. His keynote phrase, “How good it is to center down!” places us where we are, a calm amidst personal turmoil. During my high school and college years (c. 1955‐1964), conversations with Dr. and Mrs. Thurman, and steeping myself in his writings and recordings, prepared me to understand the religious thinker and social activist, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907–1972), Professor of Jewish Ethics and Mysticism at the Jewish Theological Seminary in New York, whom I met in 1966 while studying for a doctorate in French literature at Columbia University. Thurman’s universal witness had opened me to Heschel, who became my ancestral model. More on that later. So seductive, in fact, was Thurman’s “inward journey” (the title of his early, signature volume), that I was often tempted to remain alone, with or without God. The artist’s poetic prose and his soothing, earthy voice (available on recordings) meets us and accepts us...
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