As the teachings of the Buddha take root in the West, they are inevitably influenced by their encounter with our existing religions. Similarly, as we who were raised in Christian and Jewish traditions engage in a dedicated way with Buddhist teachings and meditations, our religious beliefs, rituals, and practices are reciprocally influenced.  As the Dalai Lama acknowledges, “Buddhism has evolved differently in different times and places and yet the essential Dharma remains the same.  The Buddha’s prime concern was that all beings should find peace and freedom from suffering.  His advice that we should try to help each other if we can and at least avoid doing one another harm remains relevant everywhere, reaching across the boundaries of nationality, language, religion and culture.”

In the Jewish tradition of my upbringing, there is a ritual of prayers and candle lighting to welcome the Sabbath at sundown each Friday.  There is another ritual for bidding the Sabbath good-bye and entering the new week, at sundown on Saturday.  This ceremony is called Havdalah, which literally means “separation.”  We are marking the separation between the Sabbath day of rest and reflection, and the six days of ordinary work and activities.  Although there is a broad continuum encompassing the varying degrees to which Jewish individuals and communities observe the Sabbath, to honor the Sabbath at all is to recognize that Havdalah, or separation, does indeed exist.
 
Raised in a Reform Jewish household, we usually had the traditional challah, or braided bread, at dinner on Friday evenings.  With a simple Hebrew blessing over the bread, we marked the arrival of the Sabbath.  Sometimes we also blessed and sipped wine.  Years later I discovered the reason we rarely lit Sabbath candles was that my maternal grandmother had inadvertently caused a small household fire one Friday evening when her Sabbath candles set a tablecloth ablaze.  My grandfather then forbade Sabbath candle lighting, so my mother did not have that tradition to bring into our family. 

Although I have always identified culturally and ethnically as an American Jew, my knowledge of Judaism as a religion was severely limited.  It consisted primarily of annual Children’s Services at a Reform Synagogue in New York City on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  The awkwardness of obligatory synagogue attendance was heightened by the physical discomfort of the outfits my sisters and I were required to wear on these occasions.

Many years later, as a young adult in graduate school, I spent a few years delving more deeply into Judaism.  Although I never found my spiritual home in a synagogue, I taught myself to read Hebrew prayers and blessings, studied the Torah, observed the weekly Sabbath and major Jewish holidays, and participated in a community Chavarah, or group of people celebrating their Judaism together, unaffiliated with any congregation.  My journey led me to meditation practice, which I began as an attempt to bring greater sanity and balance to a stressful inner world, and to cope with the ever increasing suffering in the world at large. 

Meditation practice resonated for me in a way nothing had before, and it was my interest in deepening my meditation practice that led me to Buddhist retreat centers.  On silent retreat year after year I was exposed to the teachings of the Buddha, and this is the spiritual path I have traveled for more than two decades. I have dedicated these years of my life to understanding the fundamental teachings of the Buddha to the best of my ability.  The Four Noble Truths, The Noble Eightfold Path, The Five Precepts, The Law of Karma, and the Four Brahma Viharas:  these are the precious teachings and practices that shape my view of life and the world, and that over time, increasingly guide my actions.
 
I am aware that mine is but one of many individual stories of how Westerners have come to Buddhism. The Dalai Lama is quoted as saying that Buddhism is more a “science of mind” than a religion. Because the Pali word citta means both “mind” and “heart,” and because Buddhist teachings and practices so skillfully show us how to develop both the intellect and the emotions, I interpret the Dalai Lama’s assertion to mean that Buddhism is a science of mind and heart.  This has certainly been my experience.
 
There is ongoing discussion, and significant disagreement, among Western Buddhists about how much melding and morphing traditional Buddhism can undergo without diminishing or distorting its essence. Some Westerners have become what is referred to as “Buddhist converts,” meaning they have adopted Buddhist principles and practices as their chosen religion.  Others continue to identify with the religious tradition of their upbringing, and to one degree or another study Buddhist teachings, and practice Buddhist meditations, more as a way of understanding and navigating this human incarnation, than as a formal religion.

Beloved Vietnamese meditation master Thich Nhat Hanh urges Westerners not to abandon our religions of origin, if these religions continue to hold meaning and relevance to us.  Rather, he encourages us to explore what Buddhism offers, and to take to heart the Buddhist teachings and practices that enable us to decrease personal and communal suffering and to promote greater love, healing and peace in our lives and our world. He calls Buddhism  “the strongest form of humanism we have,” explaining that “it came to life so we could learn to live with responsibility, compassion, and loving-kindness.”  He sees the Five Precepts as “a global ethic,” a set of guiding principles not just for Buddhists, but for all of humanity.

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