November 11, 2024
November/December E-News - On Coping With Fear
During rabbinical school I did a chaplaincy internship at a hospital in West Philadelphia. Night after night, my pager would wake me and I would scurry to the trauma bay. I had never seen so much blood before, not only from car accidents, but from shootings and stabbings.
I was not prepared for this. I did not believe that I could call a family to tell them to come to the hospital or that I would not know how to comfort them when they arrived. I dreaded walking into the trauma bay. I dreaded accompanying the doctors when they told a parent that their child had been killed.
The fear I have experienced this past week after the election feels similar. While the analogy is imperfect, I learned a couple things that summer that might be useful at this time. The first is that we can be a kind presence to others in the face of grief, loss, and violence--even if we are not prepared. Our capacity to hold pain expands; we do have the inner strength to meet the moment.
The second is that words often fail us, but they are less important than our willingness to be a witness to the cruelty of the world. Often I felt powerless. But my willingness to accompany someone else mattered. It could not change an outcome, but it did create a deep connection to another person, even if temporary.
When I walked down the fluorescent hallways in the middle of the night, I would sing Kol Ha-Olam Kulo: "Kol ha'olam kulo, gesher tzar me'od, v'hayikar lo lefached klal. -- The whole world is a narrow bridge. The important thing is to have no fear at all." The song comforted me. It gave me courage to keep walking, to ground myself, and to walk into unknown places.
The song, as lovely as it is, begs the question: How could we not be afraid?. The words come from Rabbi Nachman of Bratslov's book, Likkutei Moharan. They are slightly different from the original text, however. Instead of lefached, meaning fear, the text says yitpached, in the reflexive - not to make oneself afraid. We spend much time worrying: What will happen? What will we lose? What will our nation look like six or twelve months from now?
Last week, one of my teachers led a call for Reconstructionist rabbis. She introduced us to the author, Daniel Hunter. From there I found his article, "10 ways to be prepared and grounded now that Trump has won." It may or may not speak to you. But one line is particularly important for all of us: "...Good psychology is good social change." Feeling fear is normal and appropriate. Making ourselves afraid is also normal and appropriate. But we would do well to ground ourselves so we do not become paralyzed by fear. We can meet this moment. Tending to our fear is the first step.
November 10, 2024
Blessing for a Bat Mitzvah Student After Trump Was Elected
We are about to begin the Torah service, which is a time of joy. We are inviting you up to read our sacred texts for the first time before your community. The question many of us are asking is: How can we rejoice in the service and at your bat mitzvah when we feel so terrible about the results of the election?
The ancient Rabbis had thought quite a bit about this predicament. They asked, what do you do if a funeral procession and a wedding procession meet at an intersection in the center of town? Rashi elaborates, “When the bride comes out from her father’s home to the wedding hall at the same time [as] those accompanying a dead body for burial and both groups will be shouting – one group with joy and the other in mourning and we don’t want to mix the two,…” – What do we do?
Jewish tradition teaches: “The wedding procession goes first.”
Many of us have been in mourning since Tuesday night. These feelings of sharp despair can be symbolized by a funeral procession; the joy we feel at your bat mitzvah can be symbolized by a wedding party. The Rabbis are teaching us that joy and gladness take precedence over grief and loss. We certainly feel that grief and loss, but Jewish tradition is clear: Joy must not be delayed. Celebration comes before rituals of sadness, which are important, but can be done at a later time.
We are supposed to be welcoming you into a world where we are confident in our future, where we believe that even though our world is plagued by war and racism and poverty, we can reassure you that things will get better, that we are headed in the right direction. And given the election results we just can’t do that.
But we can look to our tradition for wisdom. I want to talk about three women from our tradition who could be role models for you – and for all of us – in this new era.
The first is Queen Esther, from Purim. As the king’s advisor, Haman, spread lies and hatred throughout the kingdom, and set out to annihilate the Jews, Queen Esther’s uncle, Mordecai, told her that she must tell the king, she must speak up, that she has an obligation not to remain silent in the face of impending doom. And even though she was at great risk, she acted with courage and integrity. I hope that as you become an adult, you too with act with courage and integrity.
The second woman doesn’t have a name of her own in the Torah. She’s Lot’s wife, who was warned not to look back as she and her family fled from Sodom and Gommorah as fire and destruction rained down on the cities. The rabbis give her a name – Idit – which means witness. She was a witness to the terrible events all around her. She refused to turn away. It’s true that she was turned into a pillar of salt, maybe a memorial of tears, but she’s a reminder not to turn away. I hope that you will keep your eyes open to the world around you, even if it is painful.
The third is Miriam. Growing up in ancient Egypt she saw great inequality all around her. She knew that liberation was possible, that a better life for so many people could be achieved. She had faith in herself and in the people around her. She became one of our most important leaders, and she was beloved among her people. She was wise, joyful, and persistent. I hope that you will embody the best of Miriam and be a leader in your own right.
As you become a bat mitzvah, may you have the courage and integrity of Queen Esther, the ability to keep your eyes open to the pain around you like Lot’s wife, Idit, and may you be wise, joyful, and persistent like Miriam.
As you become an adult, I hope that this is a time of growth, of stretching yourself, and of becoming a mature, sensitive, and loving human being. I hope that you will be fully present to the challenging and complicated realities of your world. I hope that you will continue to believe in yourself and trust yourself to make good decisions. I hope that you will find friends who will sustain you and help you grow. I hope that you will give of yourself and make our world a little bit kinder and a little bit more just.
May you do this in community, always turning to your family, friends, and teachers. Mazel tov.
November 6, 2024
Letter to the Congregation: After Trump's Win
I was planning to make popcorn for election night. But when Florida’s returns came in, the popcorn lost its appeal. By 10:00 p.m. I was having memories of 2016, and I couldn’t watch any longer. I went to bed. I woke up at 4:30 a.m. but wouldn’t let myself start doomscrolling until 5:30 a.m. Later in the morning, I saw my daughter as she was getting ready. I gave her a big hug and tried to hide my tears. What do I tell her?
I had the urge to look for my dusty Howard Zinn books from college. I pulled out You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train and flipped to the end. I found the quotation that I hung on my wall when I was twenty. This seemed fitting for both of my teenagers, and perhaps for us, as they navigate this devastating time.
For many, if not all, of us, we feel fear deep in our bones. Nonetheless, our obligations have never been clearer: We must protect the vulnerable, repair the world, and refuse to harden our hearts. We must care for each other and care of ourselves.
Now is the time to grieve. We do not know what will come, but we must not allow ourselves to become isolated. We need community.
As a first step we will gather for a Shabbat potluck this Friday at 6:00 p.m. at the First Unitarian Society, Atrium Building. Following our meal we will have some structured time for community singing and reflection. Please register here and bring a vegetarian dish to share. If you are available to help set up or clean up, email Sean.
Jewish tradition teaches us that we are responsible for each other. We must stick together during this time and in the long months and years ahead. As we read in Pirkei Avot, “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it (2:21).”
With hope for better days ahead,
Rabbi Laurie
November 6, 2024
Talking to Our Kids About the Election
Dear Parents,
I wanted to reach out about the election, parent to parent. I know there will be many articles written about how to talk to your kids, but I wanted to share two pieces written by a friend of mine, Ali Michael, Ph.D., who focuses on parent eductation as part of her consulting practice. She's a member of a Reconstructionist congregation in Philadelphia and is the chair of their children's education committee.
The first is piece she wrote today. I’m copying part of her blog post below. In it she compares the moment we are now in with how it felt when she was diagnosed with MS. I especially appreciated the three questions she identified that kids want to know in difficult times: Am I going to be okay? Are you going to be okay? What does this mean?
It's a fine line between tending to children's emotional lives and being honest with them. Managing our anxiety while tending to theirs is not easy. Keeping these three questions in mind can be helpful.
5. Kids have predictable concerns at times like these.
When we told the kids about my diagnosis, they had three questions that we had been told to expect:
a. Will I get MS? (i.e. Am I going to be okay?)
b. Will you die? (i.e. Are you going to be okay? But also, am I going to be okay?)
c. How does MS work? (i.e. What does this mean?)
These are the questions our children want answers to now.
What I told my children this morning is that no matter what happens:
- We will keep you safe.
- You are not alone.
- We cannot know the future. Half the people in this country don’t want this. And even many people who did want this wanted it because they can’t afford groceries—not because they are hateful.
No matter what happens, we have our family. We have our community. You have your school. You have your friends.
By the time my 11-year-old got in the shower this morning, I heard this: “Even if Trump wins, we will still have D and D, will still have our cats, we will still have each other, we will still have our cousins. That’s something” (i.e. We are going to be okay).
And then, “I can’t believe half of our country is still so sexist” (i.e. What does this mean?).
I anticipate a lot of processing—back and forth. I expect there to be questions—and maybe tears—for a long time. But I need to keep coming back to what they want to know most, which is “Will I be okay?” And what I can say for sure is, “You are not alone. I am here with you. I love you.”
Today we wake up in the same country we lived in yesterday. But with more data.
After the Tree of Life shooting, Renee and I spoke with our kids’ elementary school social worker. She modeled for us how to help them cope with living in a cruel and unpredictable world. She emphasized that children are capable of synthesizing difficult and painful ideas, especially when the adults around them speak according to their developmental needs. We often underestimate what children—even young children—can handle. While we certainly want to shield our children from the darkness of the world, it is also important to help them wrestle with political realities and expand their capacity to engage with the world around them.
Ali shares a similar message in her article, “What Do We Tell the Children?” after Trump was elected in 2016. Here’s a short excerpt from it that my colleague, Rabbi Isaac Saposnik, shared this morning in an email:
Say that you will stand united as a...community, and that you will protect one another. Say that silence is dangerous, and teach them how to speak up when something is wrong. Then teach them how to speak up, how to love one another, how to understand each other, how to solve conflicts, how to live with diverse and sometimes conflicting ideologies, and give them the skills to enter a world that doesn’t know how to do this.
L'shalom,
Rabbi Laurie