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August 20, 2022
Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,
Parshat Eikev
August 20, 2022 — 23 Av 5782
Serving Gratitude
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
Serena Williams. Everyone, even the most sports illiterate, knows Serena Williams. Ever since she hit the professional stage in 1996, she has dazzled the world with her strength, skill, determination, and success. She won her first Grand Slam at 17, spent 319 weeks—more than 6 years—ranked as the No. 1 player in the world by the Women’s Tennis Association, has held all four Grand Slam titles at the same time twice, and has won more matches than all but 4 women in the history of tennis—and achieved that even though she would often turn down matches for which she qualified so she could focus on Grand Slams.
For me and so many other women, Serena has been not only a great tennis player, but also a very personal she-ro. As a young woman, I remember watching her, thinking about how amazing it was that she wasn’t afraid to be strong. She wore clothes that highlighted her muscles, that made her look like a superhero, and avoided outfits designed to be sexy. She was aggressive on the court and didn’t try to modulate her behavior to fit within a cultural norm of demure femininity. On and off the court, she was always laser-focused and clear, and as a teenager, I was most struck by the fact that people liked her not because she was trying to be someone else, but because she was comfortable in her own skin and people are drawn to those who have confidence.
Last week, Serena published an article in Vogue Magazine announcing that after decades of dominating the tennis world, she has decided to evolve and will soon stop playing tennis professionally. The article, titled “Serena Williams Says Farewell to Tennis On Her Own Terms—And In Her Own Words” made me think this was one more classic Serena Slam—a powerhouse woman who was moving on to another powerful vista and chapter of life with confidence and joy. I was surprised to learn just how much pain and vulnerability is wrapped up in this choice.
Serena writes, “I have been reluctant to admit to myself or anyone else that I have to move on from playing tennis…[every time] it comes up, I get an uncomfortable lump in my throat and I start to cry…I know a lot of people are excited about and look forward to retiring, and I really wish I felt that way…there is no happiness in this topic for me…I feel a great deal of pain. It’s the hardest thing that I could ever imagine…”
Why is Serena leaving tennis? It’s not because she feels like she’s achieved everything she’s dreamed of. She still has records she wants to break. She still has games she wants to play. It’s not because her body isn’t capable anymore. She is still strong and powerful and ready to go. No, Serena is leaving tennis because it is impossible for her to play tennis professionally and to bring another child into the world at the same time.
Serena fought to have it all. When she got pregnant with her first daughter, Olympia, she played and won the Australian Open while pregnant. She survived an intensely traumatic birth that left her bedridden for months and then managed to claw her way back from a C-section and multiple pulmonary embolisms to another Grand Slam final. She played while grappling with postpartum depression and while breastfeeding. But that all took a huge toll on her body and on her game. As Serena recently shared, “I never wanted to have to choose between tennis and a family. I don’t think it’s fair. If I were a guy, I wouldn’t be writing this because I’d be out playing and winning while my wife was doing the physical labor of expanding our family. Maybe I’d be more of a Tom Brady if I had that opportunity.”
Reading this article, I felt for Serena and the injustice of it all. It’s not fair that bringing humans into the world relies so heavily on women’s bodies. It’s not fair that players like Tom Brady and Roger Federer get to build families and have their dream careers without compromise, while women like Serena are forced to take time off to give birth, time which often derails their careers and impedes their progress in the world.
But there is more. This isn’t just an issue for Serena Williams or for working women who want to become parents, this is an injustice we all face. No matter how hard we work, no matter what resources we accrue, none of us will ever get to have it all. Life just isn’t fair like that.
If you’re in school, you know this. You can’t do every single extracurricular activity and attend every party and do your homework and sleep 8 hours a night. Something’s got to give.
If you’re an employee, you know this. It’s just not possible to be responsive to every email immediately while completing every task with complete focus while being social with colleagues and creating work-life balance. Something’s got to give.
If you’re a parent, this goes without saying. During the pandemic, everyone pretended that it’s possible to work and be present with kids at the same time without losing productivity or connection, but we all saw those moms screaming in the park, and we remember what it felt like to try to do it all. You can’t be 100% focused at work and 100% focused on your child—something’s got to give.
And that’s not to mention the moments we come up against the limitation of our physical beings. Many of us struggle with chronic health challenges, many of us struggle with fertility challenges, many of us struggle with mental health challenges. We struggle with wanting relationships that we don’t have, or we struggle because we want the relationships we do have to be different. We struggle with loneliness, and we struggle feeling smothered. We want what we can’t have.
What do we do when we see that we can’t have it all?
One option is to focus on the injustice of it all. That’s what Moses does. When Moses comes up against his limitations, he pitches a fit. Even though he’s been arguably the greatest leader of all time, even though he led millions of people out of Egypt and spoke to God face to face, even though he got to transmit God’s Torah not once, but twice, even though he got to lead the people to the edge of the Promised Land, when he learns that he can’t cross over the River Jordan, he can’t accept the fact that his dreams have been denied. According to Devarim Rabbah, he draws a circle and sits in it and tells God he’s not going to move until God gives him the chance to go into the land. When that doesn’t work, he begs. Please God, he asks, what if you changed me into an animal, a beast of the field—how about if I grazed on the land as a cow or a sheep? Or, what about if you changed me into a bird? I could fly over the land and just feast my eyes on its beauty. Instead of focusing on what he’s achieved, on what he has, Moses spends the end of his life bemoaning what he can’t have.
Now this perspective is understandable—it’s not fair that after all of Moses’ hard work, he was denied. But this reaction also generates misery. The more time you spend begging and pleading and whining about the injustice of it all, the angrier and more upset you will feel, and the less pleasant your life will become. That’s why the Buddhists teach their Noble Truths. They begin as follows: 1) Life is suffering. 2) Suffering is created by attachment—when you yearn for something you don’t have, the power of that yearning combined with the absence of what you yearn for will make you suffer. 3) If you can let go of your attachment, if you can be happy with what you’ve got, then you won’t suffer.
The Buddhists are smart. Don’t expect life to be fair. Life will never be fair. And the more you focus on how unfair it is, the more you focus on the injustice, the less happy you will be. Instead, you have to give up your picture. Focus on what you have; give thanks for what you’ve got.
Eventually, Moses gets there too. After his initial upset over being denied the opportunity to enter the land, Moses realizes that his approach isn’t getting him anywhere. On the contrary, his obsession with what is missing in his life is making him and everyone around him miserable. So he decides to change up his game. Instead of focusing on what isn’t, he focuses on what is. He starts reflecting with the Israelites about everything they’ve done together, about the blessings of his life, about the abundance of what he’s experienced. He starts being present in the moment. He writes poetry and prayers. He writes a Psalm—Psalm 90 in which he gives over the most beautiful and important teaching. למנות ימינו כן הודע ונבא לבב חכמה. Dear God, Moses beseeches, teach us to treasure each day, each blessing that we have, teach us to give thanks for what is so that we can find a heart of wisdom. Teach us to give thanks for what is instead of suffering for what isn’t.
For the student trying to juggle more than is humanly possible, focus on what you can do with grace and ease. Give thanks for what you’ve got.
For the employee trying to be responsive on every front and with every ping, remember that you are enough. It’s ok to focus on what you’re doing instead of worrying constantly about what you aren’t able to accomplish. Give thanks for what you’ve got.
For the parents struggling between work and kids and everything in between, take a moment to be present in this moment. You are enough. You are doing enough. Give thanks for what you’ve got.
Whatever it is that feels like it’s missing, whether that’s health or wealth or family or fame or time or love or joy, the more we obsess about what we don’t have, the less happy we will be. Instead of bemoaning what isn’t, give thanks for what you’ve got.
Serena gets this. She says she’s not retiring—she’s not focusing on what she isn’t doing. Instead, she’s evolving. She’s moving on to venture capitalism and to a new chapter of motherhood. She’s grieving what she’s lost, but she’s also reveling in the blessings of what she’s found. Though we’re not all tennis super stars, we all have the power to evolve like Serena. Life is truly a game. Play your cards, hit your balls, and give thanks for what you’ve got.