I settled into my cushion on the floor of the gompa—meditation hall—as my intensive course in Tibetan Buddhism was about to begin, a month into my second backpacking trip to India in as many years. The previous day was Rosh Hashanah, but that wasn’t on my radar. I was here to move forward and delve into a new spiritual practice, something entirely unrelated to my Orthodox Jewish upbringing.
Hours earlier, 80 of us arrived at the meditation center and confirmed our willingness to adhere to the center’s monastic-like guidelines, including forfeiting all electronics, non-religious literature, and the right to speak for 23 hours each day. A nun in maroon robes oriented us to the course’s daily schedule—three meditation sessions, two lectures, and a single hour-long discussion group—and read off various miscellaneous policies from worn printouts.
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