DISOWNED

by Gabriella Murray

  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?

  Months go by like this. But nothing lasts. How can it? Life brings nothing but changes. This time of intense practice and concentration, this beauty, clarity and silence that Rivkah has found becomes endangered now. Seriously endangered.

  "But danger is fine," Eido
has told them. "Real practice includes everything. Times of great calm and great agony too. You can't have one without the other. Can you? Real practice comes in many forms."

  So, in the midst of her struggle without any expectation, real practice comes in a new way to Rivkah. Like a bolt of lightning from out of the blue.

  One morning, early that autumn, Rivkah wakes up dizzy and nauseous. Her mind is swarming. Her body is weak. Something is happening, she feels it immediately. All day long she stays in bed and cries.

  After two more days of this Matthew insists that she go to the doctor.

  "Come with me Matthew. I'm afraid."

  "I have meetings all day. You call me in the office. I'll wait for your call."

  Later that week Janice goes with Rivkah to the doctor, a small, mild mannered man whose office is a few blocks away. Sitting in the waiting room, Rivkah sees her whole life flash in front of her.

  "I'm sure it's not serious," Janice keeps whispering.

  "It's serious."

  "Be optimistic."

  But even before Rivkah hears the news, deep within she knows she is pregnant. She puts her trembling hand on her stomach and feels new life growing inside.

  When Matthew hears the news he is incredulous. "How is it possible? We didn't even try. Not really."

  "That one night."

  "That's it? It takes more than one night!"

  "Matthew, you don't seem very happy."

  "I'm surprised."

  "You said you wanted a baby."

  "But I didn't expect it."

  "Matthew, are you happy?"

  He raises both hands to the sides of his head.

  "Matthew, do you love me?"

  His hands press harder against his head. "I don't know what to make of this. I really don't."

  For the next few weeks the two of them speak very little about what is going on. Matthew acts as if Rivkah was not changing in front of his eyes. For Rivkah, her whole life is turning upside down. She remembers the words of her grandmother, there is no greater blessing for a woman than to bring a new life into this world. Night and day she keeps her hands on her stomach to welcome the new person who is coming along.

  "It's a son," Rivkah tells Janice after about a month has gone by.

  "How can you know that?"

  "I feel it," she breathes. "I just do. My God, it is not only him I feel, I feel all he is bringing with him too."

  But the excitement Rivkah finds comes and goes like a fleeting cloud. One moment it is there. Then it has dispersed. She can feel waves from the future begin casting their nets. The baby is growing and soon there will be questions Rivkah cannot avoid. What will she tell her child when he begins to ask about God? And how in the world can she ever describe Devorah and Moshe to him?

  "How are we going to raise the baby?" Rivkah asks Matthew quietly one evening, after he finishes his coffee and fruit.

  "To be a good person."

  "And what else?"

  "Isn't that enough?"

  "I don't think so, Matthew."

  "It's enough, Rebecca," he says emphatically. "It's everything."

  Visions of her father flash in front of Rivkah's eyes. More and more she is amazed at how similar to her father Matthew is becoming.

  "It's not enough," she repeats loudly. "There are questions he's going to be asking us soon."

  "Life is hard enough," Matthew replies angrily. "Why create more complications?"

  "It's not a matter of creating complications! Open your eyes, Matthew! Sooner or later we have to teach him about God."

  "About God?" He looks at her vacantly.

  Rivkah stares at him then. "Matthew, Matthew you've changed."

  "I realize."

  "You're more like the world you've come from."

  Both of them stare at each other for a long moment.

  "Maybe I am," Matthew replies curtly, "but you know what? So are you."

  Rivkah turns and runs to the windows to look down into the street. The curtains on the windows wave back and forth in the little breeze. Suddenly Rivkah remembers the lace curtains on Uncle Reb Bershky's windows, and how much she loved it there. She wishes that she could take her pregnant belly and run with it through the streets, back home. Back to Borough Park. To Uncle Reb Bershky. She wishes he could make blessings over her head.

  "I wish I could go home," she says then, very softly.

  Matthew comes over, takes her shoulders and stiffly turns her around. "Stop."

  "Matthew, this life I'm leading, it's too lonely for me. I'm dying inside."

  * * *

  "Karma works in strange ways. It is unavoidable." Eido Roshi is speaking to the students now. "Perhaps one of the greatest contributions the East can make to the West is the concept of karma. Of cause and effect. Inevitability. Don't fight it. It won't do any good."

  With her belly growing, Rivkah leans forward on the black cushion and listens more intently to what is being said.

  "One event," Eido continues, "builds an inextricable foundation for others to take place. No one event is bad in itself. It exists as a building block only, to lead you to the next. Turn bad karma into good karma. Turn your pain into wisdom. Sit. Sit. Do zazen."

  With all her heart and soul Rivkah has grown not only to love Eido Roshi, but to love the zendo, the practice and the courage it brings her. After each sitting she gets up from the cushion refreshed and renewed. Now she sits with her back very straight, in utmost stillness watches her breath, and wonders how long she will be able to stay here. And what in the world will happen to her son.

  The next Friday afternoon she goes to the grocery on the corner, and asks for a box of Sabbath candles, and two small holders to put them in. The woman at the counter looks at her surprised.

  "I didn't know you were Jewish," the man behind the counter says.

  Rivkah pays for them without saying a word.

  Before going to the zendo that night, she places the candles near a window, lights them and says the prayer. Years have passed since she saw the Sabbath lights shining. They flicker through worlds and tear her heart. Rivkah covers her eyes with both hands, and stands there crying for a very long time.

  Stop crying. Go to the zendo. Sit strong, she tells herself. But she cannot move.

  The lights bind her close inside them. For a brief time, she is back home.

  The next Friday, along with the candles, she buys two Challahs.

  "What's going on?" Matthew asks.

  "It's for the baby," Rivkah tells him.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I can't help it. I have to do it. His soul needs it."

  "But I don't like it."

  "Matthew, please, be patient with me."

  * * *

  Rivkah realizes this new baby has shattered the balance of her days. She craves her Zen practice, but also she is carrying a Jew. A Jew with a strong mind and spirit of his own. And whether or not she likes it, his soul is making demands on her. All by himself, the baby is pushing Rivkah to a new shore.

  Now there are days at a time when she does not go to the zendo. But then, hungry for it, she returns for more. No explanations are needed there either. If you come you are welcome. If you leave, you are not pursued. Here it doesn't matter if you are white, black or yellow, young or old, grotesque or beautiful, or whether or not you are married. In the zendo you are who you are. And that's enough. It's everything.

  Sometimes she sits there in silence, sometimes in despair. Sometimes, like a tree on fire, burning with terror, she flees the zendo for a few weeks and buries herself in the old Hebrew texts.

  Then, desperate for coolness, she returns to do zazen a little more.

  I mustn't go back and forth like this, she tells herself. I must settle in one place. But where?

  "Settle down, Eshin," Eido takes pity on her.

  Most of the time now she can barely hear him.

  "You must try to hear me."

  "I am hearing."

 
; "You are not. Sit still. Be patient. There is nowhere to run to."

  "Eido Roshi, God is taking me back home."

  "Where is your true home?"

  Rivkah breathes deeply for a moment.

  "Your true home. Before you were born! Eshin, calm down. You have not done wrong. You are not doing wrong here."

  "According to my people - "

  "But the whole world is One people."

  "According to my people, a great wrong is happening here."

  "Then stop coming."

  "I can't."

  "So, stop going there."

  "Never."

  "Then sit more deeply, to the very bottom of the well. Finally, finally when you are completely enlightened, you will see that we are all One."

  Three weeks after that, Rivkah goes to Matthew and faces him straight on. "Matthew, I have to tell you something."

  "What?"

  "If this is a son. . ." She hesitates.

  "Yes?"

  "We have no choice about it. He has to have a bris."

  "A what?"

  "A bris. A kosher, holy, ceremony!"

  Matthew bristles. He turns and looks at her tautly. "What in hell is going on?"

  "And there must be a Rabbi present. And a Mohle, a special person to do the circumcision."

  "Damn you!"

  "And a minyan. Ten men to pray."

  "Praying for what?" Matthew pulls back sharply. "It doesn't suit me."

  "But you have nothing to say about it. Nothing." From deep within Rivkah feels the strength of the entire zendo with her. She feels enormously steady. Frighteningly strong. "But I insist upon it," she declares from the very bottom of her belly, from the very center of the world.

  "You're going crazy again?"

  "Far from crazy."

  "He's my son too."

  "Yes, he is in some ways. But before everything, Matthew, he's a Jew." A surge of pain tears through Rivkah's heart then, for herself, the baby and for Matthew too. But Rivkah realizes, it is only a tiny surge of pain from the pool of pain she has barely begun to dip into.

  "You don't have to be at this bris," she tries to comfort him.