I love rituals: the rituals of foods, the everyday lunch, the rituals of friends, of books, the bedtime book, the schedule. I often wonder if my parents had not been immigrant Jews feeling the need to assimilate, be more a part of a Christian culture, blending all our special holidays into a puree soup, if I would have appreciated Judaism more. If we had had a real Hanukkah, exchanged gifts, lit the menorah instead of putting the gifts under the Hanukkah bush and opening them on Christmas morning like our neighbors. If we had not had Easter baskets along with Passover at my grandmother’s house (with me usually the youngest child reading the Four Questions and always finding the hidden matzo with my uncle’s hints). If we had acknowledged Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur other than going to synagogue to kiss my grandmother’s cheek. If I had learned more about the contemplative, inquisitive nature of Judaism and less of the aggressive, exclusive qualities that repulsed me.
I know it is partly the rituals that attracts me to Buddhism, and certainly what keeps me there, along with the intelligence I find in the teachings. I love the rituals of my practice, ringing bells and throwing rice, reciting liturgy over and over. Being a part of a larger body of thought and way of relating to experiences.
I also love the unexpected, the interruptions, the non-planned. Of not knowing what is going to happen, what will evolve. Because really, that is how it is……………..
Posted by leya at December 18, 2004 01:29 AM