Post by Rabbi Neil on Apr 25, 2019 16:15:31 GMT
Open most books on Judaism, from introductions by everyday authors to more specialized treatises by famous scholars, and you’ll find very similar questions being answered. Who is God? What kind of relationship do we have with God? What does it mean to be a Jew? What is revelation? What are the mitzvot? How did we get here? How much deference do we owe to the past? How does Judaism relate to modernity? What does the future hold? How do Jews relate to non-Jews? Who has authority? What are the core tenets of faith? When are the festivals and what do they observe? What are the most important life-cycle rituals? How can we ensure a Jewish future? What is the good life in our tradition? How much of our tradition is set in stone and how much is fluid? What is the role of a Jew? These are the questions that I find being answered in differing ways throughout most books on Judaism. Indeed, most Jewish curricula from Religious Schools to Adult Education are based around questions exactly like these. As I consider these questions, I realize that it’s possible to sum up most of them with one simpler, overarching question – “Who is a Jew, what do they believe and what actions accompany those beliefs?”
This week, after the tragic passing of yet another young adult in our community, I have come to realize that there is a profound question missing from most books about Judaism, which is the question of suffering. Of course, there are many books on theodicy, which is the question of how God allows suffering. But theodicy is not a common discussion in Jewish communities, and when we’re introducing Judaism to others, it’s not something we discuss. It’s not like we welcome people into the community with the words, “Come join us, and by the way, here’s why you experience pain!” So, I understand why it is that we don’t immediately focus on human suffering but the more I think about this, the more bizarre I find it to be. The one thing that unites all human beings is that at some point we suffer while we live. We suffer from disease, we suffer from loneliness, we suffer from oppression and fear, we suffer from physical pain, we eventually all suffer from death. Human existence… in fact, all life… involves suffering to some extent. All that lives must die which means that either there is suffering during life, or life is joyful and the end of life is suffering due to the ending of joy.
There are a number of widely differing traditional Jewish positions regarding the causes of suffering. At the start of our narrative, Torah suggests that suffering is the result of our insubordination towards God. Adam and Eve, and thus all of humanity, are both cursed with suffering as a result of their actions. Torah continues this theology of midah k’neged midah – measure for measure – throughout, particularly in Deuteronomy. The second paragraph of Sh’ma, which was expunged from our siddur, clearly indicates that human suffering is the result of Divine punishment for our bad free will choices. The Book of Job, also a Biblical book, clearly refutes this simplistic victim-blaming mentality, and says that we
cannot know the reason that we suffer.
Rabbinic theology was clearly opposed to this doubt. It strongly implied that there was no true suffering. The story of Rabbi Nahum of Gamzo, who was stricken with disaster after disaster to the point that his life ended as a paraplegic in a bug-infested bed, was told to demonstrate that from all suffering can come good, or that suffering is just a matter of mental perspective. As Rabbinic theology developed alongside Hellenism, it tended to suggest that suffering on this earth was merely a cleansing mechanism to help us on our way to eternal life in Gan Eden. One Rabbi spoke of God testing us as a potter tests their wares – only the strongest pots are tested. There was even a blessing created upon hearing bad news – we thank God for bad tidings! Rabbinic theology on the whole, then, suggested that suffering was good for us, usually because it helped us to connect to God in new ways. So, Torah Judaism blamed the victim, while Rabbinic Judaism denied the reality of suffering. In the Middle Ages, Maimonides suggested that only God is perfect and that matter is therefore imperfect, meaning that suffering is inevitable. A thousand years later, that would be summarized by a famous car bumper sticker with only two words, which I won’t say from the pulpit! Even the variant perspectives on theodicy, such as that human suffering happens when God’s presence is hidden – a theodicy known as hester panim - usually blames us for driving God’s presence away. The Jewish people, who have perhaps experienced suffering more than any other people, have had continually sought to explain suffering. We’ve tried to intellectualize it, or explain it away, and although that may have previously given strength to Jews while they suffered, most of our traditional answers often no longer resonate.
In the past, as well as the personal suffering of individual Jews, much of the origin of suffering brought upon the Jewish community was considered to have an external cause, either from God in response to our behaviour, or from non-Jews guided by God or from their own evil. Indeed, a number of our festival narratives from Chanukah to Purim to Pesach celebrate our victory over the suffering caused by others. Tisha B’Av and Yom HaShoah commemorate the times when that suffering could not be resisted. Last week’s traditional Torah reading, from Shabbat Zachor, commands us to remember the suffering that the Amalekites inflicted on us. Suffering in Judaism is usually either explained as being something from outside – either by people or by God – or something from inside that is caused by us, by our choices, or perhaps by our rejection of God.
There has not been anywhere near enough Jewish commentary on the suffering caused by isolation, or by mental health issues, other than to blame the individual for their lack of trust in God. There are disturbingly few Jewish sources on addiction. There are only occasional texts that touch on mental suffering that don’t blame the victim for their state of mind. One such tale is that of Choni the Circle Drawer who slept for seventy years, discovered all his friends had died, and who says to God, “Give me companionship or give me death.” That might be one of the texts that resonates most with Jews today. So many people today feel stuck, depressed, lonely… especially in New Mexico. I have here a sheet of alarming facts about mental health in New Mexico that I pulled from reliable sources on the internet. I don’t want to share them out loud, but if any adult wants to come and take one after the service, please do so. There is a mental health crisis in this country, especially in this state. There is an addiction crisis nationally and locally that is real. Both of these crises have affected our own community in tragic ways, as with many other Jewish communities across this country, to the point that the Central Conference of American Rabbis is starting to discuss responses to these things.
I believe that the role of Jewish communities today in the face of suffering needs to change. We need to stop trying to explain it and instead need to actively work to reduce it. We need to stop talking about theodicy, and start talking about the reality of suffering. Our Jewish texts shouldn’t bring comfort by explaining the cause of suffering, they should bring comfort by sharing the experience of suffering, and showing the suffering reader that they are not alone. The focus of the past has been, “Why do I suffer as a Jew?” Now, I think it should be “How do I suffer as a Jew?” What stories from our tradition can bring me comfort as I suffer without trying to explain away my suffering? We need our tradition not to teach people about suffering, but to hold their hand as they suffer. And I don’t mean that we transform our pastoral care, although that is obviously essential, too. I mean that our textual and liturgical tradition needs to accept the reality of suffering and merely hold us in it. We need prayers for depression, which have only started to be written in recent years. We need Jewish texts helping those with addiction issues. We need texts that support those who have experienced trauma. Yes, it is lovely to come together and celebrate the joy of Shabbat. Yes, it is essential for us all to communally share joy. And it is essential for us also to come together to journey through life’s challenges together, in a formal and communal setting. All of us struggle, and we need our tradition to acknowledge our struggle as real, to validate our struggle, and not try to drag us out of it with a simple “Cheer up, God loves you!” or, even worse, “If you were only a better Jew, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.”
As we spend the coming year assessing how our community develops to the changing demographics and needs of the Santa Fe community, let us ensure that we truly address the difficult but essential topic of suffering. Let us not intellectualize suffering, but truly be present to support those who are suffering. Let our community speak to what is real. Let us find the ability to speak in our community of our own suffering, and let us find the strength to support those who have voiced their suffering. And let us say, Amen.
This week, after the tragic passing of yet another young adult in our community, I have come to realize that there is a profound question missing from most books about Judaism, which is the question of suffering. Of course, there are many books on theodicy, which is the question of how God allows suffering. But theodicy is not a common discussion in Jewish communities, and when we’re introducing Judaism to others, it’s not something we discuss. It’s not like we welcome people into the community with the words, “Come join us, and by the way, here’s why you experience pain!” So, I understand why it is that we don’t immediately focus on human suffering but the more I think about this, the more bizarre I find it to be. The one thing that unites all human beings is that at some point we suffer while we live. We suffer from disease, we suffer from loneliness, we suffer from oppression and fear, we suffer from physical pain, we eventually all suffer from death. Human existence… in fact, all life… involves suffering to some extent. All that lives must die which means that either there is suffering during life, or life is joyful and the end of life is suffering due to the ending of joy.
There are a number of widely differing traditional Jewish positions regarding the causes of suffering. At the start of our narrative, Torah suggests that suffering is the result of our insubordination towards God. Adam and Eve, and thus all of humanity, are both cursed with suffering as a result of their actions. Torah continues this theology of midah k’neged midah – measure for measure – throughout, particularly in Deuteronomy. The second paragraph of Sh’ma, which was expunged from our siddur, clearly indicates that human suffering is the result of Divine punishment for our bad free will choices. The Book of Job, also a Biblical book, clearly refutes this simplistic victim-blaming mentality, and says that we
cannot know the reason that we suffer.
Rabbinic theology was clearly opposed to this doubt. It strongly implied that there was no true suffering. The story of Rabbi Nahum of Gamzo, who was stricken with disaster after disaster to the point that his life ended as a paraplegic in a bug-infested bed, was told to demonstrate that from all suffering can come good, or that suffering is just a matter of mental perspective. As Rabbinic theology developed alongside Hellenism, it tended to suggest that suffering on this earth was merely a cleansing mechanism to help us on our way to eternal life in Gan Eden. One Rabbi spoke of God testing us as a potter tests their wares – only the strongest pots are tested. There was even a blessing created upon hearing bad news – we thank God for bad tidings! Rabbinic theology on the whole, then, suggested that suffering was good for us, usually because it helped us to connect to God in new ways. So, Torah Judaism blamed the victim, while Rabbinic Judaism denied the reality of suffering. In the Middle Ages, Maimonides suggested that only God is perfect and that matter is therefore imperfect, meaning that suffering is inevitable. A thousand years later, that would be summarized by a famous car bumper sticker with only two words, which I won’t say from the pulpit! Even the variant perspectives on theodicy, such as that human suffering happens when God’s presence is hidden – a theodicy known as hester panim - usually blames us for driving God’s presence away. The Jewish people, who have perhaps experienced suffering more than any other people, have had continually sought to explain suffering. We’ve tried to intellectualize it, or explain it away, and although that may have previously given strength to Jews while they suffered, most of our traditional answers often no longer resonate.
In the past, as well as the personal suffering of individual Jews, much of the origin of suffering brought upon the Jewish community was considered to have an external cause, either from God in response to our behaviour, or from non-Jews guided by God or from their own evil. Indeed, a number of our festival narratives from Chanukah to Purim to Pesach celebrate our victory over the suffering caused by others. Tisha B’Av and Yom HaShoah commemorate the times when that suffering could not be resisted. Last week’s traditional Torah reading, from Shabbat Zachor, commands us to remember the suffering that the Amalekites inflicted on us. Suffering in Judaism is usually either explained as being something from outside – either by people or by God – or something from inside that is caused by us, by our choices, or perhaps by our rejection of God.
There has not been anywhere near enough Jewish commentary on the suffering caused by isolation, or by mental health issues, other than to blame the individual for their lack of trust in God. There are disturbingly few Jewish sources on addiction. There are only occasional texts that touch on mental suffering that don’t blame the victim for their state of mind. One such tale is that of Choni the Circle Drawer who slept for seventy years, discovered all his friends had died, and who says to God, “Give me companionship or give me death.” That might be one of the texts that resonates most with Jews today. So many people today feel stuck, depressed, lonely… especially in New Mexico. I have here a sheet of alarming facts about mental health in New Mexico that I pulled from reliable sources on the internet. I don’t want to share them out loud, but if any adult wants to come and take one after the service, please do so. There is a mental health crisis in this country, especially in this state. There is an addiction crisis nationally and locally that is real. Both of these crises have affected our own community in tragic ways, as with many other Jewish communities across this country, to the point that the Central Conference of American Rabbis is starting to discuss responses to these things.
I believe that the role of Jewish communities today in the face of suffering needs to change. We need to stop trying to explain it and instead need to actively work to reduce it. We need to stop talking about theodicy, and start talking about the reality of suffering. Our Jewish texts shouldn’t bring comfort by explaining the cause of suffering, they should bring comfort by sharing the experience of suffering, and showing the suffering reader that they are not alone. The focus of the past has been, “Why do I suffer as a Jew?” Now, I think it should be “How do I suffer as a Jew?” What stories from our tradition can bring me comfort as I suffer without trying to explain away my suffering? We need our tradition not to teach people about suffering, but to hold their hand as they suffer. And I don’t mean that we transform our pastoral care, although that is obviously essential, too. I mean that our textual and liturgical tradition needs to accept the reality of suffering and merely hold us in it. We need prayers for depression, which have only started to be written in recent years. We need Jewish texts helping those with addiction issues. We need texts that support those who have experienced trauma. Yes, it is lovely to come together and celebrate the joy of Shabbat. Yes, it is essential for us all to communally share joy. And it is essential for us also to come together to journey through life’s challenges together, in a formal and communal setting. All of us struggle, and we need our tradition to acknowledge our struggle as real, to validate our struggle, and not try to drag us out of it with a simple “Cheer up, God loves you!” or, even worse, “If you were only a better Jew, you wouldn’t be suffering like this.”
As we spend the coming year assessing how our community develops to the changing demographics and needs of the Santa Fe community, let us ensure that we truly address the difficult but essential topic of suffering. Let us not intellectualize suffering, but truly be present to support those who are suffering. Let our community speak to what is real. Let us find the ability to speak in our community of our own suffering, and let us find the strength to support those who have voiced their suffering. And let us say, Amen.