Why Men Gather (The Jewish Men’s Retreat Journey)

Why Men Gather (The Jewish Men’s Retreat Journey)Allen Spivack and Yosaif August
(excerpted from “Brother Keepers: New Perspectives on Jewish Masculinity,” edited by Rabbi Shawn Zevit and Harry Brod) 

Limited copies of Brother Keepers are available from Rabbi Zevit for $25.00, plus shipping. Please contact szevit@comcast.net to order.

Jewish men gather-to pray, share stories, solve a vexing problem, to complain, and even to worry a bit. Yes, generations of Jewish men have found their ways of connecting and through a variety of affiliations have found unique opportunities to connect as men and as Jews. The typical synagogue not so many years ago depended on men to bring their skills to ensure that the “shul” remained a vibrant, thriving institution. They hired and fired, raised money, established rules of governance and “mentored” leadership. Such was also the case in their lives as businessmen where the community of Jewish men developed a unique kind of “relating” (not unlike men of other ethnic groups) that established a special kind of trust and privilege. Perhaps no other group characterized this gathering of men as the synagogue’s brotherhood- a way of enticing a broader network of men to participate in synagogue life. Just remember those savory Sunday “brotherhood breakfasts” where men cooked and served and cleaned. There were other venues for men to gather too- the Bnai Brith lodges, charity golf tournaments, friendly poker games, Jewish only country clubs, and the Jewish Community Center sports teams. 

Why did these men-our fathers, uncles, family friends, brothers-participate in these groups and activities? And what did they hope to get out of them? Seen from our perspective of today, these affiliations gave men opportunities to connect in an informal way since, for most, more “natural” opportunities (such as child-rearing and school-based activities through children) rarely existed for them in their lives. In my view, men were coaxed into these groups and then found something that they longed for- special and valued companionship through back slaps, humor, cooperation and teamwork that was generally unavailable in their “worlds of work.” While these times of connection were often fleeting, many men used their Jewishness as the glue to build and sustain meaningful relationships. 

My father is a classic example of this kind of affiliation. Nathan Spivack owned a pharmacy and usually worked seven days a week, often twelve hours a day. He had little relief from the daily grind of work. Fortunately, we lived in an apartment above the store, and so I was often entrusted to bring him lunch and dinner. I spent a lot of time with him in the store- talking, learning the business (as an eight year old!), even helping to stock shelves and wait on customers. He had so little time for anything other than his work. But there was one thing he always made time for-no matter how fatigued he might be- his twice monthly poker games rotated from house to house among the ten men who were part of the group. All Jewish, he had met these men either through business connections, the husbands of my mother’s friends or from activities he attended from time to time at the local conservative synagogue. 

These games seemed to brush away the tiredness of his day. When the game was at our house, the men would gather, smoke, have a few drinks and eat some delicacies my mother prepared. Nat (as my father was called), allowed me to come and sit on his lap before bedtime. The men joked and chatted and exuded a sense of comradeship and devotion for each other. Now I appreciate how much they all relished their time together. When my father died suddenly, many of these men extended themselves to my family offering us comfort and support. 

As I became a married man myself and father, I wondered how I would find my connections to other men. Like many men my age, life revolved around two activities-work and time with my wife and two sons. We had an active social network, but personally, I had few men with whom I could be “in relationship.” We always seemed to be with couples, and there were few opportunities available to establish my own time and space. 

Like my father, I found many of my significant opportunities through Jewish connections, but unlike him, I found an alternative to the more casual relationship-building that went on with many of the men of my father’s generation. It was the 1970s and the world was awash in gender politics. Not only did we as men reexamine our attitudes and relationships with women but with men as well. I intentionally sought out other men who, like me, wanted relationships with men that were based on openness and intimacy. I hoped that by consciously cultivating supportive relationships with other men, I would discover new connections that would help me to “find my voice,” to understand power issues in my relationships, to nurture my sense of caring, to master a new vocabulary of relating, and to accept that men can love each other in profound ways. 

As it happened, several men, all members of our spiritual community (an egalitarian, lay-led Minyan), discussed forming a father’s group. The group’s primary focus would be on our role as fathers. Inevitably, such discussions led to conversations about our relationship with partners and then to our relationship with parents, especially our fathers. And so it went. The six of us remained together for nearly sixteen years, meeting every three weeks. As Jewish men, we each owned a unique upbringing around Jewish learning and practice. Our politics differed widely, especially about Israel. Several of the group had spent years in the Jewish education system. Many of us struggled from time to time with our practice and ritual observance or had different expectations about ritual practice than our spouses. Yet it was our Jewish core that served as a unifying theme for us-whether to send children to the Jewish day schools or to take them out, how to understand the life cycle events we celebrated, and our dilemma when our children dated non-Jewish men or women. 

We worked at building our connections with each other and defining how we as a group needed to evolve to sustain ourselves. These years of sharing and connecting really manifested itself for me during the High Holidays. I liked to stand in the sanctuary before our services began and search out each of “my” men. I could feel the wonderful strength and power of our collective history. It was nothing less than the power of love. This experience of connecting to “my brothers” made it possible for me to acknowledge that the traditional ways of being “in relationship” with other men in my life wasn’t working. The six of us had spent years breaking through barriers and building up connections, and now this new paradigm needed to be “the” model for my future relations with other men. 

Our meetings were powerful reminders of this emerging new consciousness. We met every three weeks, and usually there was plenty to discuss about events in our lives. There was no agenda per se other than the agenda of listening. We evolved a set of simple, unspoken rules: no facilitators and no topics; check-in and listen; ask questions; offer support when requested; don’t get angry; don’t discuss sex. We would check-in about the past weeks-work, spouse, children, parents, ourselves, Israel, our spiritual community, the group rules. Frequently, someone would request time to discuss a contentious issue with a recalcitrant adolescent or a troublesome issue with an aging parent or a spouse who was unsupportive. We were a group of men, all now married, several divorced , with hundreds of years of relationship experience and we talked and shared and gave advice (all of it good of course!) We did this for 16 years, until it was time to move on. 

The sinews that held us together all those years still keep us connected even though our group no longer exists. We share a love that only comes when men like us choose to sit together and open ourselves in honest and thoughtful ways. Our years together built trust and deep interconnections that allowed me to expose some of those painful personal stories that often remain hidden and haunting. One such tale began when, as an 11 years old, my father suddenly died at age 53. Our family was devastated, and I can remember feeling abandoned, lost, drifting and alone. My mother, in her desperation to help me cope, sent me to a local psychiatrist whom my father had helped out on a number of occasions. As I entered his office for the first visit, I saw two enormous German Sheppard dogs approaching me, snarling and then barking. I was terrified. Dr. Cass was close by and gave a command. They quickly quieted down and retreated. He led me to his office and we talked-about what I can’t recall. All I did was think about those dogs. 

I continued to see Dr.Cass, and each time it was the same-the dogs, the barking, the fear. We talked about learning to deal with tragedy and moving on and finding ways to survive even when many obstacles stand in our way. He befriended me and kept repeating this theme of surviving and enduring. One Sunday, he took me on a trip to visit his two teenage sons who were living that summer at a camp on land Dr. Cass owned. He had built a simple dwelling for them and a few outbuildings, and his goal was to have them learn to manage on their own, to survive. When we arrived, they were glad to see him, but he kept his distance. They went to the car with him and brought back their supplies for the next two weeks. As they showed me around, there was a corral for several farm animals. Dr. Cass told me to pull the wires apart and go in, but when I touched the wires, I got a jolt of electricity that stunned me. He looked at me and said, “Don’t always do what people tell you to do.” All I thought about were the dogs. 

On the drive home, Dr. Cass told me about his experiences in World War II-being a soldier in the Army, being captured in the Pacific and being a prisoner of war for several years. How he had endured death marches and deprivation and other horrors. How he wanted to make sure his sons knew how to survive and take care of themselves no matter the situation. Now I started to understand the dogs. The irony was that this bizarre, sick man taught me how to survive and endure through many difficulties in my life-he taught me resolve and resiliency and being watchful. He even had my mother send me to an Outward Bound School so I would know “how to survive on my own.” 

The father’s group offered us all the opportunity to bear witness and to embrace a new vision of what was possible. This group of men helped me to become a man like my father, a man I deeply loved and admired, to learn ways to nurture and support, to kiss a man out of love, to relish the unique physical contact that men can share with each other. This group taught me how we could use one another to rehearse the new “selves” we wanted to become. It also opened the other possibilities for my own growth, if I was willing to be adventurous, daring and take some risks. I soon found this opportunity for my adventurous spirit when I heard about a Jewish Men’s Retreat (JMR) at a place called Elat Chayyim in the Catskills. My way to the JMR was both circuitous and fortuitous. 
After leaving my full-time fundraising work with the local Jewish federation and spending two years staying at home caring for my two sons when my wife went back to work, I began to spend some of those “free” hours doing handyman jobs here and there. I always had some facility for manual work and learned as I went. People always needed a little of this and a little of that done, and soon enough I had a real business! I started getting busy. The handyman work became a home renovation business with employees and partners and lots of tools and equipment. 

I used to call myself “the other Jewish carpenter” and many of my clients were people in the Jewish community. Many thought it odd to have a Jew doing this kind of work. I still juggled caring for my sons and work, dropping them off at school, running to the lumber yard, “strapping on the toolbelt”, working and supervising, meeting with my business partners, and then picking the boys up and heading to after-school activities. Evenings were filled with dinner and then looking at potential jobs and doing estimates. As the business grew, I needed another carpenter and hired Steve, yet another Jewish carpenter! We worked well together and talked about everything from framing to family life, from nail guns to finding our way in this new world as men. Who would have ever suspected that my entry point into this lifelong work-helping men to find healing and strength-would come from banging nails? This is certainly one of the great ironies of my life- a true “re-visioning” of my masculine identity in that most masculine of male bastions-the building trades. 

One day Steve told me about a Jewish Men’s Retreat (JMR) he attended the previous year, and how it had opened him up to so many new possibilities in his relationship with other men and with his wife. I asked him, “What’s so different about this retreat? I mean I’m already in a father’s group.” But there was something in his voice that intrigued me about this event. 

He talked about the singing, the conversation at meals, the davenning and spirited praying and even dancing, the small group meetings that helped each man to search deeply. Steve said that Torah stories came alive and took on a whole, new meaning. 

This is how I found my way to the Jewish Men’s Retreat, an event unlike anything I have ever experienced before (or since) in my adult life. A group of men come together for a weekend and weave themselves into a community of brothers. Men let go of pretense, posturing, and their armor as each steps delicately into a world of new expectations where openness, softness and caring are the norm. Men move beyond the masks of their “normal” lives- as the breadwinner, husband, father, son, sexual purveyor, competitor, stoic- and venture out on new turf where suddenly the rules of engagement are different. It has been a painstaking journey- embracing those new “personal masks” that strengthen, support and enrich me and discarding those that restrict, limit and subvert who I believe I want and need to be. For example, I chose to be a full-time partner and a full-time father. I chose to find an emotional core for myself by discarding those stereotyped beliefs about how men need “to be.” I chose to find humor and lots of laughter in life. I tore off that mask of indestructibility and invulnerability and chose instead to love hugging men and finding new ways of building intimacy and doing work that I cared about. I gave up the mask of a stodgy, uninspired Jewish practice for the exuberance of Jewish Renewal. I rejected the security of playing it safe and making sure everyone was happy and painted a mask that let me take more risks and accept more failures. I ask “what would I love to be doing?” rather than “what should I be doing?” 

Steve encouraged me to attend the third JMR in the fall 1994 with him, and we made the drive from Boston to a place called Elat Chayyim, then in Accord, New York. As we entered the main building, I noticed that there were lots of drums scattered about. Men embraced. What was this Jewish Renewal everyone was talking about? I remember feeling anxious and uneasy and wondered if I had done the right thing agreeing to attend. Yet as the weekend progressed, I recall how profoundly I was moved by so many things-the intensity of the davenning, the spirited singing and dancing, the willingness of many men to reveal the pain in their lives, the risk-taking and sharing and sense of self-discovery that exploded around me. I was captivated and paralyzed simultaneously. And while Steve never came back, I never stopped attending. 

Mine is a familiar story for those many men who have participated in this remarkable event. Each man is an accretion of personal stories and experiences -some more dramatic and challenging, others more pained and tragic-but events that shaped each person’s journey toward manhood and beyond. Some men attend once and disappear while others return, year after year, building a strong, loyal corps of mensches who reserve one special weekend in October for the Jewish Men’s Retreat. We return year after year to celebrate our companionship, exuberance, acceptance, spirit and sense of renewal. 

Fortunately, the vision and sensitivity of a new generation of Jewish “patriarch” tapped into the emerging needs of Jewish men which gave birth to the JMR. Yosaif August, one of the founders of the Jewish Men’s Retreat, and as he has told me many times, the JMR was a natural outgrowth of the need of Jewish men to find unique and meaningful ways of connecting with each other. 

“We began convening spontaneous ad hoc gatherings at renewal retreats, kallot, etc. These gatherings were simply circles of men getting together to share and support each other. These venues gave us a natural way of creating sacred space together, including the agreements of confidentiality and mutual respect. Usually we would chant a niggun (melody) for a while and then do a go-around, sometimes using a “talking stick,” followed by conversations about whatever seemed to hold sway or have some energy for the group. What I particularly remember about these early informal gatherings was how ripe and primed all of us were to dive right into the “stuff” of our lives. I also remember these meetings as occasions to begin a healing process between gay and straight men.” 

Reb Shawn Zevit, one of the original planning team members and recently, rabbinic leadership for the JMR, remembered his first connection to this emerging movement of Jewish men’s work. 

“At the 1993 Jewish Renewal Aleph Kallah in San Francisco, I was the only man to sign up for the first day of a workshop for Jewish men that was being facilitated by Yosaif August, an organizer of the first Jewish Men’s Retreat held the year before. Yosaif and I wondered why only the two of us were at this men’s only session given the hundreds of people gathered at the event in the hills of Berkeley, and the large attendance by both men and women at courses which emphasized women¹s rituals and issues. We realized that it was not safe to assume that Jewish men, who sought a renewed connection with their Judaism, would necessarily see the unique aspects of their male identity and spiritual expression as something they needed to pay attention to. Making this an important item on the progressive Jewish agenda would take patience, authentic soul-searching and a willingness to break through the barriers that existed to intimacy, trust and connection that many Jewish men carry like a heavy backpack on their life’s journey.” 

“By the next day a few more men attended the program, and we ended our week of “drashodrama” on Jacob and Esau, in which we gave each other blessings we wished our own fathers had given us. Under his guidance, Yosaif August gathered a group of us together to begin an annual Jewish Men’s Retreat in the fall of 1992 at Elat Chayyim, near Woodstock, New York. The JMR met there until 2005, when Elat Chayyim relocated to the Isabella Freedman Retreat Center in Connecticut.”
 
Some of the earliest work by Jewish men explored new ways of living as Jewish men and identifying powerful new rituals of spiritual engagement. In discussing the early roots of Jewish Menswork, Yosaif, recalled that in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s many Jewish men started raising the bar for their work of self-exploration and masculine renewal and began developing programs that were presented at various kallot and other gatherings. 

“One example of this was an innovative program presented by Marc Kronisch and Rabbi Moshe Halfon entitled “Re-creating Jewish Men’s Rites of Passage” that combined Jungian archetypes, kabbalah and developmental psychology. Also, Mitchell Flaum and I led a week long class exploring the implications for men of the story of Joseph. Reb Zalman Schachter-Shalomi led a couple of creative and dynamic men’s gatherings at kallot. One was a gathering in the men’s locker room at the kallah at Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania. He led another one that involved a walking meditation focused on the stages of our lives as men. Rabbi Arthur Waskow and I taught a class at Elat Chayyim about “Becoming Brothers, Becoming Brotherkeepers” in which we focused on several brother-pairs; Cain/Abel, Jacob/Esau, Isaac/Ishmael, Moshe/Aaron. We also included David and Jonathan, because their relationship illustrates the full range of possibilities of love, trust and faithfulness between men. As we planned and organized these sessions in a variety of venues, it became quite clear to all of us that there was a growing desire to move beyond these larger venues and gather ourselves exclusively as men to go deeper into this work of self-discovery.” 

From these sessions and workshops emerged the idea for a weekend retreat that would be lay-led and offer men the opportunity to become part of a community of men, one that would sustain itself from year to year and build itself on the strength of community, profound and supportive relationships and acts of loving-kindness. The first retreat was entitled “Our Fathers, Our Selves” and used the structure of the Sabbath to create a vessel where men could experiment with various ways of creating sacred space to promote intimacy and trust. Yosaif recalled how the planning group brought innovative, cutting edge programming ideas into the mix, an ongoing hallmark of the JMR planning process. 

“One thing we did was build a sweat lodge. We played a healing and non-competitive game (unheard of for men!) of ultimate frisbee. I remember being in tears as I gazed into the eyes of my brothers during our closing circle – actually two concentric circles in which we faced each other – while chanting “May the blessings of Yah rest upon you, may Yah’s peace abide with you, may Yah’s presence illuminate your heart, now and forever more.” 

“The second retreat, “The Mild One Meets the Wild One,” focused on the story of Jacob and Esau, inspired by Rabbi Rami Shapiro’s Embracing Esau: Reclaiming the Deep Masculine in Judaism. It marked our journey into fully embracing our entire Jewish legacy – our stories, rituals, language, humor – as a means toward our awakening and becoming whole. Out went the sweat lodge; in came the mikveh (ritual cleansing pool). Ironically, there are many Jewish young men whose only mikveh experience has been during men’s retreats and, they consider the hot tub the “real thing! (and for us, it is!) Out went Grimm’s fairy tales and Robert Bly; in came our authentic Jewish mytho-poetic treasure trove, those delicious and rich Torah stories of inspiring characters, deeply flawed ones, dysfunctional families, moments of revelation and more. Out went “Ho” and in came the affirmations: “Heneni!” (I am here) “Dibarti” (I have spoken); and “Shamati” (I hear you). In came the inspiring tisch-a time to gather, tell stories, learn, laugh and sing- along with shlivivitz time and later, after shabbos, scotch and cigars (maybe this isn’t exactly Jewish, but maybe it’s another link to the generation of our fathers!)” 

“I have such vivid memories of that second retreat. During the Torah service each man wrestled with his twin brother and was then “born” as either Jacob or Esau. At that moment the Jacobs were given blue bandanas and the Esaus were given red ones, which everyone wore for the rest of the retreat. Each man’s task was to work on issues related to healing with his twin. I was “born” an Esau. My twin was Reb Shawn Zevit. The dramatic point of the journey was a dawn encounter with our twin. The night before, we spent preparing for this encounter. Since it was raining, in lieu of the intended campfires we used candles, and at daybreak all of the Jacobs marched up a large hill playing their tambourines. The fierce drumbeats of the Esaus could be heard in the distance. Then came the encounters – the wrestling, the pantomiming, the yelling, the crying, the hugging, the loving and especially the healing.” 

“One ritual we initiated that year was the “brotherkeeper” button, which I created as a powerful symbol to encourage men to support each other. A “brotherkeeper” is a man who challenges and supports other men to be and do their best. That’s what the twin Jacob/Esau pairs were doing at the retreat. At the conclusion of the retreat, all men who were attending for the first time were invited into the center of the circle. Those men who had previously attended the retreat not only pinned a green “brotherkeeper” button on them but gave each of the first-timers two other buttons to give out to other men in their lives – men they knew who embodied brotherkeeper qualities or would be encouraged to move in that direction. The ritual is simple, but it’s the kavanah which gives it its power. Over these eighteen years, over three hundred men have received the buttons and then reached out to other men in their lives. It’s hard to ever know the ripple effects of these things, but I can only imagine that there are so many good stories out there waiting to be told about this.” 

Reb Shawn Zevit recalled that the second retreat explored what it meant to be a Jewish man by entering into a “narrative” between Jacob and Esau, and then becoming these archetypes through study and ritual, exploring each person’s personal identity. “This experience remains forever etched in my soul as an evolutionary step for me in integrating my awareness of the constructs of masculinity and of male and Jewish identity. I have taken these profound lessons into my teaching, my rabbinate and now my mentoring of a younger generation of Jewish men and women.” 

Each retreat has had its own special character that reflects the chosen theme, the unique style of that year’s new leadership team, and the inevitable spontaneity and happenstance of the men who chose to attend in any particular year. JMR retreats are entirely lay-led. In some years, professional rabbinic leadership has enhanced the ritual aspects of the retreat. However, JMR assiduously avoids having a “headliner” to attract attendees. Men have learned about the JMR because a friend invites a friend, or a man brings his son or father, or a group decides this would be a great way to enhance their work together. Many men have “found” the JMR when they are in need of personal healing, when a man wants to explore alternatives to his current lifestyle, when men seek some renewed commitment to Judaism. The JMR has always offered a new framework for how men can lovingly interact and support each other. The JMR suspends the normal “rules of engagement’ that most men face day in and day out, and men leave the retreat having learned a new paradigm and strategy for connecting with the significant men in their lives. 

At the end of each retreat, the current leadership issues an open invitation for men to step forward and declare their intention to become part of the leadership circle for the next year’s retreat. This is a very exciting and poignant moment. With full hearts from this intense, intimate and joyful experience, men face each other in a closing circle, knowing that many of us will be back together the next year, full of the JMR’s unique brand of enthusiasm and creativity. 
The leadership group develops the theme and the program, generally but not always, drawing on the thematic material contained in that week’s Torah portion (parasha). Over the years, the leadership has developed a natural way to mentor men to assume these leadership roles. Virtually all leadership roles have a “double,” a man who shares the role and is supported in stepping up to doing it himself the next time. Another recent innovation has been the water ritual. Each man brings some water from a place sacred to him. Each contribution is announced, and then the water offerings are mixed in a large bowl. Each man receives a vial of our combined “special” waters. Men have brought water from the Nile River, the Jordan River, the Dead Sea and places throughout the United States. This is yet another example of the JMR’s work-creating new rituals and unique programming that speak in very personal ways to men. 

One of the most exciting aspects of the JMR is the way many Jewish men have experienced their first joyful reconnection to Judaism and a Jewish community. So many men of all ages have had significant wounding and alienating experiences related to Judaism earlier in their lives. Many men come to the retreat seeking connection with other men; the Jewish dynamic may have no immediate attraction to them. The inclusive nature of the JMR makes for a safe space where men can dip their toes into the pool of Jewish practice and feel comforted and supported for doing that-whether it be impassioned singing during the Shabbat services, putting on tefillin or experiencing the beauty of the Havdalah service. Another aspect is the intergenerational healing that goes on when sons bring their fathers, fathers bring their sons and brothers bring brothers. Observing this process of men working on their relationships with fathers, brothers and sons often helps some of the other men at the JMR begin the process of repair and reconciliation with their own families when they return home. 

The JMR process has identified new paths of self-discovery and exploration and created new definitions and road maps for a healthy, vibrant and alive masculinity. Yosaif has thought deeply about this process and has often talked about the impact of this work on the world of Jewish manhood. 

“I believe we have appropriately begun this process by examining our own lives and our relationships with those closest to us. We are moving through barriers between us, as Jewish men, and other men, doing the work of healing – especially between gay and straight men. This has opened up ever widening opportunities for us to cultivate richly textured relationships with each other. The annual JMR has been one means of doing that. It’s like a mikveh for us. By dipping into these waters of trust, love, caring, truth, we establish joyful connections, thereby break down the artificial barriers that separate us and ultimately dilute our true goodness and capacity to care for each other.” 

“We now need to have the audacity to widen the circle of healing – to tap into our passion, fierceness, and power to become agents of tikkun olam (the process of repairing and restoring the world). Part of tikkun olam involves men getting our act together – both as individual men and as brethren. At the same time, I believe that there is so much broken-ness in this world – on both the global and local levels. We have an opportunity, as Jewish men, to find ways to make a difference- for peace, for justice and for planetary sustainability. There’s a robust and inspiring history of women’s movements for peace and justice. Let men take a page from these inspiring and courageous women and find our own ways of co-creating a healthier world. Imagine the kinds of dialogues we might create – talking dialogues and maybe “working” dialogues (a la Habitat for Humanity) – with our African American brothers, our Muslim brothers (as we are all sons of Abraham), and our Christian brothers. Perhaps a focus on immigration issues, the growing economic disparity in the United States and the world, Darfur, global warming, water.” 

“I can imagine the JMR creating an intergroup retreat to begin to explore this process or a father/son retreat. For example, Jewish and Muslim men and boys – all children of Abraham/Ibrahim – can study our common stories, which despite significant differences, can provide rich material for dialogue. For example, in the Torah portion about the binding of Isaac (Akedah), Isaac is identified as the son to be sacrificed and the Koran refers to the “favorite son” which Muslim tradition identifies as Ishmael. Both Isaac and Ishmael, wounded by their common father, ultimately meet to mourn over Abraham’s/Ibrahim’s grave. At one JMR, which focused on the themes of the Akedah, we did a drashodrama that reenacted this scene. How much richer might it be to do that with our Muslim brothers! I can even imagine, some day, dancing in a dance troupe consisting of Jewish/Israeli and Palestinian men focusing on peace and social justice. Or just simply dancing – that would be Tikkun in and of itself.” 

“I don’t yet know what unique wisdom, insights, and perspectives we, as Jewish men, may have to bring to this work. But I believe that, together, we can begin to create a vision and let our wisdom move us forward. And the time to do that is now! The fact that Reb Shawn Zevit is co-producing this book with Harry Brod and Allen Spivack is writing his personal account of the JMR are affirmations of the positive direction of this “men’s movement.”
 
“When Reb Shawn showed up at the “Torah and the Deep Masculine” session at the 1993 Kallah, he was about to enter rabbinical school. He enthusiastically helped to co-create the exciting beginnings of our JMR work. Over these years, during which he graduated, was ordained and assumed a leadership role in the Reconstructionist movement, he helped bring bibliodrama to our men’s work as he has brought his own creative contributions to a much wider scope of work in the larger Jewish world.  Along the way, he has mentored other men including two beautiful step-sons.  He embodies an emerging model of masculine leadership as he continues to contribute to the deepening of our JMR work, especially our vision of tikkun olam.   I want to also “kvel” about his musical performance style – full of vitality and spirit – which I feel embodies the qualities of the renewed masculinity we are aiming at.” 
 
“When Allen first attended the JMR in 1994, he was doing home renovation work that he described in his recollections. Over these years he changed his work – got a degree in social work and, helped to bring a renewed masculine perspective to that work – especially working with men who commit domestic abuse.  He is a role model “brotherkeeper” in mentoring so many men – many of whom he has brought to the JMR.  He has also co-led a number of the retreats.  He brought his own sons, one of whom, Lev Natan, has grown into a mature and wise leader and mentor in his own right.  Allen is indeed a “mensch” – a mensch among men!” 
 
“It’s a “machaya” to have deepening relationships with both of these men – and many others – over the years. It’s one of the gifts of doing this work together. We’ve been able to continually include new men in our gatherings – at least a third of each year’s attendees are new – while we have created this potent and poignant shared history together. For me, this shared history actually began during the Berkeley Kallah that Reb Shawn described above.  As we offered each other blessings that we had wished our fathers had given us, Rabbi Phil Labowitz offered me an additional one:  my ”father” blessed me for continuing to take care of my mother. I was stunned, since most of us in the group hadn’t known each other before the kallah. But, as it happens, Rabbi Phil had been a friend and also the hospice rabbi where my father Max (Mordechai Chaim) spent his final days.  He gave the eulogy at my father’s funeral and gave our family precious support and love. All I can say is that bringing his blessings into our men’s work was a machaya!  This shared history makes our JMR community more like a family and these men more like brothers!” 

The JMR offers men a new paradigm for both relating and relationships. The insufferable distance that men often feel between one another, toward their connections to Judaism, to Jewish practice or their past can begin to melt away as men discover new ways of seeing and believing and listening. There is a beautiful vignette that, for me, so poignantly captures the transforming and transformative quality of the JMR. 

I remember it was a late Saturday afternoon at a JMR, and our mishpucha group (small discussion group) decided to meet in the hot tub at Elat Chayyim. We had just gotten to know each other at our first session on Friday night and here we were naked together in this hot tub! I noticed that one man was uncircumcised. The heat of the water relaxed me. We all sat quietly together for a few moments as we hummed a sweet niggun and clasped each others’ hands. The conversation turned to our sexual identity and preferences, and I realized no one has ever asked me about this before nor had I discussed this with other men. 

One man revealed that he is married but no longer had sex with his wife because he now knew he was gay. Another disclosed that he was a gay man and joked about finding someone to “hook up with” at the retreat. We soaked in this hot water and told stories to each other of our sexual discovery, pain and awakenings, from men who were gay, straight, bi-sexual, and celibate. We listened to each other and offered blessings for healing, joy and resolution because, in the end, that’s all any of us really wanted for each other. The hot tub washed away, for me, a thousand generations of men who equated male intimacy with sexual passion. Some part of me accepted this belief too. But these men, my brothers, showed me how to escape from beliefs that kept all of us imprisoned in a narrow, stifling room. 

Many men’s lives have been transformed as they have entered the sacred space of the JMR on a Friday night and then emerged refreshed and renewed on Sunday afternoon. Men enter the retreat still drenched in the detritus of the past week and are reborn as men reshaped by new insights, new friends and profound love. For the first time, many men take risks and disclose painful life experiences that have remained hidden. Or they rise up and dance, perhaps awkwardly, as the davenning swirls around them. Or the man sitting nearby says a kind word of concern, “I understand what you’re going through” and that brings tears to your eyes. As I’ve discovered, profound and inspirational moments often come at the most unexpected times. 

Allen Spivack has been active in men’s work for over 30 years. He has attended fifteen of the Jewish Men’s Retreats and organized four of them. He has participated in a number of men’s groups during his adult life and has facilitated many men’s groups. Allen has pursued a variety of careers including professional fundraiser, stay-at-home father, building contractor, clinical social worker (focusing on work with men), and currently works on housing and client services issues for the Massachusetts Department of Public Health, Office of HIV/AIDS. He has two adult sons, Avi and Lev, a granddaughter and is married to Sherry Grossman. Over the years, Allen has recruited scores of men from the Boston area and beyond to attend the JMR. Most are still his friend.

Yosaif August organized the first Jewish Men’s Retreat and has been involved with every retreat since that time, mentoring and supporting each year’s retreat leadership. As a retreat participant he feels especially blessed to have personally experienced the rich development of this work that each year’s leadership has brought to this work. He has taught men’s classes and workshops at Aleph kallot and at Elat Chayyim. He co-wrote an article with Lawrence Bush entitled “Brotherkeeping: Jewish Scripture and the Reconstruction of Masculinity” that was published in the Fifty Eighth Century: A Jewish Renewal Sourcebook (Aronson, 1996), a tribute to Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi. For several years Yosaif’s work has focused on improving the healthcare experiences of patients and families, especially improving bedside environments in hospitals and nursing homes. He invented and markets Bedscapes®, a system that helps patients to relax while in the hospital. He co-authored Help Me To Heal (Hay House 2003) with Dr. Bernie Siegel. He is married to Rabbi Tsurah August, a hospice rabbi and chaplain. He loves music, especially singable Jewish music and has written several niggunim and chants that are used in Shabbat services. He has a son and daughter and two gorgeous grandchildren.

Abstract 
For the last 18 years, the Jewish Men’s Retreat (JMR) has brought together men from diverse backgrounds- age, sexual orientation, profession, religious observance- to create a weekend community that suspends the usual “rules” of male engagement and instead encourages men to share openly and honestly, to take risks and create a new personal vision of what is possible. The founders of this event, Yosaif August and Shawn Zevit, describe the historical context of this event and how the event has evolved over the years. This article also describes one’s man’s journey through childhood into manhood and how attending the JMR enabled him to move beyond the constraints of his personal history and unleash his potential as a caring man, mentor, devoted husband and father.