I try to avoid ‘dating’
myself, but sometimes in the greater interest of teaching Torah, it’s
inevitable.
We all remember answering
machines. Units attached to the phone
line, rather than somewhere out there in the cloud or in a central computer,
which recorded phone messages for us. We
waited to see if there was a blinking light when we came home.
Comedian Jerry Seinfeld once
observed how he knew of so many people who would call a friend or family member
only at a time they knew the person would not be at home, just so they could
leave a message and not have to speak to the person. The answering machine then became a
relationship ventilator, with each side calling without any interest in
actually talking to the other.
In my experience, hearing
the stories of individuals and families over the course of a decade in my work,
Seinfeld’s comical observation speaks a truth that’s very real, tragic, and
much more common than I ever thought possible.
Instead of the answering machine though we have the ‘Like’ button on
Facebook and calling the house instead of a cell phone to avoid speaking to
someone. The technology may have
changed, even made it easier for us to be in touch and stay connected, but the
disconnect between people has grown. For
every family with good relationships between parents and children, and between
siblings, there are 3 families in which these relationships are barely
breathing or broken. And there is hurt,
and disillusionment, and above all a sense of vulnerability.
The same vulnerability comes
forward as a cause of our misfortune on this Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of
Remembrance, literally the Shabbat of Remember! – in the command form. Always the Shabbat before Purim, this is the
day that we recall how the people of Amalek, a desert people, attacked the
Israelites time and again beginning in the days of wilderness wandering after
the Exodus. The Purim Megillah connects
Amalek to Haman – he is called Haman Ha’A’ga’gee, the descendant of Agag, one
of the Kings of Amalek.
The vulnerability comes from
any and all relationships in which our love goes unrequited, or there is
chronic poor communication and misunderstanding, or the other person’s
assumptions, possibly our own, hamstring us into discomfort, as we become stuck
by poor information and the pain of being judged by who we were and not who we
are or who we’re striving to be.
And the result of that is
fracturing of unity, unity of ourselves and our perceptions of self, unity of
our families, and ultimately the unity of our entire people begins to
deteriorate though slowly, even under our radar screen, over generations.
When the Great Hasidic
master Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshis’cha reads our Shabbat Zachor Maftir, the
one we heard just a few moments ago, he reads it as a moment of vulnerability
and fracturing of our unity as a people.
He notices how God’s command, “Remember what Amalek did to you” is in
the 2nd person singular, directed toward an individual rather than
to ‘you’ plural, the Jewish people. In
fact, he notices the whole parashah is written in the singular. Amalek, Rabbi Simcha Bunim explains, could
only have won out over an individual, one separated from the whole, one
individual outside the pack…But if everyone were tied together as a whole, they
would have been protected and not fallen to Amalek. And he concludes: This is a sign for future generations: At all times Israel is united, Amalek – any
future enemy – cannot win out over the people.(Iturey Torah, Vol 6, p. 149)
Haman is unable to win out
over Mordecai, Esther, and all the Jewish people of Persia because they unite
to fight back. For sure, Esther leads
the charge by pleading with the King, but she does it by including herself
amongst her brothers and sisters.
There are many Amalek type
enemies – whether the regime in the same country as the Purim story today, or
fundamentalist Islamic terrorism. There are
enemies such as the plague of fear that has gripped our country and taken hold
of significant bandwith in the current run up to the national elections.
But how can we bring healing
into our own homes? How can we overcome
the gaps of silence between parents and adult children? How can siblings who have been at odds for so
long reestablish some reconciliation?
How can Jewish communities like our own, with such a wide spectrum of
backgrounds, beliefs, assumptions and traditions find our way together?
Purim is a helpful moment in
beginning to confront these painful, divisive, and complicated issues. Purim is the moment when we have official,
and I mean that in the heavenly sense, official permission to laugh even when
we are processing frustration, loss, and doubt.
The healing power of laughter is documented.
According
to some studies, laughter therapy may provide physical benefits, such as
helping to:
Boost the
immune system and circulatory system
Enhance
oxygen intake
Stimulate
the heart and lungs
Relax
muscles throughout the body
Trigger
the release of endorphins (the body’s natural painkillers)
Ease
digestion/soothes stomach aches
Relieve
pain
Balance
blood pressure
Improve
mental functions (i.e., alertness, memory, creativity)
Laughter
therapy may also help to:
Improve
overall attitude
Reduce
stress/tension
Promote
relaxation
Improve
sleep
Enhance
quality of life
Strengthen
social bonds and relationships
Produce a
general sense of well-being
Purim is also a day when we
turn things on their heads the same way Esther and Mordecai overturn Haman’s
evil schemes. As the Megilah says,
“Ve’naha’foch hu”, one reality is overturned and transformed into a new
one. Purim is a moment when we loosen up
for a moment, turn the world upside down, and give ourselves permission to
imagine what it could be. Before we
would approach anyone – a friend, a fellow congregant, a brother, a sister, a
son a daughter – before approaching anyone we need to first imagine what the
renewed relationship could be like, play it out in our hearts, and try to set
aside burdensome resentments.
We cannot fix every
relationship. But if we are to stay
committed to the larger cause of unity amongst us, individuals as part of
families, families making up our communities, then even the strivings that go
unanswered or unfulfilled in the end may be enough of a push in the right
direction.
A famous story of the
Chofetz Chayim, R. Israel Meir Ha’Cohen, the scholar who wrote the book on the
ethics of speech – A student of his came to him in desperation. “Rabbi”, the student said, “I’ve read and
studied your book, it is so detailed, there are overtones of lashon ha’ra, evil
tongue, in almost anything I can think of to say. What can I do? What can we do?”
The Chofetz Chayim thought,
and meditated, and said, “We can start with a sigh. For now the sound of our sigh will have to be
enough.”
The sigh, the broken heart,
the unfulfilled expectation or hope, is in itself an awareness, a place that’s
beyond the black pools of anger.
Rather than survive on a
ventilator, may the spirit of Purim help us see open doors where doors have
been locked, and may the mishloach manot we give to one another, the gifts of
food and good cheer, remind us that the point of this mitzvah is to show that
each of us, even when we are at odds, even when we vehemently disagree with one
another, that each of us is the gift and the food basket is simply a wonderful
opportunity for brief time to hold onto something together in the exchange, see
each other’s eyes, and hopefully a sincere and wishful sigh will break through
the silence.
