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Being a regular person is remarkably difficult
This is a highly edited version of the sermon Rabbi Fellman delivered to her congregation over the High Holy Days. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, started on the first of Tishrei corresponding to the eve of September 22nd this year.
I vividly remember a conversation with my very liberal grandmother 22 years ago when after she saw the 2003 movie “Elf,” with Will Ferrell, she said, “That movie was so funny, it made me forget about Bush for a minute.”
Last month, I reminded my grandma of this exchange. She folded the newspaper in her lap, looked right at me and rolled her eyes, and didn’t say anything else. Her response reminded me of the joke — A pessimist and an optimist are sitting together. The pessimist opens up the newspaper, sighs and says, “Oy. It can’t get any worse than this.” The optimist replies, “Oh — yes it can.”
The world feels like it is on fire.
But I feel like the world has always been in crisis mode in some way.
There is a classic joke — Two friends for many years, are sitting together on a park bench. Morris looks at the other and says, “Oy.” Annie looks back at Morris and replies, “Oy.” Morris repeats again, “Oy,” to which Annie acknowledges in return, “Oy.” Back and forth they go several times, until Morris finally turns to Annie. “Hey,” he said, “I thought we had agreed not to talk about Israel.”
We may laugh at this exchange because it’s sort of funny and we also wince at this exchange because it’s painfully true. It brings to the forefront that there are so many ways the joke’s punch-line could have been completed. “Hey,” said Morris. “I thought we had agreed not to talk about antisemitism.” “Hey,” said Annie. “I thought we had agreed not to talk about politics or the election.” “Hey,” said Morris. “I thought we had agreed not to talk about gun violence.” “Hey,” said Annie. “I thought we had agreed not to talk about the Supreme Court.” “Hey,” said Morris. “I thought we had agreed not to talk about immigration or abortion or democracy or LGBTQ rights.”
There are so many critical, existential issues facing our communities and our world these days, so many issues for which a simple “oy,” feels entirely insufficient, and yet it’s becoming harder and harder to discuss such matters, with friends, with family, within our own communities. Instead, we often agree not to talk — for the sake of our relationships, our mental health, and to try and preserve a sense of harmony within the spaces we hold dear.
Being human is remarkably hard
The sense of the world burning, of political and personal strife, and of conflict is not new but it feels so urgent in this moment. How do we hold onto our humanity when algorithms tend to paint us into silos, feed us news that corroborates what we might already be thinking, and everything is so immediate we don’t ever really get a chance to process what is happening before the next notification comes in? What do we do when we are tempted to shut people out rather than have deep and hard conversations? What do we do when it seems like we have forgotten to be human?
Being a human being, a regular person, is remarkably hard. Let’s just name that. We are frail and finite, subject to illness and accident, longing and loss. We carry anxieties about identity, personal finances, family, climate, politics, our very mortality. Every one of us is navigating something difficult, sometimes visible, often invisible. We need reminders that we can and should grow, that when we take time and reflect, we can deepen our relationships and positively make change.
How do we remember to be human when it feels like everything is so catastrophic and dire? How do we remember to engage with respect and not self-righteousness?
Avoiding despair
It is important to remember that maybe things aren’t as severe as our social media instant feeds make them out to be. It doesn’t mean that things are not vicious, but we get to choose how we respond. Breaking news and social media posts are more likely to send us down that fatalist rabbit hole. We still get to fervently hold onto hope and work to not be overwhelmed by despair and calamity. Here are a few suggestions to help us all take a breath and not get as stuck with a sense of despair:
1) Make sure that you are giving yourself time to digest the news. Don’t read every alert that comes in. Many, if not most, will not effect you directly. Remember that we don’t have control over much of the news. That does not mean that we don’t care or that we shouldn’t be aware of what is happening, but knowing about it immediately is not likely going to change anything but your anxiety level. Please also consider which sources are your primary ones for news and make those intentional.
2) Exercise self care. Read books, watch comedies like “Elf” or pick another genre that you enjoy. Spend time in nature and with loved ones. Try to disconnect, even for just a Shabbat, a Sabbath day.
3) Remember that when you post to or spend time on social media, you are existing and consuming in a vacuum. Between the algorithms and the small sound bites, we don’t get the full picture, nor do we intentionally engage thoughtfully with others. Also remember that no one’s opinion is changed by something they read on someone’s Facebook page or that they saw on Instagram, X, or TikTok. Before you post anything, please take a moment to think about why you are posting and who your intended audience is and then ask yourself if what you are about to post will achieve your intended goal or reach your intended audience.
4) Do not resort to calling names or making assumptions about people. In leveling accusations at others, we are not engaging in thoughtful and intentional conversation and relationships. We are also not working to change or improve our world, we are just pushing others further away and making our spheres of engagement and relationship even smaller. If there are others with opinions that differ from your own, engage with them in relationships and conversation but be prepared to listen more than you speak. You must be ready to be changed as well.
Deeper listening
I love our community and city, with its diversity, its complexity, and its passions. As a Rabbi, I also love the diversity my synagogue embodies — that in this world of increasing polarization and division, it represents one of the only places where people who disagree still find a way to sit together in shul, share a Shabbat meal, and show up for one another in times of need. To be sure, this makes our work more difficult. But it also makes it more necessary and holy than ever before. And there is so much wisdom in our tradition and its values because the world has always been burning.
And so, we return to Morris and Annie, our two buddies sitting on the park bench — a conversation I’d like to rewrite, for them and also for all of us, as we move into this New Year. Morris looks at Annie and says, “Oy.” Annie looks back at her friend and replies, “Oy.” Morris repeats again, “Oy,” to which Annie acknowledges, “Oy.” “Yes,” said Morris, things are pretty terrible these days. But let’s see if we can find a way to talk about them anyway and maybe our talking will also lead to action.”
This year, may we each be called to deepen our listening, be more present, expand our patience, and work towards action, as we remember to be mensches, to be human.
Rabbi Aviva Fellman is the spiritual leader of Congregation Beth Israel in Worcester. She is also an active member of Worcester Interfaith, teaches in W.I.S.E., and is a married mother of four.