Cultivating Empathy in Hard Times To Build a World of Compassion and Care
Rosh HaShanah 2024/5784
Shana Tova!
According to the Midrash, at the beginning of Rosh HaShanah, God sits on the throne of “din,” “judgment.” Then, as prayers and pleas and the sounds of the shofar are heard on High, God rises from the throne of judgment and moves to the throne of rachamim, the seat of compassion. In other words, God shifts from actively looking for the negative to purposely seeking out the basic decency and dignity of human beings.
Jewish tradition also teaches that to know God is to follow God’s ways. As the Divine moves from judgment to compassion on Rosh HaShanah, so we are to follow that model — distancing ourselves from judgment and shifting to see our fellow human beings with a gaze of compassion, seeing our shared humanity. One could argue this is the work of Rosh HaShanah.
Now, some of us may be thinking — this sounds nice…but did God ever have to be a human being in 2024?!? Surely, we will get an exemption this year!?!
2024: when it seems we are at a breaking point for civil society, with increasingly divisiveness and mistrust. Like most of us (or all of us!), I am profoundly worried about our country right now. I worry not only about the outcome of the election, but also whether we ever heal as a nation and recover a sense of civility in a post-truth and might-makes-right world? The war in Israel and Gaza has exacerbated divisions in the region and at home, where dialogue between people with opposing perspectives feels increasingly rare.
The uptick of anti-Semitism on all political sides (and everywhere) can lead the Jewish community to self-isolate and disengage, an understandable though unsustainable response to feeling attacked and afraid. Given all this and more, I, like many of us, would much rather stay on the seat of judgment than move to the seat of compassion today.
Yet, HaYom Harat Olam- today the world is being born. Today, we cast off the belief that what is — has to always be. Today, we envision the world we want to live in and consider the actions we can take as individuals to manifest that vision. With the freedom and imagination that come with Rosh HaShanah, I want to invite us to envision a world in which rachamim, compassion, is the norm; a world where people care about other people. Full stop.
Today, we cast off the belief that what is — has to always be. Today, we envision the world we want to live in and consider the actions we can take as individuals to manifest that vision.
Rosh HaShanah is also the time when we strive to let go of what stops us from being fully present, loving, and kind. I think if each of us is honest with ourselves, we know that holding onto judgment and resentment about entire groups of people is not helpful or productive; in fact, it prevents us from showing up in the world with an open heart and stops us from doing what humans are hardwired to do: connect.
Compassion, enacted through the practice of empathy, is the only elixir to a world of division and cruelty.
Compassion, enacted through the practice of empathy, is the only elixir to a world of division and cruelty. Empathy, seeing another and connecting to their basic humanity, is what can soften our hardened hearts and free us from rage and resentment. Empathy is the tool by which we build trust, bridge seemingly impossible divides, and repair the bonds of community and society.
And I know this is not easy, in 2024 especially, because we are living in a time when empathy is a scarce and endangered resource. But that is exactly why we need to practice building our empathy muscles — because though we may not have control over what other people around us do or what the cultural milieu is at the moment, we do have control over ourselves and our actions.
To that end, I will share three Jewish teachings that can help us cultivate empathy in hard times. They are ideas and practices that help us envision and make manifest a world of caring and compassion.
#1: Turning towards the Other with Respect
#2: Hearing the Pain of the Other
#3: Extending Compassion Freely and Without Condition
#1: Turning Towards the Other with Respect
The central object in the ancient Temple was the Ark of the Covenant. According to Biblical descriptions, the ark of the covenant was framed by two cherubim (angel-like figures). It was above the ark, between the cherubim, that God would speak to the people.
The rabbis pick up on a discrepancy regarding the Cherubim. In some versions in the Bible, the cherubim were facing each other. Yet, in another section, the text describes the cherbuim facing away from each other, with their backs turned. To solve this textual dilemma, the rabbis teach: When the Israelitesl were engaged in mitzvot — offering respect to one another, loving their neighbor as themselves — the cherubim would face each other. When they did not, the cherubim faced away from each other.
What an evocative metaphor for the potential danger of and the potential transformative power of human interaction!
Sometimes, when basic humanity and respect are not present, when individuals actively target and harm us (and people like us), it may not be safe to turn towards the other — and that’s ok. As the mother of trans and non-binary children, I know it would be near impossible for me to have empathy for the elected officials who legislate against and scapegoat my children and children like them. For many of us, engaging with someone actively promoting anti-semitism may be a line we cannot cross. And for some, there may be other examples.
At the same time, I want to challenge us not to let the most extreme individuals shut us off from all people with whom we do not agree or who have radically different backgrounds than our own. To not let it shut us off from seeing the common humanity of the other, even ones whose ideas might offend us.
To illustrate this, let me tell you the story of Dylan Marron. Dylan is a digital content creator whose work has centered around progressive, pro LGBTQ content. Dylan also is a gay man. Not surprisingly, as happens in the online world, Dylan was bombarded with hateful and often homophobic messages online. Contrary to what we might expect, Marron did something unusual — he reached out to some of the folks who sent him hate mail and invited them to have a conversation to get to know each other. He recorded the interactions for a series called “Conversations with People who Hate me.”
Realizing that the people who cheered on his videos already agreed with him, he talked about how subversive it was to actually speak to people he disagreed with and not simply at them.
At the same time, opening up himself to a person who had said something hurtful or homophobic was scary. To help him enter into the conversations, Dylan developed a mantra for himself: “Empathy is not an endorsement.”
To help him enter into the conversations, Dylan developed a mantra for himself: “Empathy is not an endorsement.”
Wow. So simple. So powerful.
So I ask us: what might be possible if we took on this mantra: “Empathy is not an endorsement?” We don’t have to agree or even condone in order to see another’s humanity, to expand our universe of care and concern. I am especially thinking of the healing that might be possible in our splintering Jewish community if we could turn towards each other with respect and curiosity, seeking not to convince or dismiss but to reveal our common humanity.
Being able to turn towards one another with respect is no small thing. Remember: according to the teaching of the cherubim, turning towards one with the kind of basic decency that is so sadly so elusive today — is none other than grounds for the sacred. For God shows up in the space in between us.
#2: Hearing the pain of the other
The shofar is arguably the most distinctive feature of Rosh HaShanah. It is worth noting that the mitzvah of Shofar is not sounding of the instrument rather HEARING its blasts.
From ancient times, the sages wonder: what is it exactly that we are listening for? In a surprising turn, they offer a profound and surprising teaching: the 100 blasts of the shofar correspond to the cries of the mother of Sisera, a non-Jewish general who was the enemy of the Jewish people in the time of Judges. According to the text, Sisera’s mother peers out the window waiting for her son’s return from battle, but as she waits and waits, coming to realize he will never return. As any mother would, she lets out wails and sobs — these, the sages teach, correspond to the blasts of the shofar. And to this day, when we hear the shofar, we should let the cries and sobs of our enemy’s loved one penetrate our soul.
Let’s take a second to let that teaching penetrate.
It’s beautiful and challenging. And you may be asking: How can I possibly do this, Rabbi, in a time when the term “enemies” feels very real and close to home?
To answer this, I invite all of us to consider the model of Rachel Goldberg-Polin. Rachel is the mother of Hersh Goldberg-Polin of blessed memory who was murdered just a few weeks ago in Hamas captivity. Rachel became known for her tireless activism to raise awareness of the plight of the hostages — but I hope her legacy to her fellow Jews and the world will also be her tender and capacious heart. A heart that held her aching pain while steadfastly holding the pain of those on the “other side.”
.For me, one of the most moving examples of this is the poem Rachel delivered at the UN on the 67th day of Hersh’s captivity. One section reads:
And I know that way over there
there’s another woman
who looks just like me
because we are all so very similar
and she has also been crying.
All those tears, a sea of tears
they all taste the same.
Can we take them
gather them up,
remove the salt
and pour them over our desert of despair
and plant one tiny seed.
A seed wrapped in fear,
trauma, pain,
war and hope
and see what grows?
If Rachel, who endured pain that most of us can only imagine could hear the cry of Palestinian mothers, how can we not? What might happen if we actively practiced listening to the pain of otters, even our enemies, as a practice of empathy? And what might be possible, in any sphere of life, if we could cultivate capacious hearts that can hold the pain of the other, even as we hold our own?
#3: Extending Empathy Freely and Without Condition
The destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE was a tragedy of epic proportions. The sages attempted to make sense of the catastrophic loss of our people’s religious and spiritual center and argued that the Temple was destroyed due to “sinat chinam” — baseless hatred. Internal strife, mistrust, and indifference left the society susceptible to outside forces that came to topple it down.
Generations later, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, chief rabbi of Palestine in the early 20th century, offered a tikkun (fixing or addition) to the rabbinic teaching. Rav Kook taught: “If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with baseless love — ahavat chinam.” Rav Kook saw this not as a temporary remedy to society’s troubles, rather as the ideal way to live our lives.
You might be thinking — this is now going a little too far. But hear me out! To me, Ahavat chinam, is not a command to love every single person you meet, which is impossible. Rather, consider Ahavat Chinam as a stance, or practice, in which we seek to embody empathy and compassion. It is a way of being in which we say “no matter what the world throws at me, I am going to do my best to answer with the most loving and compassionate response I can muster.”
Let’s take the example of Derek Black. Black grew up the child of a former grand wizard of the Ku Klux Klan and the godchild of KKK leader David Duke. As a rising star in the white nationalist movement, Derek went off to college firmly entrenched in those beliefs. The first semester of college, no one knew Derek’s background.
After a semester, word got out and Derek was ostracized. Yet it was at this moment that Matthew Stevenson, an Orthodox Jew and fellow classmate, along with some other Jewish friends invited Derek for Shabbat dinnert. Derek recalls a long back and forth with these friends on the arguments of white supremacy. Derek would bring studies to support a racist framework -and they would come back with articles that disproved these ideas. After two years of these exchanges, Derek publicly renounced white nationalism.
Derek Black’s example of change is very important. But what I want to lift up today is the ahavat chinam, baseless love and compassion of Matthew Stevenson and the Jewish students. They had every right to ostracize Derek, given Derek’s anti-Semitic and anti-minority views. Instead, they decided to be steadfast in the face of hate, offering their compassion and empathy. They remained committed to keeping Derek in the conversation and helping Derek find a new path forward. And this is extraordinary.
Now, if I am being honest, I am not sure that I would have the ahavat chinam, now or even if I was a 20 year old college student, to invite somelike like Derek to my Shabbat table. I don’t think I would. And I think the world we inhabit has gotten smaller than it was in 2013. Yet, I think the story of Derek’s Jewish friends can and should inspire us to consider:
- What steps, big or small, can I take to live a life of love and compassion?
- Can I stand firm in who I am and what I believe, while also opening my heart to hear and see the other as they are, knowing that we are all on a path to becoming better versions of ourselves?
*****************
There is an election coming in 32 days that will create very different outcomes for our country and our country’s future. There is a war on multiple fronts in Israel and division in our communities.
Why is cultivating empathy at this moment so crucial?
Because there will be a day after.
Because we hope to rebuild our country and civil society, no matter the outcome.
Because we have to find a way forward as a Jewish people.
Because living with so much pain, fear, and distrust is not helping anyone.
Because it goes against our very human nature: to connect to one another.
And mostly, because it is Rosh HaShanah. Today, we set our vision for the world we want to live in, and we consider the sources and practices that will help us realize this vision.
For no matter what is happening around us, we can choose empathy and thus soften our hardened hearts, build bridges, repair community and relationships, and reconnect with our humanity and the humanity of others.
The world we want to see begins today. Let’s get to work.
Shana Tova.
Sources:
-Midrash on Seat of Din and Rachamim: Vayikra Rabbah 29:3)
-Cherubim; Exodus 25:20 vs. Chronicles 3:13, Talmud Baca Batra 99a
-Dylan Marron: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=waVUm5bhLbg
-Sisera’s mother: Talmud Rosh HaShanah 33b
-Sisera peering out the windo: Judges 5:28
-Rav Kook Ahavat Chinam — https://ravkooktorah.org/TISHA-AV-70.htm
-Derek Black — many sources including https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Derek_Black and https://www.npr.org/2018/09/24/651052970/how-a-rising-star-of-white-nationalism-broke-free-from-the-movement and https://onbeing.org/programs/derek-black-and-matthew-stevenson-befriending-radical-disagreement/
For further reading on empathy:
https://www.verywellmind.com/how-to-develop-empathy-in-relationships-1717547
