Most of you are not going to like this month’s column. That’s ok; it’s the High Holy Day season, and I’m confident that you will (some day) forgive me.
I don’t know where or when the connection between self-reliance and self-worth was established, but it’s apparently very much alive and powerful here in Prescott. And it’s getting in the way of creating a caring supportive Jewish community here. In the past month there have been at least five separate occasions when people have had serious operations and have asked me NOT to tell anyone because they didn’t want to be a bother. Or they didn’t want to impose. Or they didn’t want people “fussing over them.” People would rather be alone than to ask for help or comfort. Or support. Many of us have a powerful need to wear a mask of self-reliance. We don’t need other people; we’re there for others. We help others. But we personally transcend. And that’s a loss.
When we were infants, love and nurturance were defined by people doing things for us. We knew we were loved when we were picked up and held, when we were changed, when we were fed. And we snuggled into that love and support, and we felt fulfilled and whole.
As adults, similar images for us are frightening. We view the same love/nurturance acts as demeaning. We somehow associate needing help and support as making us personally “less.” Mourners focus on entertaining friends because they don’t want to “fall apart” in front of others. When we hear frightening news about our health, we try to tell others stoically. Or we don’t tell anyone. We forbid ourselves the human right and “luxury” of sharing our fears, our pain, our natural human frailties with friends or family. We fight to the nth degree to be self-sufficient, self-reliant. And we find that we’re alone. Terribly alone.
One of the wonderful gifts of Jewish tradition is the creation of a caring, supportive Jewish community. “Yehudim ma’arivim zeh la-zeh, Jews care for Jews,” has been a fundamental Jewish principle for the past 2,000 years. And I’ve seen it work magnificently in certain Jewish communities. At the time of a death, the whole community joins the mourners, and the mourners have an opportunity to “fall apart,” to cry, to scream, to express and release real anguish. There is tremendous comfort in that. When someone is ill, there can be tremendous comfort in being surrounded by friends who are NOT there to cheer us up; they are there to listen to our pain and our fear.
We are all going to fall apart. We are all going to die. That is the reality of being human. Do we want to deny this? Absolutely. Is it healthy to deny this? Absolutely not. There is love and comfort in being able to share our frailties with others. There is support in being able to express our fears and pain.
Temple Brith Shalom is a unique Jewish community. We are warm. We care. When we fight with one another, we do so like mishpacha, like members of a family fight. So why can’t we let one another in when we are in pain or when we are suffering a loss?
I will continue to honor people’s requests that I not tell others about their illnesses; but it’s wrong. It’s a loss. It prevents others from showing how much we care. It reveres self-reliance instead of personal sharing and support. Let’s work toward making our Jewish community a truly supportive one. The choice is ours. At this season of personal introspection, let’s let go of a little of our self-reliance. Let’s try, hesitantly and a little reluctantly, to trust others with our frailty, our mortality, and our pain.
May this be a sweet and good year for us all.
