Speak Out! 
Flowers Fall
Christmas Dress Drama
What to do with my life until I have the time to wake up
A month before Christmas, my mother-in-law — possibly the most well-intentioned person in the world — showed me the Christmas dresses she had chosen for our favorite one and a half year old, my daughter, Azalea. Both were the classic little girl design from the kind of store found only on the upper east side of Manhattan and its satellite communities such as Bronxville, where this particular dress was sold – long sleeves, scalloped collar, puffy shoulders, flouncy dress with smocking across the bodice. One was bright red velour with green and red holly stitched into the smocking, the other was a dark green winter-weight cotton with embroidered reindeer prancing across the chest. My mother-in-law was smitten with the red one, being a big fan of bright, soft things, and I favored the reindeer for my own reasons. Had I wanted both, it would have been totally acceptable to say, gosh, I like them both – how about one for Christmas Eve, and the other for Christmas Day?
However, I’m Jewish. And, so according to Jewish law, as well as my own sense of rightness in the world, so is Azalea.
And to further complicate things, there is the Zen thing.
So instead of suggesting we keep both of the dresses, I told my mother-in-law, J. that I was fine with Azzie wearing either one of the dresses, but I had to “put it out there” that it felt strange to me to imagine my daughter in a shamelessly Christian-themed get-up. She can wear the dress – no problem – but she is not Christian. She is, in fact, Jewish. Just like me. No tree (yes, that means no ornaments or stockings), no Santa, no Christ.
But aren’t you a Buddhist, she asked.
Well, yes, I answered. When confronted with the fact of emptiness, suffering, or a 3 am wake-up drum — in other words, most of my life — I am a Buddhist: I feel like one, act like one in the sense of what I do with my time, understand things like one. However, in the face of Christmas dresses or a handful of other cultural moments, I feel 100% Jewish and my practice of Buddhism feels like something else entirely, in fact, irrelevant. It’s like Buddhism is my way in the world, encompassing everything, leaving nothing out. It is large. But being Jewish is included in that, and sometimes I feel more Jewish than others.
Lately, since having Azalea in my life, my relationship to this question has gotten more convoluted. Buddhism, as I have known it in the community I have lived in, is very specifically practiced by adults during long hours of silent meditation. Of course there;s much, much more to it -- it must be lived off the cushion -- but this is where it all starts, alone, on your ass. And as much as I plan to get back to that practice, as it were, some day, the day is not now. I can do short retreats, I can sit every day, I can practice the precepts. I can keep looking at my mind. For sure. Of course. But I cannot make the kind of commitment to to zazen that I once did and that is in fact required to "get somewhere" in formal practice and training. But who cares, people say, including those heavily invvested in said training. Apparently you do?
Which doesn't mean my practice isn't valid, important, maybe more important, who could say? But it's different. I am on a new path. And I don't know where it leads or what's included.
It's going to be a long time until I can get back to sitting the way I once sat, and furthermore, I have lost a huge part of my life: my teacher and community. They're still there, right down the street, but now is just not the time for me to plug in the way I might like.
It's been hurting a lot. Almost enough to make a believer out of me...
But not quite.