Rabbi's Weekly Teaching
Friday, July 22, 2011
Parashat Matot
"Kol ha'olam kulo gesher tzar ma'od v'haikar lo l'fached klal" ("The whole world is a narrow bridge, but the essence is to not be afraid.")
This well-known Hebrew song - one of the most popular pieces of Jewish wisdom attributed to Reb Nachman of Bratislav -- teaches that the most important accomplishment we can master in life is to not become incapacitated by our fear. While it may not seem realistic in the moment, in the most challenging of circumstances, fear can be re-channeled for reasonable and perhaps even healthy responses. Fear, like love, is a great motivator. We can be afraid of dying, and the loss of our loved ones, and be prompted by both fear and love to take the utmost care of our physical selves. Likewise, we can simultaneously love God and fear for the state of our souls and the possibility of eternal judgment, and thus, out of a sense of reverence and awe, we can choose to be ever-vigilant in nurturing our spiritual selves.
Our collective Jewish historical experience has, all too often, been intimately entwined with fear. This shared narrative of our generations of oppression has led to innovations in prayer, liturgy and praise for the God who has delivered us, countless times, from the tyrants and dictators who have struck terror even in the most courageous Jewish hearts. History has taught us that as a people, the only way to survive and cherish the world around us meant that we had to learn how to live in the balance between fear and love. Thus, in every generation, Jews have managed to thrive by learning how to overcome fear, and simultaneously consciously pursuing - and celebrating - as many blessings as each day could bring.
I have been thinking about fear a lot during these past two weeks. Last weekend, I went through my first unplanned visit to the hospital, which required several nights of urgent care. My pancreas had become inflamed, and for the first time in my life, I experienced the fear and uncertainty brought about by an acute unexplained pain, and the terror of facing a potential irreparable breakdown of the body.
Fortunately, thanks to the excellence of Greenwich Hospital, our treasured doctors and nurses took the best possible care of me. The people I encountered were caring, reassuring and truly brimming with kindness and concern. And yet, I was afraid. I couldn't be myself, and I had trouble accepting forced limitations.
As the days and nights passed without relief and without answers, like many 'patients,' I felt myself becoming the very opposite of that word: my nerves were frayed; I snapped at my caring wife; and even my non-affected organs felt over-worked. I could tell that neither my heart nor my brain liked what I was confronting. Fear and pain were taking over, and even though it was hard for me, I forced myself to remember Reb Nachman's wisdom, and the lesson of our People: "Kol ha'olam kulo gesher tzar ma'od v'haikar lo l'fached klal."
I quietly sang the familiar words to comfort myself, just as I used to sing lullabies to my children when they were babies. "The whole world is a narrow bridge," I sang, "but the essence is to not be afraid." And with just a few repetitions of that wise and ancient melody, I stopped being afraid. I recognized and acknowledged the difficulty of my experience without being trapped inside it. I began to control my attention, and through the power of my thoughts, I was able to begin walking on the "narrow bridge" without fear. The pain was still present, but the suffering was gone.
We all experience fear. In life, there is much to be afraid of: death, an uncertain economy, the fragility of our health, the crises being endured by family and friends. As a rabbi, much of the pastoral work that I do every day is focused upon helping people manage their fears. In that role, I have learned how important it is, especially in a crisis situation, to take hold of our faith and find the power to accept our circumstances, and then change the way in which we are responding to our fears. Worry and wasted anger simply saps the energy of our bodies and spirits, while acceptance and mindful focus on what we can do to take action - or simply letting others help us - can give us strength.
While I was hospitalized, my friend Monsignor DeLuca, in his role as Chaplain at Greenwich Hospital, came and visited me. He and I chatted, and he observed that I was not myself. I told him that I obviously wasn't myself; I was sick and in the hospital. He replied: "But you stopped loving yourself and others the way you usually do; how is that being effective?" That insight made me truly grateful for my good friend; who came to me in a moment of insecurity, to speak a blunt and very effective truth.
Faith is learning how to access love; love of self and love of others. And even though sometimes love and fear seem to walk hand in hand, love is ultimately more powerful. We can walk the "narrow bridge" because we walk above the safety net of love -- the love we receive from others and God. Love is, in Judaism, a way of knowing God; called in Hebrew Ahavah Rabbah. And like love, God, too, is limitless. Both love, and our divine spark within, can prompt our body to fight for life in the best way it can. And even in the most calamitous of circumstances, both faith and love can make the soul strong and secure, even as its earthly vessel undergoes the process of a permanent breaking.
I am now without pain, although we have not yet identified the "why" of my illness. Hopefully, even if a reason is discovered, it will be irrelevant. I know, realistically, that this was most likely not the last unplanned visit to the hospital. Perhaps, next time (God willing no time soon), I will more quickly remember the narrow bridge on which we all walk, and be much less afraid.
Shabbat Shalom & Happiness and Good Health for all!!
-Rabbi Mitch
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