Post by Rabbi Neil on Sept 14, 2021 22:40:55 GMT
On Rosh Hashanah, we started to unpack how the journey through grief and the journey through atonement share some similarities and that by comparing the two, we can successfully navigate the journey of atonement during a pandemic which has caused many of us to grieve in differing ways. We saw that the journey of grief can often start in denial – denying the need to change, denying that we have lost something, denying reality, either because we so love what currently is and don’t want it to change or because we cannot handle the harm that we do to others. Acknowledging that denial and going beyond it is essential for surviving a pandemic and for t’shuvah, atonement. The next stage of the journey through grief that we looked at was anger, how we so easily tend to focus our anger on specific individuals for not thinking of acting the way we do. We tend to get angry at individuals for acting in certain ways and not at the society which so strongly formed their behavior patterns because it’s easier for us. We deny the fullness of other people in order that we might get angry at them while thinking better of ourselves. Both of these behaviors – denial and anger – have manifested repeatedly for many of us during the pandemic, and both limit our atonement, and therefore need to be addressed during this season.
The third stage of the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle is so appropriate to Shabbat Shuvah, to the Shabbat in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, that it’s hard to think that it wasn’t designed. That third stage is Bargaining. When someone suffers a loss, such as a loved one becoming dangerously ill, bargaining is often a natural response – “Dear God, if you heal this person whom I love, then I will behave in this particular way forever.” Bargaining is a way of trying to take control of a situation over which we actually have no control. On Erev Rosh Hashanah, I mentioned our living on the precipice between life and death, and bargaining tries to deny that by saying that God can be convinced to change what is happening so long as we say the right words or perform the right actions. Bargaining about the past is often accompanied by guilt – “If only I had done this one thing, then this bad thing would not have happened.” Of course, in the case of reckless behavior that may actually be true, but usually that form of guilt is a way of assigning blame where actually there is no-one to blame, and we dislike having no-one to blame for our woes because we dislike living in uncertainty.
The Babylonian Talmud tells us that “three books are opened in heaven on Rosh Hashanah – one for the thoroughly wicked, one for the thoroughly righteous, and one for those in between. The thoroughly righteous are immediately inscribed in the Book of Life, the thoroughly wicked in the Book of Death, while the fate of those in between is suspended until the Day of Atonement.” If we follow that metaphor, what is it that determines the fate of the “in-betweeners”? It’s literally bargaining! Ut’shuvah ut’fillah utz’dakah ma’avirin et ro’a hag’zeirah – repentance, prayer and charity avert the severity of the decree. This Shabbat – these ten days – this is the exact period in which our liturgy specifically encourages us to bargain with God to try to avert the negative consequences of judgment. ‘Dear God,’ it says, ‘if we atone enough, if we pray enough, if we give enough charity, then please write us in the Book of Life!’ Why? Why is our liturgy so clearly speaking in language of bargaining? I believe that it’s connected to loss, to the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle. If we atone fully, we lose who we were previously. During the period of deconstruction and then reconstruction of the self which is essential for repentance, we are vulnerable, uncertain, grieving. The metaphor of the Book of Life is introduced not in order to be taken literally, but as a metaphorical, liturgical expression of our heartfelt emotions of grief as we leave our old self behind. As we lose our old selves, we start to bargain in order to feel like we have control, so the liturgy gently holds us in that bargaining stage of grief before moving us beyond it after Yom Kippur.
The challenge for us, though, is that in a pandemic, many feel unable to move beyond that. We are not in control. We can take so many precautions, but this virus can strike someone down with just one contact with another person. We’re not allowed to move on. Where our tradition strips away our pretensions and rebuilds us in a period of days, the pandemic has so far done the same for a year and a half, and shows little sign of abating. Where Judaism for ten days considers “who will live and who will die… who by earthquake and who by plague,” a pandemic keeps us in that perpetual question for years, and it’s simply not psychologically healthy for us to live like that for such a long period of time. In the book Torah in a Time of Plague, Deena Aranoff writes that “we are living in a semi-perpetual circumstance of pikuach nefesh (saving a life) – a halakhic concept that suspends all other considerations in deference to the imperative to pursue life. What happens to halakhic sensibilities when we must constantly assess our ritual behaviors in light of grave dangers and risks? How do we create sacred time in an age of pandemic?” Her question is one that so many clergy worldwide have been exhausted by for so very long. Now we are in the High Holy Days, that question is exacerbated – for how long are we to be expected to live with these feelings of loss and fragility that the High Holy Days seek to hold us in with the bargaining metaphor of the three books just for ten days? If we are in a semi-perpetual circumstance of pikuach nefesh with the realization that we cannot bargain our way out of it, what happens next? In the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle, next is despair, but that cannot be our way forward – briefly, perhaps, but not for the entirety of a pandemic. I believe an answer is to remind ourselves that the metaphor of the three books is there to support us, not to instruct us. If we feel like we need to bargain our way through the pandemic (“Dear God, if I take the vaccine, will you please keep me safe from harm?”) then that’s important, so long as we recognize where that comes from – from feelings of insecurity and loss. Addressing those feelings of insecurity and loss are crucial to successfully navigating the pandemic and the High Holy Day season. Coming to terms with the fact that there is no bargain to be made, that we only bargain out of a sense of loss of control, gives us space to address how it feels to be out of control. That then gives us an opportunity to determine where we do have control – within ourselves. We can control how we respond to things, we can control what we do with our lives given the life that is laid out before us. Recognizing that is key to t’shuvah, to repentance. We bargain when we realize we cannot control the world, but we repent when we realize how much we can at least control ourselves.
This Shabbat Shuvah, then, let us not despair that we cannot control the world, or try to control it through bargaining with God, but instead celebrate the control that we do have – control over ourselves. Let us use that control to provide ourselves with a sense of stability in an uncertain world. Let our t’shuvah be the constant in our lives. Let us not engage in repentance, prayer and charity because they bring us reward, but because they are the right thing to do – let us not bargain with mitzvot but simply be with them. Let us especially during this time not see God as One to be convinced, but rather as One to be met – not as One to negotiate with but as One to be held by. Let our Shabbat Shuvah not be a time for creating arguments to ensure our preservation, but rather be a time of rest so that we might preserve ourselves. Let us see our liturgical metaphors as tools to help us let go of the past so that we may move forward to become our best selves, and let us say, Amen.
The third stage of the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle is so appropriate to Shabbat Shuvah, to the Shabbat in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, that it’s hard to think that it wasn’t designed. That third stage is Bargaining. When someone suffers a loss, such as a loved one becoming dangerously ill, bargaining is often a natural response – “Dear God, if you heal this person whom I love, then I will behave in this particular way forever.” Bargaining is a way of trying to take control of a situation over which we actually have no control. On Erev Rosh Hashanah, I mentioned our living on the precipice between life and death, and bargaining tries to deny that by saying that God can be convinced to change what is happening so long as we say the right words or perform the right actions. Bargaining about the past is often accompanied by guilt – “If only I had done this one thing, then this bad thing would not have happened.” Of course, in the case of reckless behavior that may actually be true, but usually that form of guilt is a way of assigning blame where actually there is no-one to blame, and we dislike having no-one to blame for our woes because we dislike living in uncertainty.
The Babylonian Talmud tells us that “three books are opened in heaven on Rosh Hashanah – one for the thoroughly wicked, one for the thoroughly righteous, and one for those in between. The thoroughly righteous are immediately inscribed in the Book of Life, the thoroughly wicked in the Book of Death, while the fate of those in between is suspended until the Day of Atonement.” If we follow that metaphor, what is it that determines the fate of the “in-betweeners”? It’s literally bargaining! Ut’shuvah ut’fillah utz’dakah ma’avirin et ro’a hag’zeirah – repentance, prayer and charity avert the severity of the decree. This Shabbat – these ten days – this is the exact period in which our liturgy specifically encourages us to bargain with God to try to avert the negative consequences of judgment. ‘Dear God,’ it says, ‘if we atone enough, if we pray enough, if we give enough charity, then please write us in the Book of Life!’ Why? Why is our liturgy so clearly speaking in language of bargaining? I believe that it’s connected to loss, to the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle. If we atone fully, we lose who we were previously. During the period of deconstruction and then reconstruction of the self which is essential for repentance, we are vulnerable, uncertain, grieving. The metaphor of the Book of Life is introduced not in order to be taken literally, but as a metaphorical, liturgical expression of our heartfelt emotions of grief as we leave our old self behind. As we lose our old selves, we start to bargain in order to feel like we have control, so the liturgy gently holds us in that bargaining stage of grief before moving us beyond it after Yom Kippur.
The challenge for us, though, is that in a pandemic, many feel unable to move beyond that. We are not in control. We can take so many precautions, but this virus can strike someone down with just one contact with another person. We’re not allowed to move on. Where our tradition strips away our pretensions and rebuilds us in a period of days, the pandemic has so far done the same for a year and a half, and shows little sign of abating. Where Judaism for ten days considers “who will live and who will die… who by earthquake and who by plague,” a pandemic keeps us in that perpetual question for years, and it’s simply not psychologically healthy for us to live like that for such a long period of time. In the book Torah in a Time of Plague, Deena Aranoff writes that “we are living in a semi-perpetual circumstance of pikuach nefesh (saving a life) – a halakhic concept that suspends all other considerations in deference to the imperative to pursue life. What happens to halakhic sensibilities when we must constantly assess our ritual behaviors in light of grave dangers and risks? How do we create sacred time in an age of pandemic?” Her question is one that so many clergy worldwide have been exhausted by for so very long. Now we are in the High Holy Days, that question is exacerbated – for how long are we to be expected to live with these feelings of loss and fragility that the High Holy Days seek to hold us in with the bargaining metaphor of the three books just for ten days? If we are in a semi-perpetual circumstance of pikuach nefesh with the realization that we cannot bargain our way out of it, what happens next? In the Kübler-Ross Grief Cycle, next is despair, but that cannot be our way forward – briefly, perhaps, but not for the entirety of a pandemic. I believe an answer is to remind ourselves that the metaphor of the three books is there to support us, not to instruct us. If we feel like we need to bargain our way through the pandemic (“Dear God, if I take the vaccine, will you please keep me safe from harm?”) then that’s important, so long as we recognize where that comes from – from feelings of insecurity and loss. Addressing those feelings of insecurity and loss are crucial to successfully navigating the pandemic and the High Holy Day season. Coming to terms with the fact that there is no bargain to be made, that we only bargain out of a sense of loss of control, gives us space to address how it feels to be out of control. That then gives us an opportunity to determine where we do have control – within ourselves. We can control how we respond to things, we can control what we do with our lives given the life that is laid out before us. Recognizing that is key to t’shuvah, to repentance. We bargain when we realize we cannot control the world, but we repent when we realize how much we can at least control ourselves.
This Shabbat Shuvah, then, let us not despair that we cannot control the world, or try to control it through bargaining with God, but instead celebrate the control that we do have – control over ourselves. Let us use that control to provide ourselves with a sense of stability in an uncertain world. Let our t’shuvah be the constant in our lives. Let us not engage in repentance, prayer and charity because they bring us reward, but because they are the right thing to do – let us not bargain with mitzvot but simply be with them. Let us especially during this time not see God as One to be convinced, but rather as One to be met – not as One to negotiate with but as One to be held by. Let our Shabbat Shuvah not be a time for creating arguments to ensure our preservation, but rather be a time of rest so that we might preserve ourselves. Let us see our liturgical metaphors as tools to help us let go of the past so that we may move forward to become our best selves, and let us say, Amen.