The Mental Health Seder Plate

 

Tomorrow night marks the beginning of Passover.  I am certain that most of us  will be keenly aware that this seder will be the second time we hold our Seders during the Pandemic.  Once again many of us are not  able to join loved ones in person this year. The year has taken a very heavy toll on us all. During the pandemic, 4 in 10 adults have reported symptoms of depression and/or anxiety, up from one  in ten before the pandemic. There has been an increase in the number of people reporting difficulty sleeping, focusing, working, and learning.   Consumption of alcohol and other drugs as well as overeating  has increased. There has been an overall worsening of chronic medical  conditions due to the worry and stress of the coronavirus and the social isolation as a result of it.

Therefore, I was intrigued when I came across “The Mental Health Seder Plate”, an interpretation of the Seder plate put out by the Blue Dove Foundation. The Blue Dove Foundation, based in Atlanta, was created three years ago to help address the problems of mental illness and addiction in the Jewish community and beyond.

For example, the Zeroah, or shankbone on our seder plate, has traditionally represented the “outstretched arm” through which G-d brought us out of Egypt. But it can be a reminder as well that at different times in our lives we are all in need of “an outstretched arm”. We need to remember that it is OK to accept help when it is offered to us. When we are in a better place, we can then extend our own arms to help others.

The egg on our seder plate traditionally represents one of the sacrifices made in the Temple on Passover during ancient times.  They highlighted  an interesting thing about  the  egg. The longer it is cooked, the harder it gets! So too, we need not be weakened by the flames of adversity. We too can be resilient. In our struggle to overcome, we can become even stronger.

The karpas, or parsley, represents the Spring and birth and growth. However, we dip the parsley in salt water, the symbol of tears. For us, it is a reminder that birth and growth are often accompanied by struggle and pain. Giving birth certainly involves  pain – and raising a family involves pain as well.  In fact, the traditional term in Yiddish for raising children is “Tsaar Gidul Banim” – literally, “the sorrow of raising children.” In order to experience the joys of parenthood, of seeing our children grow, we must inevitably endure the sorrows as well.

We eat the bitter herbs to remind us of the bitterness of slavery. This teaches us the importance of remembering the bitter times in our lives, as well as the sweet. We should not simply forget our personal struggles. Rather, there is a time and place to look at them directly and remember them. We have much to learn from the hardships and misfortunes in life.

The Charoset, of course, represents the bricks and mortar that our ancestors used when they were slaves in Egypt. It is also sweet to the taste. From a mental health point of view, the Charoset represents the hard work that goes into building a productive life; the sweetness the freedom that we can achieve from that very work. It is a reminder that when we feel hemmed in by our life circumstances we can be active participants in our own lives and work  change the things in our life that we do not like.

Despite our society becoming more enlightened and compassionate about mental health issues, there is still much we need to do. We often act as if anxiety, depression, addiction and other reactions to the stresses of life are some kind of peculiar afflictions that can be addressed by toughing it out, straightening ourselves up, putting our mind to it, and hiding it from others. Let our seder plate be a reminder to us that there is no shame in reaching out and getting help. That we can be strong in the broken places. That growth often involves pain, but it can lead us out of the narrow places we find ourselves, out of our own personal Egypt, and into freedom.

Shabbat Shalom

 

To Err is Human

 

Photo: Chris Liverani
 [Unsplash.com]

Very few people study the book of the Torah we begin this week, the Book of Leviticus, or Vayikra. I pity the poor bar or bat mitzvah student who has to summarize and find ways to relate to these portions , which deal mostly with the laws of animal sacrifice in all their bloody and gory detail. Yet over the years I have been consistently surprised by their ingenuity and creativity in finding meaning in parashas that are not particularly inviting or accessible! I know of one congregation that addressed this issue by creating the “Two Books of Moses”.  This congregation begins in Genesis and reads through the Book of Exodus in one year, skipping Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy entirely, then returning to Genesis again!     Their students never have to confront the difficulties posed by the Book of Leviticus.

Yes, I want to assure you that there is value in studying the Book of Leviticus. Of the many lessons one can glean from studying this Book is that everyone, in every strata of society, is capable of making a mistake. There is a specific sacrifice for a priest who makes a mistake; A different sacrifice for a chieftain who makes a mistake; Yet another for a common citizen who makes a mistake. There is even a sacrifice prescribed for an entire community that makes a mistake. The Book of Leviticus teaches us that honest mistakes are a part of life. Bringing a sacrifice is the way ancient Israelites were forgiven for their mistakes and could move on in their lives. 

 Recently I read about an experiment  that demonstrated how we human beings are averse to making mistakes.  A psychologist divided a class of fifth graders into two groups, and gave them a test.  One group was told they did really well on the test, and were praised for being "very smart".  The other group was told they did poorly on a test, but were told they "tried really hard."  Next, they were given a choice of two tasks. One task was very simple to accomplish, and the other much more difficult.  

 Ninety percent of the children who were told they "tried really hard" chose the more difficult task, but only half of the children praised for being "very smart" chose the more difficult task.  The authors hypothesized that children who were told they were "very smart" were less willing to take the risk of failing in the more difficult task.  They played it safe because they did not want to make mistakes, which perhaps could have impacted their self-esteem, or, how they thought they looked in the eyes of the researchers. Perhaps they did not want to disappoint themselves, or the people who were important to them. In trying to avoid mistakes, they stayed away from the riskier, more challenging but perhaps more rewarding venture. 

 The Russian composer Igor Stravinsky once said, "I have learned throughout my life as a composer chiefly through my mistakes and pursuits of false assumptions, not by my exposure to founts of wisdom and knowledge."  We need not fear making mistakes – as long, that is, as we can recognize them, rectify them, and don't keep making the same mistake over and over. Too many people refuse to recognize that they have made a mistake, and, out of stubborn pride, compound their missteps or slip ups and make it worse.

 As the Torah teaches us in innumerable verses on the subject of atonement that mistakes are an ever-present part of our lives.  Without taking the risk to make a mistake, we would all likely stay stuck in the exact same place in our lives, avoiding venturing beyond our comfort level, scarcely ever moving beyond what we had already mastered, hardly learning new things, feeling frozen in what we know that works.  Every mistake has a blessing hidden inside of it. The question is – can we recognize the mistake, and seize the blessing?

What We Can Learn from the Building of the Tabernacle

 

The Erection of the Tabernacle and the 
Sacred Vessels 1728 

This week we conclude our reading of the Book of Exodus. The Book of Exodus begins with our enslavement in Egypt, and follows with the story of the Ten Plagues, our leaving Egypt, and our receiving of the Ten Commandments at Mt. Sinai. The final half of the Book of Exodus is devoted almost entirely to the building of the Tabernacle, the portable place of worship in which G-d’s presence will dwell. 

We are told that G-d chose two men to oversee the construction of the Tabernacle. Those men were  Bezalel from the tribe of Judah and Oholiav from the tribe of Dan.  We are further told that G-d endowed them with a divine spirit of wisdom, insight and knowledge.

The careful reader will ask the question: “What is the difference between wisdom, insight, and knowledge? The Biblical commentator Rashi explains it this way: “‘Wisdom’ is that which a person learns from others; ‘insight’ is that which one understands from the heart; and ‘knowledge’ is a gift from God.” In modern terms we might invoke the theory of multiple intelligences to understand this verse. Let me explain. This theory of multiple intelligences challenges the idea that humans are endowed with only one type of intelligence. The theory postulates eight different types of intelligence.  In the case of Bezalel and Oholiav, wisdom might be analogous to spatial intelligence, the ability to picture the world in 3D. This would be important in translating the detailed architectural plans for the Tabernacle that G-d gives Moses into reality on the ground.  “Insight” might be ‘interpersonal intelligence’, the ability to sense people’s feelings and motivations. This would be essential in harnessing the energies of others to cooperate in building the Tabernacle and its furnishings.   “Knowledge” is perhaps synonymous with ‘linguistic intelligence’, the ability to find the right words to describe what one means.  This too is an essential intelligence for the task at hand. Commenting on this verse, the medieval Spanish Biblical commentator Ibn Ezra notes that “there are many wise individuals who find it challenging to impart their knowledge effectively to others.” Thus, “linguistic intelligence” or the ability to communicate clearly what one means, would also be an important type of intelligence to possess. 

 

Recall as well that Bezalel is from the tribe of Judah, whereas Oholiav is from the tribe of Dan. The Tribe of Judah is the most prominent of the 12 Tribes of Israel. The Kings of Israel will all come from the Tribe of Judah. The Tribe of Dan is the least distinguished of all the tribes. Whereas the Tribe of Judah marches in the front as the Israelites are traveling through the Wilderness, the Tribe of Dan takes up the rear of the procession through the Sinai Desert. Their job is to pick up everything that the other tribes ahead of them drop by accident!

Therefore it is significant that the two men responsible for overseeing this communal enterprise are from these different social strata in Israel. The tribe of Judah marches at the head of the procession. The Tribe of Dan takes up the rear. This is a model of inclusivity, a symbol of broad participation. In building a community everyone's voice and talent  is welcome and required -- the wealthy, the poor, the clergy , the  congregants, men, women, LGBTQia+, people of color, the younger,  the older, the religious, the atheist….and so forth. 

Thus the choice of Bezalel and Oholiav as leaders of the building of the Tabernacle imparts an important message for us. Constructing a space filled with G-d’s Presence requires the range of skills, talents and intelligences that  emerge  only when we involve the diversity  within  our Jewish community. Whether in Biblical times or today, building a place for G-d demands the inclusion of everybody and a spiritual embrace of all.