When You Know You Are Right

Many years ago, I was a practicing Zen Buddhist; I didn’t “leave” Judaism, but temporarily strayed from it. Buddhism doesn’t require “conversion,” so I still felt that I was very much a Jew.

But this article isn’t about my Buddhist practice. It’s about when we give up our power in order to get something we crave.

Every Buddhist teacher has his or her own personality and quirks. Although I had worked with a male teacher, I left that commitment and began to work with a female teacher who was bright, funny and dedicated.

Or at least I thought she was.

As the years went by and my practice matured, I felt my Zen teacher’s expectations started to grow beyond what I thought was reasonable. I also had the disadvantage of having a friend who was one of her students, and he was an outspoken rebel; although we shared very similar views, particularly as conservatives, I was not as opinionated as he was. But my teacher assumed I was just as radical.

During this time, Islamist terrorism was on the minds of many of us. I decided, since I liked to write and express my concerns for our times, that I wanted to write about the people, history, organizations, and even dangers that were posed by the Islamists. In much the same manner I write now, I did my research and worked hard to back my observations and conclusions with facts. I even decided to require a small subscription fee, and people began to sign up.

Unfortunately, my teacher caught wind of it. She felt that my writing on this topic was divisive (no kidding!) and unacceptable. For a while, I tried to temper my tone when I wrote, but she said if I continued to write on terrorism, she wanted to see my work. After she reviewed it, she still judged it offensive, especially by a student who was in an advanced stage of Buddhist development.

She told me I would need to stop writing on the topic.

Although I tried to tell her that it was my own business, that she had no say about it, she refused to accept my reasoning.

She finally gave me an ultimatum: if I didn’t stop writing it, she would refuse to be my teacher.

I was devastated. I had worked hard in my Buddhist studies and in serving the community. And my goal was to become a sensei under her tutelage. That position is designated after many years of working with another sensei or roshi (which was her position). I knew if I abandoned our relationship, she would make sure that another teacher would not accept me. That’s how it works.

So I quit writing the newsletter, and apologized to my subscribers.

Eventually I left our relationship (or I should say she drove me away over another issue). After making a half-hearted effort to find another teacher, I began to look at Buddhism more carefully, and I realized it was not the place for me. It is overwhelmingly liberal in its beliefs, communities and publications. I simply didn’t belong.

And as many of you know, I found my way back to Judaism, with great joy.

I don’t believe in regrets, but I do believe in learning experiences. In some ways, leaving Buddhism was a significant choice in my life. My delayed choice, however, put me through years of angst, especially because I had to give up something important to accomplish my desire to be a teacher. I now know that goals and aspirations that are important to us are not worth some sacrifices.

If life ever gives me that kind of choice again, I will make an earlier and wiser choice.