DISOWNED (23 page)

“Why don’t you ask your teacher Taisan, the monk?” Janice suggests.

“That’s a good idea,” says Rivkah, “I will.”

  *  *  *

  Taisan waits for her upstairs in the meeting room, sitting on a cushion on the floor, behind a round, wooden table.

Rivkah bows at the door, comes in and sits down on a cushion opposite him. By now he has become deeply familiar, another part of herself.

“Yes?” he says after a few moments.

Rivkah decides to plunge in. She tells him directly about the nun. About her round glasses, the way she appeared and sat there writing, taking Rivkah's very own spot on the sand. "It's disconcerting."

   Taisan smiles, his face filled with kindness. “Makyo,” he replies softly.

Rivkah looks confused.

  “Images, dreams, phantoms the mind creates. They arise like bubbles and pass away.”

“She seemed so real to me,” Rivkah says.

“This whole world seems real, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing but makyo?” Rivkah asks.

“Sit more and more,” he encourages gently. “See through the woman on the dunes, see through yourself, see through dreams that will not subside.”

Then he rang a little bell and a monk came in with two cups of green tea on a small tray.

Taisan took a cup and gave one to Rivkah.“Enough of this,” he said, “Let’s have a delicious cup of tea,”

 Rivkah lifts the cup to her lips and drinks the tea with Taisan. What in the world would he do, she thinks to herself, if one day the woman on the dunes would come and pay him a visit?

Without a beat, Taisan goes on. “And if this woman, wrapped up on the dunes, came and paid me I visit, I would offer her a cup of green tea as well.”

Rivkah smiles.

“Do you understand?”

“I do.”

CHAPTER 21

After that, with no hesitation, Rivkah returns to the beautiful, wooden Japanese zendo and sits there every morning and evening. Uncle Reb Bershky has turned into Taisan, her beloved impossible Zen Master, in whom all her questions have managed to find a perfect home.

The pain in her legs, her mind and her heart throb and throb as she sits beside him silently, unmovingly, hour after hour, day after day.

   "Pain is just pain," he instructs over and over. "It is nothing to be afraid of. Don't move! Stay with it. Let your pain be your teacher now."

   Still many times, she moves during zazen. She squirms, cries and disturbs the others.

   "Don't move!" Taisan's voice resounds loudly. "Sit. Just sit in the middle of everything."

   She longs to get up and run away from here too.

   "There is no place to run to." He interrupts her thinking. "The more you run from it, the worse the pain grows."

   The sound of Taisan's voice immediately soothes the waves of restless that rise up and then fade away.

   "These wounds, these pains, they are dreams only." 

   Rivkah puts her mind back inside of her breathing then.

"This suffering you are feeling, where is it? What is it? Who is it happening to? Look and see!" Then he bangs his long, wooden stick hard on the cold, wooden zendo floor. Smack!

The cracking sound fills the zendo, waking everyone up. "Wake up. Wake up!" His voice is booming and reverberating. "What are we, after all, if we are always lost in dreaming? If one day, we don't finally wake up?"

   In a sense the zendo is a hospital for broken hearts and scattered minds. It is a maternity ward, or a battle field. Whatever it is, here in the deep, God given silence, they all sit together, day after day, and struggle to be born. Along with the sitting they chant, bow, eat, clean and stay in
this very moment. They struggle to become what they are already, what they were from the very beginning of time.

Every month sesshins are conducted. Intense training periods. This particular sesshin will last for five full days. From five in the morning until nine at night, about fifty serious students who have been practicing hard gather together. They are of all ages, types, and from all walks of life. They sit, walk, eat, work, rest and hear a talk from their teacher every day. And there is one meeting a day for a few moments with Taisan. Other than that, not a word is spoken.

   Right now, Taisan is in the middle of his sesshin talk. He is indefatigable. Sesshin after sesshin like this. Month after month, day after day. Rivkah listens to him for her very life.

   "There are many pitfalls in the practice of Zen," Taisan tells the hungry students. "It is easy to fall. But a good student learns how to get up quickly again."

   Rivkah sits straighter.

  "The universe as we know it is not the way it appears to be. It is a flash of lightening, a dew drop only. Thus it is to be regarded. Do you understand?"

   Although they all think they understand, nobody does, not really.

He continues. "In Zen practice we receive a koan to help us melt delusions away. A burning question that consumes your life. This question cannot be answered and it cannot be ignored. It grips your life and if you do not answer it, you live out your days as a hungry ghost."

Rivkah takes a deep breath in.

"How many of us are hungry ghosts?"

A few of the students laugh out loud.

   He laughs with them for a moment. "However," he goes on more intensely, "once your koan has been answered, then not only you but five generations of your family will become free."

Five generations of my family? Rivkah can hardly suppress the intense joy that rises. A sudden picture of her grandmother Devorah pops into her mind. She sees her with her big wig on, her body all covered, endlessly moving about in her white kitchen. And she hears her words, "who is left to help the Jewish people? Tell me Rivkah? Where can you find a real Jew left?"

   Completely startled for a moment, Rivkah looks over at Taisan. Grandma, she longs to whisper to Devorah, can it be possible that I found a real Jew here? Could you ever understand?

But once again, Taisan's voice interrupts the reveries that go on inside relentlessly. He will not let Rivkah linger in memories long.

   "Perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to talk about the generations of our families and about death on this beautiful spring afternoon, when new life is about to bloom. But please remember, there is no spring without winter. No life without death.  One generation passes so another can come. New life is necessary. We too must die to the old to allow the new to be born. Without the cold death of winter, how can the spring come?"

   Rivkah thinks of the spring back in Borough Park, of the few bluebells struggling for air. Then she thinks of the garden Devorah always planted, purple and yellow Irises. You might even like it here in the zendo grandma, she longs to call out to the memory of her grandmother that still lives and breathes inside.

Taisan's words go deep inside Rivkah. But words of the Torah counter them too. All Jews are commanded not to forget. Always to remember. Observe and remember. It's a single command.

Rivkah remembers it is forbidden to bow before a statue. This is considered the worst sin of all. Avodah Zorah. Worshipping Idols.  All through history Jews have given up their lives, let themselves be killed directly, rather than do this. Rivkah, how about you? The pain in her body gets stronger, even crippling. The Buddha is not an Idol, she tells herself. It is only clear mind they are bowing to. Rivkah does not bow though. She stands straight and watches the others. Taisan never says a word about it.

After a few more moments Taisan's talk is over. He stands up quickly, brushes out the sleeves of his long, black robes, turns his back sharply to the students and walks out of the hall.

A beautiful gong rings out and then there is chanting. The chanting is strong and sweet and says that each person will always lead a life dedicated to goodness for all. No one excluded. No matter who.

After many months of practicing like this, one morning after zazen, Rivkah is invited to go upstairs and have breakfast with a few students and Taisan. She goes. The young man she meets outside early in the morning, Hogen, is there. He has become a resident now. He winks at Rivkah as she joins them. "Good for you."

   Jonen taps her shoulder lightly. "I'm so glad you're with us," she whispers in her ear.

   They all sit silently on the floor around a long wooden table, and are served a breakfast of oatmeal, peanuts, and warm milk. After eating in silence, they wash their bowls.

Then all get up and go together into the meeting room to sit in a circle on the floor with Taisan and have a cup of tea. 

"And exactly where are you from?" Taisan asks Rivkah simply and directly as she is sipping her green tea.

All eyes turn to her.

She looks up at Taisan and smiles. He smiles back for a moment. In that split moment Rivkah recognizes him, and he recognizes her, compatriots, warriors, ancient companions. But he will not make it easy for her. Not by any means. He cannot make it easy for her. He does not dare. For a sword to grow strong and worthy, it must be tested in many fires.

   "From nowhere at all," Rivkah answers slowly.

Taisan makes a funny face. Everyone laughs, Jonen, Hogen and the head resident Maishin, who is tall, blonde and powerful.

"Really?" Taisan says then, his eyes opening rather wide.

Silly. Rivkah laughs too.

"And where are you from?" he booms more loudly now, an edge of anger in his tone.

"Here."

   "Where?"

   "Here. I'm from here."

"Sit more. You must sit more," he says then, rather kindly."It's imperative!"

   "I will."

   "Good."

   Then Hogen pours Rivkah another cup of tea.

   "Do your best! Taisan calls out. "Your very best."

   I'm trying, she whispers to herself. I'm learning what it means to really try! Finally, after all these years, could it be I am becoming Devorah's granddaughter at last?

Now Rivkah's days revolve around the zendo. As time goes by she needs less from other people. She is able to give more also, and to be more mindful. The pain that resided at the middle of her heart is melting slowly, and she laughs at all kinds of little things.

   One day Matthew remarks, "I'm happy for you. You've found something beautiful."

"Thank you, Matthew."

   Without his knowing it, the zazen is soothing Matthew too.Soon Taisan's teacher comes from Japan and changes Taisan's name to Eido Roshi. Then Eido changes Rivkah's name to Eshin. New parts of themselves are being born.

   "Eshin means wisdom and faith," Eido says to her. "A name to grow into. It could take hundreds of years. Or, if you're diligent, really diligent, it can happen, just like that!"

   What can happen? Everyone here has the constant feeling that anything and everything is possible. And Rivkah knows it is.

But questions still persist. As the zazen deepens, Rivkah feels the Rabbis with her even more. She cannot avoid their persistent teachings, that rise up within. As she sits longer, little melodies come too. Melodies her grandfather used to sing.

"During zazen," Eido informs them, "everything that is within comes up to be seen. It comes up to be integrated and utilized. This does not happen consciously. But it happens nevertheless. Be very careful. Do not get caught."

The Hebrew melodies inside get louder.  Eido's voice mixes with them. "Do not get caught."

They are beautiful melodies, touching Rivkah's heart and bringing sadness. Inexpressible sadness. Not only for her, but for her entire people, her cousins, brother, all of them. Am I abandoning you, she wonders?

   Next the Hebrew letters start flashing before her, and soon words from the Talmud.

What are you doing? A Jew is a Jew. You can never not be a Jew. You cannot leave your family and traditions. The weight of the souls that have all passed before him are your responsibility too!

   Rivkah flinches and starts to stand up.

"Sit down, Eshin."

Her heart is cracking. She sits down. The voices of the Rabbis come more insistently."Eido Roshi," Rivkah goes to him one day. "Idol worship. . ."

"The Buddha statue is not an Idol." His answer is sharp and quick. "It is a reminder of balanced mind and body. The Buddha was not a God, only a man who came to bring wonderful medicine."

   But Uncle Reb Bershky within is fast to answer, Torah is the only medicine for a Jew. And we do not bow to any man either. We bow to God only. False Gods you are worshipping, Rivkah. And there will be a price to pay for it. Believe me.

   Rivkah trembles. Here we do not worship anything, Reb Bershky, she says to him in her mind, We become real. Wake up. Can't you understand this?

But there is no winning. No chance of compromise. Not to worship anything is also a form of Idol Worship. We are on this earth for one reason only. To know, to serve and worship God.

This time Rivkah is shakier when she gets up from the cushion. Eido Roshi notices it too.

   "Who is the true woman, Eshin?" He calls over the din that grows in her mind day by day. But he can't call loud enough. Not for now.

   The zazen is also awakening the need for Shabbos. Like some ancient hunger, it tugs at her heart. How can I bear this longing? Rivkah wonders. Where can I go now?

   In one of their meetings several weeks later, Rivkah tries to speak to Eido about this.

   "We never speak here about God," she mentions one day. "Why not?"

   "Don't cling to words," he replies. "What's the use of saying the word God, when you have no idea what the word means. Taste truth directly for yourself, Eshin!"

The words from the Torah come flying wildly back. It is forbidden to see God directly and live.

Of course Eido sees her trouble. He also sees he can do nothing about it. "We are karma beings," he tries one more time to help her. "Just sit more Eshin. Your zazen will melt this torment away."

   She tries.

   "If only you can hang on through this, everything will finally become clear."

The practice grows more difficult now. As the zazen grows deeper the Hebrew melodies become stronger. By now the two of them have become one. Throughout it all Rivkah struggles and struggles mercilessly with her koan. Who is the true woman? Who?  Can it be, Rivkah thinks to herself one day, the Hebrew melodies themselves are the answer to my koan?