Safety is on my mind these days. I find myself reflecting on how fragile our safety really is. And I'm not talking about terrorism or anti-semitism. I'm talking about the slightly less bodily fears of being shouted down, turned-shoulder on, walked away from without a hello, being mocked or gossiped about, being put down or just not cared-for. I'm talking about the fear of chilly looks and clenched teeth, sighs or rolled eyes. In these contentious times, places that we didn't used to have to think much about can seem downright scary. If I go to a party, a meeting, a service or into a café, I often find that I brace myself a bit. Will I be safe there? Will others? Sometimes I try to get myself centered before I go -- "breathe in, breathe out, be calm, be kind…" And sometimes I still come home feeling pretty tender. As, I suppose, others may feel after seeing me. Sticks and stones and all that stuff, but it's amazing how much words, or the absence of words, can hurt us.
To understand safety a little better in this more personal sense, I have only to think about the company of my closest friends. I think that they know, when they are with me, that I might not be my very best that day. I may be raw. I may be cranky. I may be touchy. I may say things aloud that I haven't thought through. I may spout off about something and not even remember the topic the next time we are together. I may rail on about the same old theme twenty visits in a row. I may (well!) be boring or irritating. I try not to abuse their ears too brutally, but I feel safe in their company to be fragile and incomplete when that's how I am. And I hope I return the favor often enough.
I guess I believe that they have, somehow, decided it is worth being in my company even though… Somehow they feel that I am worth the trouble, and, I hope, the pleasure, whatever knot I may be worrying loose at any given moment. I am just about certain that they will do their level best to treat me kindly, and that -- in the oh-so-rare instances when they might be less than perfect themselves -- they will quickly make things right. They have decided, poor things, to cast their lot with me -- and I with them. We want well for each other. We take pleasure, way more often than not, in each other's being. Safety.
We don't often say these things out loud, but I believe that safety of this sort is a kind of covenant. It is more than civil behavior, though civil behavior is a good beginning. It is a decision. It is intentional regard for the other person's well-being. It is holding that other person in our own circle of concern, so that their fate matters to us. And hopefully in a circle of friendship this covenant is mutual.
Community is a slightly different animal than friendship (though I can't always tell the difference.) I don't necessarily pour out my heart out the same way with everyone in our community as I do with my poor, beleaguered best friends. There may be a bit more reserve there, entirely appropriate. I may just plain spend less time with people in my community who are not my close friends. I don't expect everyone in the community to know me as well as my intimates do, and I don't know as much about everyone either.
But I think that the covenant of community safety is essentially the same as is the covenant of safety between friends. For us to be in community together, it still has to matter to us how others are feeling and doing. We have to want the best for each other. We still need to hold the feelings of others in our circle of concern. If we haven't made that fundamental decision to want well for others, we may or may not be nice to them. But without that commitment, they are not safe.
It is my hope that at our community gathering on May 16, we will take a good, close look at the ways in which we create safety, or perhaps don't, for each other. It is entirely intentional that this meeting is being held during the omer, the period of counting between Passover and Shavuot. The omer is intended to be a period with echoes of Ellul, a time of introspection, for communities as well as for individuals. Each week of the seven-week period of the omer is associated with one of the sefirot on the Tree of Life as it is described in the kabbalah. Our meeting takes place in the week of yesod, which is sometimes called the week of bonding. It is the week when our higher intentions hit the material plane and where we bond or we don't.
In Israel when people greet each other they very commonly ask "Ma shlomcha?" (or "Ma shlomech?" if they are inquiring of a woman.) It's the way they say, "How's it going?" But it has a very specific and powerful meaning. "How is your shalom?" "How is your peace, your wholeness?" It might be useful for each of us, before coming to the community gathering on the 16th, to think over everyone we know in our Jewish community and, in our imaginations, to ask each person, "Ma shlomcha?" "Are you feeling whole?" "Are you at peace with me?"
If I have personally caused you to feel less whole or less at peace, I invite you to tell me. And I hope that, even as you do, that you would feel your care for me and your hope that I am well and whole. I want our Jewish community to be interesting and stimulating and spiritually enriching and all the rest. But above all, I want it to be safe for every person who enters it. I want it to be a place where we hold each other kindly, even if we are a bit raw, where every one of us will feel part of a circle of concern and hope for each other's good. If we can maintain this kind of sweet safety here in our community, it seems only a small leap to bring it to the rest of the world.
© 2004 Rabbi Margaret Holub
(home) (calendar) (info) (articles) (sponsors) (links) (bios) (reviews) (travel) (recipes) (projects) (photos) (art)
Updated 09/09/2004 (rge)