13 minute read
RABBI MEYER LANIADO
THE EPIDEMIC OF LONELINESS
BY RABBI MEYER LANIADO
Vincent Van Gogh penned these poignant words in a letter to his brother, Theo, in June 1880 expressing his profound loneliness.
While we may not admit our own loneliness, many of us know at least one person who can relate to this sentiment. Even before COVID-19 and its consequent social isolation, loneliness was reported as being experienced by three in five Americans.1 Social isolation and loneliness were pronounced a behavioral epidemic due to their widespread presence across Europe, America, and China. 2
Loneliness is not only harmful emotionally and psychologically – it also takes a serious toll on our physical health, significantly increasing mortality rates. Dr. Vivek Murthy, our 19th Surgeon General, has made it his mission to combat what he calls the ‘loneliness epidemic.’ He wrote in a Harvard Business Review article that the pathology he witnessed most often when caring for patients was loneliness, not heart disease or diabetes.3 The CDC reports that loneliness leads to a 29% increased risk of heart disease and a 32% increased risk of stroke, while other studies show that loneliness could decrease one’s health as much as obesity, physical inactivity, air pollution, and smoking 15 cigarettes per day. 4
Some countries have elevated the loneliness epidemic to the highest levels of priority, including the United Kingdom which established a Commission on Loneliness, and set in place a Minister of Loneliness to develop and implement a national strategy to combat loneliness. In 2018, they published a report on grappling with loneliness, laying out a plan to address the problem of loneliness and help in implementing solutions. They note that “it is possible to be isolated without feeling lonely and conversely to feel lonely while surrounded by people.” 5
I have found this to be true in my experiences with congregants, as one shared before the pandemic: “I’m in a city full of people but I feel completely alone.” Pre-COVID, this person was working with colleagues and social with family and friends, yet they felt isolated. This may be counter to our view of loneliness, which we generally perceive as being alone, without human interaction. Yet, many people, at least before the era of Zoom and remote everything, sit across from and interact with us while feeling completely disconnected.
A recent CIGNA study found that loneliness is more prevalent among younger than older generations: “Nearly eight in 10 Gen Zers (79%) and seven in 10 millennials (71%) are lonely, vs. half of boomers (50%).” 6 Before COVID-19, these young adults attended high school and college classes regularly, surrounded by others their age,
yet felt disconnected. This is because loneliness is not aloneness or solitude, both of which can be healthy. Loneliness has less to do with the number of people around you and more to do with whether you feel seen and known by those people.
As my wife, Talia, so eloquently portrayed loneliness in an unpublished poem: “It is standing alone at a party, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly – knowing no one, afraid that no one wants to know you. It is being the only one in the room holding your opinion, your values, wondering whether you are the crazy one or everyone else is.”
It is the feeling of being physically seen yet invisible, of others not interested in getting to know you or understanding what you have to offer the world, what your unique passions and ideas are, and why. How lonely it is not to connect on this level with any of the possibly tens of people one speaks to each day.
One reason that individuals feel lonely is they realize that many of our social interactions are transactional. Too often, the routine greeting “How are you?” is a perfunctory question we ask, not seeking to receive a sincere response but to follow up with our next question, “Could you do the following for me?” We are looking to leverage the relationship rather than deepen it. We are not truly inquiring about the other’s wellbeing, rather attempting to maintain our reputation as a kind and thoughtful person, but in fact we are offering an empty platitude, not an outstretched hand.
We have become so accustomed to others solely reaching out or connecting when they desire something from us that we are caught off guard when someone genuinely asks how we are doing, waiting for us to move beyond the standard, “I’m good,” to what lies beneath the surface. While being transactional is necessary in many of our relationships, one way to counter loneliness and be present for others is to dedicate one or two interactions a day to truly listen and care, without an ulterior motive or planned outcome in mind.
Abraham, our forefather, serves as a paradigm of this, expanding out of his immediate circles to connect and show concern for others. The Torah relates in surprising detail how he cared for his ‘guests’ as a model for how we should reach out to others with genuine care (Beresheit 18:1-8).
Abraham offers his guests, “Take bread, satisfy yourselves, and then you may continue on your way (Beresheit 18:5).” Understanding that they would initially refuse, he sent the message that he would like to give and is expecting nothing in return. He had no request for them to stick around, hear a pitch, or even stay in touch. He told them they could carry on with their journey, knowing he would likely never see them again and have no opportunity to ask for a favor in the future. (He didn’t offer his business card or Instagram handle.)
Furthermore, he was proactive, sensitive, and aware. He sat outside his tent, knowing that there are people who need help and will not seek it out. He did not wait as Lot did for someone to happen past him. He actively searched for someone to help, ran to greet them when he did, and expressed that he was at their service. He did this not as a tedious obligation but as an opportunity for which he was grateful and excited. He rushed to have fresh bread made for them from fine, high-quality flour and ran towards the field to select his choicest cows for steak, ribs, and a roast. The most important part, however, was not the carefully prepared meal, but what is expressed: he was present with them and empathetic to their needs. His actions went beyond being merely polite or transactional. He could have felt he had done his duty and walked away to resume managing his multitude of flocks and other business ventures. Instead, he waited on his guests, staying with and tending to them, showing genuine caring (Beresheit 18:8).
This powerful lesson demonstrated by Abraham over four thousand years ago was recognized by Dr. Vivek Murthy as he wrote in his book Together, “What often matters is not the quantity or frequency of social contact but the quality of our connections and how we feel about them.” 7 The cure to loneliness is not simply interacting or even giving – it is being present and authentic, actively focusing on and lending an ear to another human being. It is letting the other person know they are not simply a task to cross off your list or a deposit in your emotional bank account to enable a future withdrawal for a favor. It is being there for another person even if there is no benefit to you, as Abraham was there for his guests, attentive, caring, and other-focused.
continued on p. 15
KJ CHESED COMMITTEE
Do you feel isolated and lonely? Do you need an errand done due to COVID-19 or an ailment? Do you need accompaniment to a doctor’s appointment?
The KJ Chesed Committee can help with all these things. If you would like to be contacted by a smiling friendly volunteer, or you know someone who might benefit from the services offered, please contact kjfriendlyvisit@gmail.com
PASSOVER REFLECTIONS
BY RABBI DANIEL AND RACHEL KRAUS
As we approach the Holiday of Passover, once again against the backdrop of a global pandemic, we invite you to use these three thought-provoking reflections as an aid in your preparation for the Holiday.
Questions are at the Core The Seder facilitates an introspective process comprised of discussions, symbols, singing, ceremony, and questions. The Sages have designed a structure that supports a journey of discovery, to experience what redemption and freedom truly are. While the Seder only comes twice (or once for those in Israel) per year, sometimes the four questions are skirted for a more pressing question, “When is it time to eat?”, prompting a rush through the sections of the Rabbis, and the strange counting of the plagues, so that we move from Mah Nishtanah to Dayenu in under an hour.
Rabban Gamliel taught Kol shelo omar shlosha devarim eilu b’pesach, lo yatza y’dei chovto, in order to fulfill your obligation of the mitzvah of vihigadita li’vincha, to relate the story of the exodus of Egypt, you must refer to three things: Pesach, Matzah and Maror! • Pesach refers to the pascal lamb offering. • Matzah refers to the unleavened bread that we eat. • Maror refers to the bitter herbs that we eat.
So essentially, all you need to do is to refer to these three things (not more than a few minutes) and you will have fulfilled your obligation! And the Haggadah helps us by presenting three brief passages that detail these three mitzvot. What is most fascinating, is that within each of these passages, we ask the same question - Al shum ma? - for what reason?
Based on Rabban Gamliel, we only need to recite and reference these three: there is no need to understand, inquire and ask. However, in light of the fact questions are central to Jewish identity, seeking relevance, meaning, understanding, depth and knowledge, it is for this reason that the asking of questions comes right to the heart of our Seder experience. We encourage our children to ask, to inquire, to be insatiably curious. We encourage discovery, and, as they enter into adulthood, to never stop asking questions.
The “al shum ma” needs to be an integral part of our Jewish experience and a constant feature of our lives. As we head into Passover eve, and sit around the Passover table, we celebrate curiosity, discovery and questioning.
Ma Nishtanah ReMix The Seder is thoughtfully, and by design, a fully immersive sensory experience, appealing to all the senses: sight, smell, taste, touch and sound. While the Hagaddah has many memorable songs and favorite texts, there are few as beloved and nostalgic as the Mah Nishtanah, the Four Questions. Often translated as, “How is this night different from all other nights?”, there is in fact another translation born from the root word, shin, nun, hay, lishanot, to change. Mah Nishtanah, then could mean, what has changed?
1. What has changed in my life since this time last year? 2. What has changed in my consumption? Consumption of media, Torah, influences?
3. What has changed in my outlook? Am I bitter? Am I resilient?
4. What has changed in my self-worth and self-respect? Have I evolved and matured through this trying time? Did I develop critical skills, bad habits, negativity or positivity? 5. What has changed in my personal comfort? Have I forced myself out of my comfort zone? Have I learned to relax and kick back, or under these conditions am I unfocused?
At the end of the Maggid section, the Haggadah states, “In every generation a person is obligated to regard himself as if he had come out of Mitzraim.” That is quite an obligation. I can pretend, I can imagine, and I can try to picture what it was like, but, even with the entirety of the Seder experience, it seems like an impossible demand to fulfill. It should have said, “In every generation imagine what it would be like if you had come out of Mitzraim.” That would at least seem more reasonable.
We commonly translate Mitzraim as Egypt, but the word Mitzraim has another meaning. In the book of Tehillim (Psalms) Chapter 118:5, it reads, “From the metzar, the straits or abyss, I called for God.” The word metzar or Mitzraim refers to a position of hardship, a place of despair, or a state
of existence that is suffocating, narrow or limiting. The Exodus from Mitzraim was not just a geographic liberation. It represented a complete shift in the inner identity of the Children of Israel. Similarly, the Seder commemorates that geographic exit from Egypt and a parallel spiritual exit from our personal metzar (confined spaces). Egypt was just a place. We can always leave Egypt, but the goal is to leave Mitzraim.
At the Seder, we commemorate a historic moment and rise to a personal challenge. If we find ourselves caught in our own Mitzraim, we can be confident that like the Jews from Egypt, we will ultimately be redeemed, as well. May each of us experience such liberation at the Seder this year.
At Odds with Hallel on Seder Night Towards the end of Maggid the Haggadah states, b’chol dor vador chayav adam li’rot et atzmo ki’ilu hu yatza mi’Mitzraim. “In every generation a person is obligated to regard himself as if he himself (or herself) had come out of Mitzraim.” Following this declaration, the Haggadah leads us into a short form version of Hallel. Why is it necessary to recite Hallel at this point in the Seder when there is a dedicated Hallel section following Birkat HaMazon (Grace After Meals)? Furthermore, whenever Hallel is recited for the other Festivals, a bracha, a blessing is recited: Asher kidishanu bi’mitzvotav vi’tzivanu li’kro et ha’Hallel, “Blessed are you, God, Who commanded us to recite Hallel.” Why is there no blessing on the Hallel of the Seder? And why do we recite it twice, once during Maggid and again during Hallel?
Rabbi Lamm, z”l, once shared an idea quoting Rabbi Ze’ev Soloveitchik, who explains that there are two types of Hallel. There is the Hallel of kri’ah, reading or proclaiming the glory of God, and the Hallel of shira, singing and melodizing our praise of God. Rabbi Ze’ev Soloveitchik explains that the Hallel of kri’ah is historical, recounting of God’s miracles and glory. In contrast, the Hallel of shira is a reliving of His embrace, a re-experiencing of a palpable presence that is profound and transformational.
We do not need a bracha for Hallel at the Seder. We do not need to be commanded to sing our hearts out as we experience the absolute presence of God and His unconditional and unabashed love for us, His people. We do not need to be told to express gratitude when we truly feel the glory of the presence of the Almighty. No one needs to tell a groom to say “I love you” to his new bride. No one needs to remind a new parent to hug their newborn baby. No one needs to be commanded to express their gratitude when they underwent an dramatic and profound Divine encounter.
The Seder is engineered and architected to help us achieve a closeness, a rendezvous, with Hakadosh Baruch Hu. Through experience and the immersive environment of symbols, questions and discussions, we should each arrive at a place that we, ourselves, in this generation, right where we are, experience the meaning of Geula, redemption. B’chol dor vador chayav adam li’rot et atzmo ki’ilu hu yatza mi’Mitzraim. “In every generation a person is obligated to regard himself as if he himself (or herself) had come out of Mitzraim.”
We should feel the authenticity of this declaration to a point that we not only spontaneously express our gratitude during the Maggid section, but even when it comes to a formal recitation of Hallel later in the Seder, there is no need for a blessing, no need to be commanded. We simply recite the Hallel of shira, a praise comprised of the power of our voice, declaring our gratitude, through song, melody and a profound sense of presence of Hakadosh Baruch Hu.
