DISOWNED

by Gabriella Murray

  But Matthew insists. "This is an important summer. I'll only be out for three days each week. You'll have plenty of time to think things over. We have lots of decisions we have to make, don't we? Especially about a child."

  Rivkah's heart stops cold.

  "We have to do something. You're right. Our life together is making me crazy." Tiny beads of sweat break out over his thin upper lip. "Sometimes I think you don't know me at all. Sometimes I feel you don't care."

  Rivkah is silenced. "Of course I care."

  "It's easy enough to say it. But even my friends have noticed." He sounds a little petulant now. "Especially Vivien," and he throws Rivkah an odd look across his back shoulder. "She says you're a quirk."

  "A what?"

  "Quirky. Strange. Practically weird. She doesn't like you at all. She wonders how I could ever be happy."

  Rivkah sits down on the sofa. "How can you be happy, Matthew? What exactly do you want?"

  "I want us to go out to the beach house this summer. We'll discuss it further there."

  * * *

  Every morning at the seashore Rivkah gets up early and goes straight down to the dunes to write. They are over at the far edge of the beach, where you can see, hear and smell the ocean. By now some of her stories are being published both in her college magazine and elsewhere.

  But every summer she writes not only stories, but more and more letters to the Rabbis. Especially during August, the Jewish month of Elul, when in Jerusalem, the Shofar is blown every day. It is blown as a call to repent, return and awaken.

  Rivkah doesn't take her grandfather's Shofar with her. She leaves it home, wrapped carefully under slips and shirts in her drawer. Good-bye, she whispers to it every summer. Don't think I've forgotten you. I know where you are. I'll be back soon for you. Matthew and I are just leaving for the summer. We're not going very far.

  Then she goes to the beach house with plenty of pads, books, pens and pencils. This summer will be different, she thinks every time. Someone will answer one of my letters.

  On this particular day, the very beginning of August, Matthew has arrived late from the city and Rivkah been busy in the house all day with no time yet to be alone. It is almost the end of the afternoon when she finally has a chance to go down to the ocean for an hour or two. She gathers her writing equipment, an old blanket, and goes.

  By the time she gets there, the beach is almost empty. Quickly she climbs to her spot on the dunes, takes her yellow pad out and starts scrawling on it.

  I'm tired today, Rabbis. Extremely exhausted.

  No answer. Only the waves, high tide, hitting up against the shore.

  It's Elul again. I realized this morning. Did you think I'd forgotten?

  Some seagulls fly by, croaking loud.

  Hey you, Rabbis! I've been on this beach before. I've wandered up and down before, hungry, naked, searching for food. The harsh summer wind bites my mind, again and again. No repair in sight. And Elul is the month of repair, repentance, return. It is the time of returning home to Jerusalem.

  Where is Jerusalem? I circle around it back and forth as I sit on this forsaken shore, far from Jerusalem, far from myself, watching some seagulls who have stopped for a moment to rest on this craggy shore. No rest in sight for me as yet, Rabbis.

  The seagulls come closer and look at her strangely. A few sandpipers come and join them too. To them she must seem quite disheveled, with far less dignity than they. To them she must appear a ridiculous creature, entirely out of accord with nature, the seasons and the beating of her own heart, living a life half-crazed, searching for an answer to a question she has only dimly heard.

  To them she must seem shipwrecked even, someone who has not yet

  seen the great beauty God has provided, someone who is always searching for more.

  Yes, I am searching for more. And I want it from You, my impossible Rabbis! You know who I am. You remember my voice. I have begged you like this throughout the centuries for a real reply!

  The words on the page glisten brightly. A little salt wind blows in off the ocean, slapping her hard across the face. Rivkah lets the pad fall down in her lap. By now the beach is entirely empty. There isn't a person to be seen for far around. She stands up, shakes off some sand and looks far into the horizon, as she does every day. Then she takes her belongings and carries them with her down to the edge of the water.

  Usually, she spreads out a blanket down there after writing and lies down to rest. But today she is restless. She spreads out the blanket and then leaves it lying there. Instead she begins to dig a hole in the sand. Just a small hole at first, a few fistfuls of sand.

  The sand is soft, warm and inviting. She scoops it out slowly, and holds it in her palm. Then suddenly her rhythm changes. The digging goes deeper. With both hands she digs wider and faster. Soon she scoops out fistfuls of sand. Deeper she goes, looking for water.

  Instead she hits purple sand, damp and clean smelling. That's all. A great craving comes to go on. Surely, there's water down there somewhere. She wants to sink herself down in it completely, all the way up to the top of her arms. The sun in the sky is fading now, and a small breeze plays at the edge of the waves.

  Like a wild animal digging for a bone, Rivkah digs fervently. Then she crouches completely and slides down into the hole. Sill no water. Only cold, packed sand. Exhausted for a moment she climbs up a little, leans back on her elbow, and looks up over her shoulder at the dunes.

  A shaft of the setting sun hits the side of the incline and in the haze a strange shadow can be seen. It seems almost like a figure perched up there on the dune, in exactly the spot Rivkah writes on.

  Startled, Rivkah turns completely around. Sitting in the dunes is a young woman wrapped up carefully in a robe. Rivkah jolts for a moment. It can't be possible. The figure sits there without moving a muscle, without even the slightest smile on her face. She sits with an odd strength and composure, and holds a small writing pad in her hand.

  Rivkah's eyes blur and her heart beats faster. It must be the sun hitting the sand. She jumps up, faces the figure and lifts her hand to shield her eyes from the glare.

  The woman in the dunes doesn’t move even slightly. She looks like a nun, wrapped up in her robes. Every muscle of Rivkah's body shudders. She has never seen anyone like her here before. She wants to walk over, but her legs will not take her. I’m going crazy, she thinks... There's no one there! Why would someone like her come down to the dune, to my very spot, in the late afternoon?

  Fear overcomes Rivkah as she turns and runs into the ocean, plunging herself completely into the frothy waves. The salt water clears her mind a moment and the waves toss her frantically back and forth.

  The woman I see is a reflection of the sun, she thinks. Just a mirage due to my state of mind. These things happen. Especially during Elul when God reaches out to people in odd ways.

  Rivkah stops swimming, floats on her back, and gathers courage to look over one more time. She stands in the ocean and looks. The sun has passed and she can see more clearly now. The woman in robes is now writing calmly.

  Rivkah is horrified. How dare she come like this, uninvited? Rage flares up as Rivkah flops on her belly and swims back and forth to rid herself of the woman, clear her mind, and prepare for the evening that is almost here. Two couples are expected to join her and Matthew for dinner at their home. All has been prepared. She is to stay down here only a few more minutes and then go up, shower, and dress in white summer linen to entertain their guests.

  Rivkah comes out of the water, and will not look over at the dune again. She wraps herself in a big towel, but then, irresistibly, she is drawn. The woman is young, about thirty or so. She wears round metal glasses. What's your name? Rivkah wants to scream wildly. And what is your motive for coming like this? Has someone sent you? And if so, who? Answer me now!

  Then she reconsiders. Perhaps I should approach her gently, thinks Rivkah, walk over and say to her, madam who are you? Please, please tell me your name
. Wrapped up in her towel, Rivkah starts walking in her direction, wanting to interrupt her concentration. The woman in robes feels it, puts her pad down, looks up gently, and smiles.

  Rivkah's entire body lurches back. For a second she realizes that the woman is almost the same age as her, might even want to be friends. Rivkah's eyes search hers for a moment. They are simple, clear and innocent. Rivkah cannot bear her gaze for long.She turns away sharply and the woman returns to her writing, as if nothing had happened at all.

  Now Rivkah walks faster towards her calling, "Who sent you! What are you here for? And what do you want from me?"

  The woman looks up once again and smiles. It is a strange smile now, filled with sorrow.

  "I have no time for your sorrow," Rivkah, veers off suddenly in a different direction.

  "Don't be afraid of me," Rivkah her responding. But she cannot bear it. Instead of replying, like a hunted animal Rivkah runs swiftly in the direction of home.

  "I'm going back home," Rivkah yells to the nun over her shoulder. "You'll be here all alone. The night is coming. Go back to where you came from. Now."

  Then Rivkah turns for one last moment. To her amazement, the young, beautiful woman, who looks shockingly like Rivkah, lifts her hand and waves good-bye. A little wave. Filled with kindness.

  Overcome with sorrow, Rivkah pants for air as she runs home. When she gets to the house, she falls down on the porch and then crawls to the lounge chair, pulling herself up on it, trembling for air. For a very long time she lays there until Matthew comes outside suddenly and finds her collapsed on his favorite lounge, her arms dangling from the sides.

  "What's happened?" He is alarmed.

  Rivkah lays there speechless. I saw my future, she wants to tell him.

  "Answer me,” he demands. What happened to you? You look very strange."

  "Nothing."

  "Something." He is frightened now. Rivkah can feel it.

  "There was a woman sitting in the dunes."

  "What?"

  "She was wrapped up in robes.”

  "You've gone mad!"

  "I saw her."

  "Where?"

  "In the dune where I always sit."

  "Here on the beach?"

  "She was writing like I do."

  "It was the sun reflecting on the sand," Matthew gathers himself together.

  "I saw her, Matthew.”

  “You saw yourself,” he responds then. "It's all right. Relax. I'm going inside to call and cancel our dinner plans. You're over-taxed. You've been writing too much. It's those letters you write to the Rabbis. And the sun in the late afternoon. It’s nothing but exhaustion. Are you listening?"

  "It's something else," Rivkah says, as he lifts his hand to brush away a summer fly who won't stop buzzing around both of them."All right, I'll rest. I'll relax. I'll take a warm bath. But Matthew tell me one thing."

  "Anything."

  "Is she coming back again?"

  Except for her fear of the woman on the dunes, Rivah seems fine after that. But, wherever she goes, she expects to see her again.

  "It is unfinished," she whispers to Matthew, who tries his best to be kind. "It's inevitable, just inevitable that I'm going to see her again."

  Back at home a few weeks later, she even mentions her to Janice, who has become her best friend. "What will I do," Rivkah asks, ""if one day suddenly, I see her sitting on a bench over there?"

  Janice has no idea how to respond.

  "Tell me." Rivkah persists.

  "Well," Janice offers, "you might just go over and say hello. She really doesn't sound all that terrible."

  "She came for a reason, Janice. She has something to say to me."

  "I doubt it," Janice answers. "

  "For all we know," Rivkah whispers, "she's even a precursor of things to come."

  “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 da
y 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?"