September 21, 2024
Author(s): Rabbi Wes Gardenswartz,
Parashat Ki Tavo
Put Them Into a Story
September 21, 2024 — 18 Elul 5784
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
This morning has been so beautiful. And an example of life imitating art. The prophet Isaiah talks about a great light shining. Ari and Zoe talked about that light. And they embody that light. Our bride and groom, Beth and Adam, and their parents Marlene and Errol, may he rest in peace, and Cindy and Jon, embody that light. We know what to do with this light and this simcha: savor it, feel it deeply, do not let it go unappreciated.
This morning reminds me of a conversation I recently had with a good friend I have known for over forty years. We were at a wedding in Lakewood, New Jersey, after the chuppah, before dinner. We were sharing a scotch and reflecting on one curious aspect of the human condition. Both of us are in our early 60s. He said I have so much good in my life. So much joy and blessing. And, I also have a lot of sorrows, problems that do not have solutions, pain that just is and must be borne. I know what to do with the joy, he said. But I always wonder: what am I supposed to do with the sorrows?
What are we supposed to do with our sorrows? Other than doing our best to not let our sorrows derail our life, is there some helpful way to think about how to handle our sorrows? This question was ringing in my head when I was reading a fabulous new book by David Brooks called How to Know a Person. Brooks’ central claim is that the ability to see other people deeply, and to be seen deeply by other people, are skills that we can work on and get better at. One of those skills is the ability to see our life as a story that has a dramatic arc. Brooks describes the work of a psychology professor at Northwestern named Dan McAdams whose academic expertise is helping ordinary people construct their personal narratives–how they tell the story of their lives. McAdams invites research subjects to come to campus and offers them money for four hours of their time, where he will ask them questions designed to elicit their life story. He asks them to reflect on the high points of their lives, the low points, the turning points. In the course of their four-hour session, McAdams reports something remarkable happening: Half the people end up crying as they tell the story of their lives, especially as they share the hardest parts. And at the end of the session, most people feel elated that they were asked about their life story, and that somebody was interested in hearing it. Most told McAdams that he was the first person to ever ask them to share their life story, and that it was so meaningful to do so, many of the research subjects did not want to be paid. They give their research fee back.
In his chapter urging his readers to think of our life stories, of our high points, low points, and turning points, David Brooks quotes a Danish writer named Isak Dineson who said: “All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story.”
All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story. When I read that, I thought of the question of my friend. I know what to do with joy in my life, but what am I supposed to do with the sorrows? Isak Dineson’s insight is so powerful. Put our sorrows into a story, and that will help us bear them.
That is what happens in our Torah reading this morning. The farmer in ancient Israel takes first fruits to the temple in Jerusalem and there offers the story, the narrative, of the Jewish people. Our ancestors went down to Egypt. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed up with bitter bondage. We cried out to God. God heard our plea. God freed us. God took us to the land of Israel. I am a farmer in Israel. I now bring to the temple the first fruits that come from this land which God gave me and my people.
This story has the three Dan McAdams prompts. Low point. Slavery in Egypt. High point. The Exodus. Turning point. Entering the land of Israel and settling into ordinary days as a farmer.
Put our sorrows into a story. Put 430 years of slavery into a redemption story where we go from slavery to freedom, and where we are commanded ever after to have extra compassion for the oppressed because we were once slaves in the land of Egypt. And where we are reminded to be acutely aware of and grateful for the good in our lives because we know only too well how fragile and fleeting it all is.
What does all of this mean to us? Who among us does not walk around with sorrows? Who among us does not live with pain that has no immediate solution? Who among us does not love people who are suffering in ways that we cannot solve? What do we our sorrows? We put them into a story, into a redemption story, where somehow, in some way, we become better, stronger, wiser, more compassionate, more resilient, because of how we dealt with those very sorrows we are bearing.
A stunning example of putting our sorrows into a story that makes those sorrows bearable took place Thursday night. Shohei Ohtani, a baseball player for the LA Dodgers, was one of the most gifted pitchers in the history of MLB. His statistics as a pitcher were legendary—strikeouts, earned run average, opponents’ batting average. A young pitcher, he was on pace to be one of the most accomplished pitchers ever. Then he injured his elbow and required Tommy John surgery, a big deal. In fact he has now had two Tommy John surgeries. He cannot pitch now.
To lose your gift, especially a preternatural gift like Shohei Ohtani’s pitching, is a great sorrow. Imagine doing what you do best. Imagine doing the thing that gives you most satisfaction and self-esteem. And one day you can no longer do it. You lose your gift, the thing that makes you you. That would be a sorrow.
What does Shohei Ohtani do? He does not want his life story to be I used to be a great pitcher; then I got injured; I can no longer pitch. So he puts his sorrow into a different story. He focuses instead on hitting and stealing bases.
Thursday night his story reached its acme. He became the first player in the history of Major League Baseball to hit 50 homeruns and steal 50 bases in the same season. Major League Baseball was founded in 1876. That was a long time ago. He is the first player ever, the founder and the only member of, the 50/50 club. On Thursday night, this historic night, he pulled this off with great flair. He went 6 for 6 from the plate, got 10 runs batted in, 3 homers, 2 doubles, 2 steals, 4 runs. He is still recovering from Tommy John surgery. He still cannot pitch. He still cannot use this gift for which he was once most famous. But Thursday night put an exclamation mark on the fact that his story is not that he lost pitching. His story is that he found new ways to shine.
We all have sorrows. We did not ask for them. We do not want them. We do not deserve them. But here they are.
What story can we put our sorrows into that will be a powerful redemption story? Shabbat shalom.