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Before me in the synagogue were hundreds of people—classmates, teachers, parents and the Rabbi—politely listening to yet another confirmation speech. Only I spoke not about a customary aspect of the Jewish faith; rather, I compared the Jewish concept of death and the afterlife with the traditions of other faiths. Eyes opened widest as I described the Hindu funeral pyres by the Ganges River, where the ashes are subsequently spread into the very same waters that people bathe, wash clothes and worship the morning sun.

In Varanasi, the images I had described cursorily in black and white 43 years ago burst forth in an array of color, sound, smells and emotions. This is a city where people come to die, and they also daily celebrate life by bathing in and praying beside the Ganges.

In the evening, we reveled with many hundreds of people also floating on boats in the river to view thousands more gathered along the bank to hear the ancient chants of 7 priests as they “put the Ganges to bed” for the night. Before dawn, we boarded rowboats to watch the morning rituals of the local people and Hindus on pilgrimages from various Asian countries. Some people meditated, some prayed in groups and others prayed before shrines. Everything occurs amidst shocking scenes of poverty and sounds of a hectic yet exotic culture.

My thoughts are consumed with the meaning of this place, which is the holiest of holies for Hindus and Buddhists. Buddha gave his first sermon here, so this is the religion’s birthplace. Groups stream in to pray with a monk at the site where he spoke, which is marked by a stupa (large ancient sandstone monument) surrounded by the remains of a temple and other structures. Varanasi is like Jerusalem and Mecca in one location.

I am most struck by the similarities among religions, notably Hinduism and Judaism, which unexpectedly seem to have borrowed from each. One can imagine people from the East and West intermingling here through millennia. During the evening service, priests blew an incredibly long blast on conch shells, which sounds much like a tekiah gedolah blown on a shofar (ram’s horn) during the Jewish High Holy Days. The six pointed star and the swastika are frequently seen Hindu symbols. The Hindu God, Shiva, is the patron of mourning, and in Judaism it is customary to sit shiva while mourning. The entire evening service involves fire, incense and captivating chants, which except for the lack of the Hebrew Language was reminiscent of the Havdullah Service, which closes the day’s prayers.

After leaving Varanasi, we flew to Khujaraho, where we had a very different ancient Hindu temple experience. What a difference the gods Shiva and Krishna make! This turn of the millennium temple is covered with magnificently preserved sandstone carvings, the most dramatic of which demonstrate the positions of Karma Sutra. Sex sells, as our group bought a record 50 souvenirs. We only have 20 people in our group, so we will have some enlightened family and friends! These people had a good time back in the 11th century before they dealt with dying.

This blog would be less than honest if I didn’t describe the filthy conditions here. We saw raw sewage flowing into the Ganges (the treatment plant wasn’t working) just upstream from where people were swimming and washing. The streets, countryside and railroad tracks are littered with trash. People sweep the sidewalks in some places, but leave the dirt and trash in piles, where animals rummage. Nobody seems to care.

Yet, this is the reality of India. Contrasts. Beauty and repugnance. Grandeur and abject poverty. Modern airports and narrow, pitted roads for highways. Serenity and stifling bureaucracy.

Before I left Richmond, a friend told me that India would be the most disturbing and most rewarding part of our journey to Asia. As I anticipate tomorrow morning’s sunrise at the Taj Mahal, I have to say that he was right.