Menu
Menu
September 16, 2023
Author(s): Rabbi Michelle Robinson,
Rosh Hashanah Day One
When I Was Younger
September 16, 2023 — 1 Tishrei 5784
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
One of my closest friends tells of an impish childhood. Facing his parents’ discipline, whether after a homework assignment not turned in, a skirmish with his sister, or a fly-ball through the living room window, they would ask him, “How did this happen? Did you do this?” To which he would reply, “Yes – but that was when I was younger.”
We sometimes tease about that mantra, adorably employed to excuse any error, no matter how recent. We test its range: “You’re right,” I might say, “I was texting while we were talking on the phone just now, but that was when I was younger.”
It never fails to turn frustration into laughter – perhaps because of how ridiculous it is. Taken literally, it would be a spectacularly bad way to approach our wrongs. After all, even the worst things we ever did share one indelible truth: We did them when we were younger.
But back in April, I had an interaction that made me look again at my friend’s childhood plea and convinced me that “I did that when I was younger” is a phrase we all could use more of in this new year. In April we received a notice about a video course offered by a well-known organization for Jewish learning taught by one of our favorite scholars, Micah Goodman. It was perfect for the moment – about Israel’s greatest thinkers and their most enduring debates.
Micah had already taught in our own programming here, so Amy Klein, our resident Hartman guru, called him to ask if we should add this pre-recorded series too. His response took us by surprise. “Well…so here’s the thing,” he said. “I did that when I was younger.” Much younger, it turned out – he had recorded the series nearly a decade before!
Of course, nothing had changed about Herzl, Rav Kook, Jabotinsky, or Ben Gurion. But much, Micah explained, had changed about him. “I’ve evolved since then,” he said. “I’m not exactly the same person.”
Micah named a truth that is universal to us all but that we seldom embrace: Our experiences change us. Sometimes they change us in small ways; sometimes they change us so much that we don’t recognize the ideas or opinions of the person we were before.
Think back on your own life. Would the “you” of 20 years ago have expected the “you” that you have become? Do you like the same music? Have the same opinions? Stay out as late at night?
We so often shy away from that change with embarrassment, but what would shift in our lives if we were to embrace that as a source of strength?
What would it look like if we could apply what Carol Dweck popularized, and educators everywhere laud, as a “growth mindset” to our lives and the lives of others? If, instead of failure, we saw, to use the famous phrase, a “First Attempt In Learning?” If instead of cancelling others for something they said or did long ago, we got curious about where they are right now? If instead of saying, “I can’t call that friend again because of what happened last time,” we reframe: “I learned something then that can help me respond better today.”
At a time when there is so much pain in all corners of our world, from Maui to Morocco to our own homes, why raise this on one of our holiest days? Because psychological study after psychological study has shown that it is only when give ourselves – and others – the compassion to see that what we did is not what we always need to do, that we can truly change ourselves, and our world, for the better. And because it just so happens that that is what our Torah today says.
Every year I wonder at the choice of our Torah reading for Rosh HaShanah. Sure, there’s the solid start of a miraculous birth, but if you were choosing an inspiring text to start off the New Year, would you select a story of a mother so caught up in her own joys and grievances that she exiles another mother and young son?
Would you end with a long, dense, and seemingly disconnected story about a covenant where Avimelech turns to Abraham, our Abraham, and says, “Swear to me you will not lie”!?
A core principle of Biblical interpretation is that if someone insists on confirming, “You won’t lie to me, right?” we have to ask, “Why is he worried?” All it takes is a cursory glance to see that Avimelech has a clear and obvious basis for concern: Abraham did lie. He lied about Sarah – twice!
Why call that unflattering memory back into our minds? Because, in this coda to our Rosh HaShanah story, right when we assume we’re well past the real action, is a concrete template for the exponential growth we are all looking for today.
Yes, Abraham did lie. But that was when he was younger. Today, he doesn’t argue or obfuscate. He doesn’t deny or deflect. He confronts his failing honestly, reconciles with his past humbly, and in so doing, crafts a different future. So can we.
Author Harville Hendrix carries around a notebook in his pocket. The origin of that notebook was hard won. Years ago, he was on the threshold of divorce. He and his wife Helen had racked up so much frustration and anger that it felt like they could not even say “good morning” without sparking an argument. Whereas when they first met, all they wanted to do was be together, now all he wanted was to flee.
This is hard on any marriage, but Harville and Helen happen to be famous marriage counselors. Their books have sold more than 4 million copies worldwide, and they have personally counselled countless couples. So this was not a small problem.
They first turned to other therapists who affirmed their own research. A key component of healing any relationship is the ability to understand with empathy what shaped the other person’s actions: What old fears, failings, and frustrations your partner is filtering today’s experiences through.
The science was sound, but like most people, their go-to move in the heat of an argument was not exactly, “I totally get that you’d react that way because of how you were made to feel by Mrs. Murphy in kindergarten.”
There was a missing first step. Nothing would change, they realized, until they accepted of the other that they could change. She may have nagged, but that didn’t make her a nag. He may not have tidied up, but he was not just an obnoxious jerk who always left his socks in front of the hamper. George Bernard Shaw once famously quipped that the only sensible man he knew was his tailor because the tailor measured him anew every time. They had to be like the tailor.
And so, they imposed on themselves a rule: No matter how justified by their spouse’s actions, no put-downs allowed for thirty days. Try this at home!
No, “Oh, you decided to do the dishes for once,” or “Why do you always …?” Whatever the other had done before, even just moments before, that was then and this was now. They called their experiment “the Zero Negativity Challenge.” And it worked – mostly.
It turns out that in relationships – not just marriage but any close relationship – you cannot just take away the bad. Doing so is necessary but not sufficient. You have to add something good. That principle gave them an idea.
Every morning they would force themselves to look at each other and say three nice things. Also try this at home. Harville reflects that some days were so forced that all he could muster was, “Your hair looks nice.” But he kept coming up with three nice things every day. Which led, one day, to the notebook.
Helen’s biggest complaint about Harville was that he didn’t pay attention. He didn’t put her first. That had become their fixed narrative. It frustrated him to keep hearing of all the things he hadn’t done. What if, Harville wondered, he could start from today? So he bought himself a small notebook.
Without telling Helen what he was doing, at the end of the day he asked her, “Is there anything I can do for you tomorrow?” He took notes. The next morning, he started ticking off her list. The next night he asked again. Much sooner than they expected, they could not recognize the estranged individuals who routinely hurt each other so deeply before.
“I did that when I was younger” is not just a comfort; it is a challenge. It in no way excuses us from responsibility. In fact, it obligates us more deeply. If you say, “I did that when I was younger,” the question naturally arises: Okay, so now that you are older, now that you have learned, what will you do? That is a question that each of us, like Harville, must answer not just today but every day.
Some might say that that is the point of this entire holiday. “Today is the birthday of the world” – “HaYom Harat Olam.” Rabbi Gordon Tucker argues that phrase is more accurately translated, “Today the world is pregnant with possibility.” In other words, today we are on the precipice of a choice: Will we see ourselves and others as stuck by what we did, or will we shift our frame to create new conditions to chart a new path? Will we shore ourselves up in defensiveness, or will we summon humility to try something new?
Today invites us to start our own notebooks. If I was dismissive, that doesn’t mean I can’t listen with love right now. If I struggled with my drinking, that doesn’t mean I can’t set down this cup. If I was impulsive and hurt someone I care about yesterday, that doesn’t mean I can’t do better today. Our past does not have to define our future.
When do we stop saying, “I did that when I was younger”? This season suggests the answer is: Never. Every minute of every day of every year, we are learning. Which means we are still growing. Even this very second – we still have time. Take this moment to forgive yourself. To commit yourself. Whatever you carried in this door with you this morning – that was when you were younger. Now, what are you going to do about it today?