Leaving Home, Returning Home: Teshuvah and the True Person of No Rank (part 1)

(This post is based on a Dharma Talk given on the Zen Retreat [Zazenkai] held on September 5, 2026: "Firewood, Ash, and Atonement: Dōgen Zenji's Genjōkōan and the Jewish High Holidays".)

I have a box full of ashes. I really do. It is in my hallway closet. This box has all of the ashes of the animals that I've ever had in all my adult life. Unfortunately, I have to add to this box. Just a week and a half ago, I had to put down my elderly 17 year old big black beautiful cat. I am feeling sad, but okay-enough. She gave me so much life, yet she is no longer alive. We are all like that.

"Oseh Shalom Bimromav"

I have had this refrain run through my mind as of late, "Ring around the rosie, A pocket full of posies, Ashes, ashes, We all fall down!"

The last month of the Jewish year is called Elul. Lasts and firsts are interesting things. They can sort of bleed into one another; the first becomes last; the last becomes first. This time of year is a natural time of reflection and reconciliation—morally, spiritually,

personally, relationally, financially, and in every which way.

I've been reflecting a lot about my own life recently, the changes that have occurred in the past months and year. As I am prone to do, this often comes with my returning to the Zen precepts and to Eihei Dōgen Zenji, the founder of Japanese Sōtō Zen Buddhism. Don't all Jewish rabbis do this?

This is especially relevant as I begin to work with Zen students toward beginning their own precept study and jukai ceremonies—and the privilege of guiding others toward applying core Zen teachings around wisdom, compassion, and a healthy ethical way of living a full and complete peaceful life.

In the Jewish tradition, this is Shalom. Shalom is more than a casual greeting to mean hello and goodbye—which it does—and even more than a code word used by politicians to give speeches or gain favor with the Jewish community. The word shalom means wholeness. It means completion. It means peace—not the kind of peace that is demanded or yelled for—but This Place where we realize genuine peace.

So, how do we realize this peace?

"Wisdom, Service, and Lovingkindness"

Writing from sixteenth-century Prague, the great sage known as the Maharal writes that the "peace of man", the wholeness of human beings, the complete perfection we all innately share is "divided into three parts:

The first part is man's completion within himself. The second part is man's completion with others. The third part is man's completion with the Creator, This Place."

It is ironic, or perhaps, tragic—that the Hebrew word the Maharal uses for man, the Hebrew word for man is Adam. How sobering!

We are always in relationship: with ourselves, with others, and with something that can only be called beyond ourselves and others. With an open heart and mind, there is no limit—there are no bounds—to the vulnerability, intimacy, and love that is our birthright. Yet, with relationship comes responsibility.

The Mishnah teaches that "the world stands on [these] three things." When we sit in meditation, the world sits on these three things too. When we sit on the meditation cushion or chair—supported by our rear end and two legs—the world is just as it is; the world is just as we are.

Rebbe Dōgen

In a similar way, the Zen Buddhist tradition has its own approach to right conduct. From 16th-century Prague and the Holy Roman Empire to 13th-century Japan, we all want to do our best.

Eihei Dōgen Zenji described three different dimensions to studying the Zen precepts: the Hinayana, Mahayana, and Buddhayana—or Buddha-Nature—dimensions.

Perhaps this is strange for a Rabbi to say, though when I find myself in periods of transition or personal reflection in life—and in the rhythms of the season in the year—one of my first go-tos is the Zen precepts.

"In Living Color"

At the Hinayana dimension, we look at the precepts quite literally. So when the precept says, "Do not kill," this is taken literally. Do not take life under any circumstances.

What is my relationship with others?

At the Mahayana dimension, we study the precepts in context of the situation. Here is where—to quote the title of a 90s grunge song I like, we find the "Beauty of Grey". As Zen Master Seung Sahn teaches, "Correct situation, correct relationship, correct function." We ask ourselves, "What is happening now? What is my role? And What is my job?" It is heartbreaking to realize, but if I do not kill, how do I eat? And survive? In some ways, we are constantly taking life.

What is my relationship with myself?

At the Buddhayana dimension, we throw out the whole coloring book. We step into absolute reality—where we are all one body, whether called the Dharmakāya, the Body of Christ, or being made in the image of God. From this dimension, how can we take the life of another if there is no other? Yet, being one body doesn't eliminate natural consequences; it guarantees them. If we pour alcohol down our throat, we still ruin our liver. If we use our tongues to lash out at others, we are bound to be punched in the face. We are all vulnerable to one another.

What is my relationship with my Creator, with This Place?

This Place is not one found on a map or taught in a geography textbook. This Place is actually an ancient Rabbinic name of God. HaMakom. This Place. This very self. This very body. These very emotions. These very pains in the knees and tight shoulders. Even the very pains in the ass in our lives! Ourself especially.

(Note: This is Part 1 of a two-part series on Leaving Home, Returning Home: Teshuvah and the True Person of No Rank. Catch up with Part 2 coming up)