It is 5 am in New York, and I can’t sleep. I awoke feeling highly alert from a disturbing, relatively mundane but vivid dream about feeling frantic and let down. Wide awake, I take a moment to reflect on what is going on for me these days.
My initial response to the Bondi Beach
Hanukkah massacre was a mixture of sadness and responsibility. I showed up for
the bereaved and did what I could to address the challenge of Muslim-Jewish
relations in Sydney and Australia. However, leaving Sydney and having a break from
work with my family in New York has proved challenging some of the time. There
is sometimes a sense of unreality about everything that is not the horror of
what happened or the work that flows from it. At such moments, I feel
alienated.
 |
| Creative Commons 4.0 image credit: https://www.mentalhappy.com/blog/holiday-priorities-dont-leave-self-care-off-your-list |
On Friday night, my
nephew, Chaim Kastel, a member of one of the bereaved families, talked at the
Shabbat dinner table with my parents and other extended family, about the
inspiring response of the Sydney Rabbis, about their service to the community,
setting aside any differences or conflicts and rising to the challenge of
caring for a community shattered by violence and tragedy. His words moved me to
gratitude.
To all my rabbinical colleagues, I thank you and acknowledge your service. It
is not easy or clear how to be there for others when you and your families are
in pain. Thank you to my brother Mendel, working for the best outcomes for
bereaved families and for culturally and religiously appropriate practices for
the dead. This is only a fraction of
what you have done. I salute you, older brother, and I celebrate all the Rabbis
for everything they have done and are doing.
For me, having (mostly and
temporarily) stepped away from “the doing”, I feel a jumble of feelings that
are hard to isolate. Anger, as well as sadness. I am not sure where my anger is
directed. I have angry thoughts about God. It is ok to feel frustrated with God
in the Jewish tradition, particularly in the Chabad school of thought. I will
never forget the echoes of the Hebrew word for “Why?” (“Lamah?” “Lamah?”)
echoing off the hills at the funeral of Mumbai couple Rabbi Gabi and Rivki
Holzberg, murdered by terrorists. The question was posed by Rabbi Mordechai
Shmuel Ashkenazi, (1943-2015, then Chief Rabbi of Kfar Chabad, Israel). We
don’t accept the argument that human atrocities are just the choices of humans.
Our theology teaches that God is present in human events, even if he “hides his
face” (1).
I feel drawn to the
complaint of Moses after he sent to Pharaoh to solve the problem of the
suffering Hebrew slaves. At first, Pharaoh’s response to Moses’ efforts was to
make life even harder for the slaves by removing their supply of straw that
they needed for building but demanding that they still build as much as before,
and when they failed to do the impossible, they were to be beaten (2). The
Israelites expressed their annoyance to Moses who then turned to God with the
complaint, “Why – (Lamah) have you done bad to this people? And why did you
send me (3)”.
The Lubavitcher Rebbe
wrote that regardless of God’s response to Moses – that things would improve –
the fact that the Torah records Moses’ complaint reflects a degree of
legitimacy of that complaint (4). As Jews we are required to believe that God
is good and that everything is ultimately for the best, yet we are allowed to
cry out in pain about human suffering.
Moses’ complaint seems to have
two parts. One was about the people’s suffering, and the second part was about
the impact on him as a leader having been sent on a failed mission. Leaders
often show great care for others, but we are still human. The pain of failure
or the absence of hoped-for achievements is not only an experience in sharing
the community’s pain; it also carries a personal cost of frustration and
distress.
For me, Bondi was a
nightmare that I dreaded could happen and was hoping could be prevented. The
failure to prevent it does not make me feel guilty, but it weighs heavily on me
as a personal disappointment.
The personal
disappointment is a little embarrassing. “It is not about you,” chastises my
inner critic. I agree that the suffering of bereaved families is more important
than my feelings, and so is the greater suffering of the Jewish community in
Sydney and other impacted communities. Yet, I feel what I feel and I am as
worthy of care as anyone else. In addition, if I am going to be useful to
anyone, I need to acknowledge how I feel and process these feelings.
I draw comfort from
commentaries about Moses’ frustration at his involvement (5) in an apparently
futile attempt to alleviate the suffering of the slaves. “If they were not
going to be saved why involve me in this?” Alternatively, he complained about
the timing of his mission when he said, “Why send me now if God is not ready to
free the people at this time?” (6)
There are other
commentaries that explain Moses’ complaint as being focused on the suffering of
the people rather than on himself (7), such as his question, “If sending me was
not going to help the people anyway, what was the point?” In other words, Moses
had hoped that his mission would reduce the suffering of his people a little,
right away. When this failed to eventuate, Moses asked why he was sent if there
was no immediate relief. (8)
For leaders, it needs to
be about both the people we serve and our own self-care and management. I hope
that my colleagues and I do what we need to do to look after ourselves and our
emotions. At the same time, along with my inspiring colleagues, I will be there
for others and do what I can for a better future. Moses eventually saw the
exodus come to fruition and also worked through his personal challenges.
1)
Deuteronomy 18:31
2)
Exodus, 5:6- 5:21
3)
Exodus 55:11
4)
Schnneerson, Rabbi MM, Likutei Sichos Vol 1, Shemos.
5)
Seforno, Bechor Shor,
6)
Ohr Hachayim, one explanation, the Netziv in Haamek Davar
7)
Ohr Hachayim alternative explanation
8)
Ralbag, Ibn Ezra, Chizkuni
