Oi Vey, using Feng Shui's OK

OZZIE NOGG

Before my kids grew up and moved out, I would (with regularity) push open their bedroom doors, see heaps of accumulated debris and scream, "How can you live in this mess?" At the time, my question seemed appropriate for a certified neat freak Jewish mother. A call to order, nothing more. As it turns out, I was advocating Feng Shui.

Feng Shui (pronounced fung shway) is an ancient Chinese philosophy that believes the auspicious placement of rooms, plus the uncluttered arrangement of furniture, plants, mirrors, wall hangings and a variety of other interior design items in our work and living spaces, creates harmony between humans and nature, thereby bringing increased productivity and happiness to our lives.

Central to Feng Shui is the concept of chi (pronounced chee), the vital energy or cosmic breath – some Jews say "divine spark" – that flows through the universe. According to Feng Shui masters, blocked chi in our environment creates stress and illness, while a smooth flow of chi increases prospects for good health, wealth, improved relationships, peace and longevity. Talk about seductive appeal. The offer of a balanced, serene and successful long life, and all we need do is wave a slipcover, relocate a desk or jettison our junk? Who could resist.

Word has it that Donald Trump uses Feng Shui. So do the World Bank, USA Today, Oprah Winfrey, the U.S. Department of Labor and Merrill Lynch. The July 3, 2000, issue of Time magazine reported that the Oval Office was Feng Shui-ed to cure a leak through which President Bush's chi – his energy and source of power - was seeping out the windows and beneath the doors (go figure). And it's no surprise that Feng Shui's use of mystic directional charts, compass points, crystals, mirrors and healing stones makes the practice a favorite of Hollywood types who sport red thread kabbalah bracelets.

On the face of it, Feng Shui is antithetical to Jewish tradition, which prohibits divination and all things magical. But before we toss the baby out with the dirty bath water, let's apply a few Feng Shui principles to the quintessential Jewish space – the Tabernacle in the wilderness – and also to the Jewish home, our personal sanctuaries. Some call this exercise eco-design, even eco-kosher – a phrase coined in the late-1970s by Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi.

According to biblical texts, God handed Moses a detailed blueprint, specific site plan and precise specifications for the construction of the Tabernacle. Clearly, the Almighty was mighty certain about its design, size, shape, direction and furnishings.

The plans called for the Tabernacle to be positioned with the long sides facing north and south, one short side facing west and the other short side – the entrance – facing east. Each time the wandering Israelites pulled up stakes, the Tabernacle was dismantled and then re-laid directly east and west (a classic Feng Shui orientation), which guaranteed the Tabernacle would absorb beneficial energy from the rising sun. And with each move of the Tabernacle, the 12 tribes encamped themselves around the structure in a pre-determined design, their brightly colored tribal flags swirling in the desert air, blessing the area with a constant flow of positive chi.

Also conforming to Feng Shui ideals are the symmetrical shape of the Tabernacle – its courtyard open to the sky, the ease of movement within the environment, the smooth pathway from one space to another – plus the minimalist furnishings: an altar, a table, a lamp, a bowl. The Ark of the Covenant. Period.

Now, if the Tabernacle's positioning and simplicity contain Feng Shui parallels, so does the breastplate of the High Priest, with its geometric pattern of precious stones. According to Feng Shui, certain stones have the power to dispel anxiety, attract wealth, reduce laziness, lift depression – you name it. According to our sages, the 12 stones on the breastplate (despite the aforementioned anti-magic clause in Deuteronomy) accomplish all of the above, and also repel the evil eye, increase wisdom, purify the blood, remove worry, bring peace, give courage, improve sight, restore memory and aid in childbirth. (Keep this in mind before you pooh-pooh people who wear healing crystals around their necks.)

With Passover approaching, the application of Feng Shui practices to Jewish homes could almost be considered a halachic imperative, since chametz removal comes only with a scrupulous top-to-bottom cleansing of each room in our living spaces – every corner swept, vacuumed and de-littered, each surface scrubbed and polished. Of course, the home is also the centre of Jewish life during other festivals and on Shabbat, too. So even if you find Feng Shui to be hokum, you must admit that replacing clutter with order can help create a Jewish home that emanates peace and comfort throughout the year.

Judaism does not advocate an ascetic, bare bones existence. In fact, the Talmud teaches, "On the day of judgment, every human being will be held accountable for everything that he or she beheld and did not partake of." In other words, we should enjoy what God has given us, including our homes and our possessions, so if you want to add another artistic dreidel to your collection, go for it.

At the same time, Judaism – and Feng Shui – tells us we have obligations to the planet, and encourages us to be mindful caretakers of our environment and our lives. Both teach us to notice and appreciate the people and possessions that bless our days. Moderation is the key. Excessive consumerism is not new, and has long been warned against. Back in the 11th century, the Spanish poet-philosopher Solomon Ibn Gabirol wrote, "He who seeks more than he needs, hinders himself from enjoying what he has. Seek what you need and give up what you need not. For in giving up what you do not need, you will learn what you really do need."

I still haven't converted my grown children to the less-is-more-philosophy, nor won them over to the joys of an uncluttered home, so I've changed tactics. I will now approach the battle through the back door, and try to convince my young granddaughters that 60 pairs of undies is more than enough, and that even their Barbies have way too many shoes.

Ozzie Nogg is a freelance writer in Omaha, Neb. Her self-syndicated features take a slightly off-beat look at the history and observance of Jewish holidays, festivals and lifecycle events. For a look inside her recently published book, Joseph's Bones: A Collection of Stories, visit her website, www.rabbisdaughter.com.

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