October 30, 2021
Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,
October 30, 2021 – 24 Cheshvan 5782
People Remember Those Who are Present
with Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
It was a hot summer day in 2008. Rick Mangnall was driving from his rural trailer home in Three Rivers to work at the Community College in Visalia. Living out in the wilds of California, Rick was used to encounters with wildlife. He was used to scorpions hiding out in his clothing drawers and popping out suddenly to attack. He was quite adept at smashing them. But that day, he didn’t see the scorpion that must have hidden away in his clothes. He didn’t notice it until he was driving down a granite-lined street and suddenly felt the scorpion sting his back. In shock, he jerked the wheel and his car veered off the road, straight into the granite wall, and then went airborne. He landed upside-down, suspended by his seat belt.
Rick remembers that scorpion sting and the accident, but he also remembers a moment which changed his life forever. As he hung from his seatbelt, he saw an old white Ford truck stop across the way. An immigrant man got out of the car and came over to him. He put his hand on Rick’s shoulder and just stood there with him. Rick was worried the guy might get in trouble, he knew the ambulance and police were coming. He tried to tell the guy he could go, but the man clearly couldn’t understand him. He didn’t speak any English. But what he did understand, didn’t require language. He understood that Rick was in a tough spot, and stood there with him, quietly offering support. This year, when Hidden Brain put out a call for unsung heroes, Rick shared this story. A full 13 years after his accident, the moment he still thinks about the most is that man who stood by his side. As he shared on air, “I wish I had thanked him…”
If Rick could speak to this man, what would he have thanked him for? For stopping? For standing with him? For putting a hand on his shoulder? This man didn’t call the ambulance or the police or the fire department. He didn’t have medicines to help Rick and wasn’t able to cut him out of the car. He couldn’t sort through his insurance challenges and didn’t drive him to the hospital. So why is it that 13 years later Rick is still thinking about him?
Maya Angelou once said, “at the end of the day, people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.” What we remember is presence. We remember the people who are with us. We remember the people who stop, not to solve our challenges, but to be with us as we face them down.
That’s something that Isaac deeply understands in our parsha today. He’s a survivor. He’s survived a challenged home, survived the loss of a brother and a mother-figure, he’s survived attempted filicide on the mountain, the betrayal of a God who would instruct a father to tie his son on the altar. When we find him in our parsha, he is alone in the field. Our rabbis imagine him out there praying, but I often think of him more like Rick Mangnall, hanging from his seatbelt, facing the intensity of what just happened and waiting for help to arrive.
Just then a white Ford parks across the way. Two figures emerge over the horizon riding on camelback. As Eliezer and Rebecca approach, Rebecca sees him for the first time. He is so pained. The rabbis teach that his face was disfigured in the Akedah, leaving scars that she can see, physical marks of his emotional pain. Rebecca sees him and is overcome with emotion. She falls off her camel. She comes down to be with him.
Theirs is the first love story. The first time the word אהבה appears in the Torah. When Isaac brings her home to his mother’s tent, the Torah teaches that וַיֶּֽאֱהָבֶ֑הָ וַיִּנָּחֵ֥ם יִצְחָ֖ק אַֽחֲרֵ֥י אִמּֽוֹ Isaac loved her and he was comforted after the loss of his mother.
What did Rebecca do to earn that love? The text doesn’t show her hugging him, it doesn’t show her kissing him or feeding him or caring for him. What did Rebecca do? She left her life behind and stopped what she was doing to show up for Isaac. She is present. And that makes all the difference.
Presence matters. When young people come to us and tell us about struggles at school, it’s so tempting to explain what they should do. What they should say, who they should talk to, what they should do differently. We forget that what our young friends need isn’t answers, but presence.
When friends come to us with relationship challenges, we think they’re asking for our advice, we think we understand what is happening and can help them. We forget that what they need isn’t answers, it’s presence.
The truth is, all of us walk through this world like Isaac, facing the pain of what was and hoping that someone will stop what they are doing and see us. Hoping that someone will be present.
That presence can be transformative. Let me share one more story. This year, Southwood High School in Shreveport, Louisiana was facing a crisis. Rival gangs in the school were attacking students in the hallways, clashes were escalating into full-out brawls and the sounds of police sirens and raised voices were becoming a regular soundtrack. It got so bad that in 72 hours, 23 students were arrested (that doesn’t include the number of students who faced in-school consequences, suspensions, and expulsions for their behavior.) Local news included coverage of violence at the school with video footage caught on security camera and the dire announcement that no amount of police presence or increased security seemed to make a difference.
Michael La’Fitte II, a local parent, gathered a group of dads to talk about what was going on at Southwood High School and what they could do to make a difference. As they talked, they realized that they were best equipped to support these kids by just being themselves. They called themselves “Dads on Duty,” and started showing up to Southwood High School with homemade t-shirts, dad jokes and love.
Now every day, students are greeted by a cheery group of dads wearing “Dads on Duty” t-shirts. They say good morning, ask them about how they’re doing, tease them and share bad jokes, and when class has started, they do a sweep and make sure everyone has made it to where they need to go. Since the dads have started showing up, there have been exactly zero incidences of violence on campus. No more police calls or frantic requests for back-up. No more fights. More kids are going to class. And the overall environment has improved significantly. As one student recently shared on CBS news, “I immediately felt a form of safety…. we stopped fighting.” Another student added that since the dads started showing up, “the school has just been happy—you can feel it.”
These dads don’t have any special training. They aren’t school psychologists or criminal justice experts. They’re not teachers or trained mediators. They’re just dads. They’re dads who show up and see the potential in every student. If you look up this story online, you’ll see fabulous interviews with students who talk about what these dads have done. How is it that they’ve gotten more students to go to class? One teenager looks up at the reporter, “have you ever seen the look?” The dads laugh reflecting about it. They know that not every student has a father figure at home. They know that not every student has an adult in their life who sees them. But every student at Southwood High School now sees a group of dads who show up, not because it’s their job or because they have to, but because they care.
We’re not all dads, but we’re all on duty. Every day, we walk by schools in need, people in pain, problems in need of solving. And even though we have no official training, we know how to stop our trucks, how to get off our camels, how to show up. “At the end of the day, people won’t remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.” People remember those who are present.