In a previous article, we discussed the notion that man is wired to seek the fulfillment of his needs and wants. Freud, in his seminal work “Civilization and Discontent,” claimed that because of the lengthy gestation and child-rearing periods of humans, these memories are embedded in our psyche. As a result, we experience a life-long battle of “egotism” vs. “altruism.” He also believed that many of the neuroses he identified are the product of this struggle. I applaud the genius of Freud and his contributions to the field of psychology; however, I wonder how knowledgeable he was of the Jewish heritage he rejected. Indeed, if he was truly familiar with the content of the Torah, how then could he have failed to recognize that so many of his findings about the human psyche and character development already existed in the Bereishit stories? And given the content of these stories, would he still have been such a strong advocate of emphasizing the need to coddle the “ego” and satisfy the “id” (the seat of our baser needs)?
We know that Adam and Chava resided in Paradise, where the satiation of every desire was at their beck and call. Yet, when they were challenged with one prohibition, one privation, among all the other pleasures they enjoyed, they couldn’t get beyond the “me.” For Adam and Chava, it was all about “what I need” rather than “what Hashem, the other in the relationship, is asking of me.” Still, when given the opportunity to own up to their transgression, they “projected” the blame onto others. Chava accused the serpent and Adam added salt to the wound with his indictment against God: “It was the wife You gave me that caused me to sin.”
In this first story, our Torah emphasizes the import of transcending our egotistic tendencies by nurturing the tzelem Elokim, the Godly spark, within us. And as we explore the introductory parshiot of Bereishit, from the time of Creation to the moment when Avraham and Sarah proclaimed Hashem as the beneficent Creator and Master of the universe, we see the forward progression of mankind’s spiritual journey. Indeed, unlike the first couple, Avraham and Sarah enthusiastically spent all of their days expressing their acknowledgement and appreciation of God as their creator. In addition, they spontaneously spread the word within their circumscribed universe.
Moreover, because of their love and trust of God and mankind, when called upon to do so they were ready to sacrifice their time, the home of their birth and even Yitzchak, their long-awaited son.
I believe that the life lessons we glean from these beginning stories are intended to teach us how to address the very struggle Freud identified; yet, our Jewish ideology weighs in far heavier on the side of altruism and the willingness to transcend one’s own needs and wants in favor of others. I also believe that while this may initially appear to be a daunting task, committing oneself to this shift in perspective will not only ease the way in our spiritual journey, but also will positively transform the quality of our lives.
When I think of the challenges life sends our way and the level of support extended by our rabbinic leaders, family and friends, I often reflect back to the time in my life when Jack and I were expecting our first child, Tammy. We lived in Brooklyn, near my parents, my twin sister Adele, and first cousin Renee. I can recall the joy with which we prepared for this special phase in our lives. Jack understood my need for perfection and patiently accompanied me on the happy excursions when we selected the lovely English coach carriage, the beautiful baby furniture and the matching curtains and bed covers for the baby’s room. Everything had to be perfect. Yet, looking back, what strikes me at the core is the expectation that everything would turn out exactly the way I planned. After all, I was intelligent, organized, hard-working and health conscious—a perfectionist ready and willing to put in the effort to make things work. And so, when I came home from the hospital and found that the carriage came in the wrong color and the bedcover and curtains were too short, I was brought to tears; interestingly, I was also horrified at my own reaction. How could such foolishness bring on tears, disturbing the joy of the beautiful, healthy baby we just welcomed into our family?
I now understand that the birth of a baby often wreaks havoc on one’s hormones; but I also know that there was more to it than that. As a child of Holocaust survivors whose goal was to protect their children at all costs, I possessed a naïve belief that if we work hard enough and are good enough, we will be rewarded in kind. Yet, I also understand how lucky I was that I could cry over such trivial mishaps. And I know it was only because Jack was raised in such a compassionate and empathic home that I was the lucky recipient of understanding rather than criticism for my response. And to this day, when hearing relatively trivial complaints in my personal and professional lives, I can still hear the practical advice I received from my mom. Despite the personal trauma she experienced, she taught us that feelings and emotional responses are subjective. As a result, they deserve respect and sensitivity, even if we don’t understand where they are coming from. Little did I know that in just a few years, I would experience my first personal and very real tragedy.
After the birth of our second child, David, Jack and I moved to Fair Lawn, and we soon realized that we made the right choice. All that we heard about the young Rabbi and his Rebbetzin Yudin was true; in fact, the reality was beyond our expectations. Rabbi and Shevi Yudin were a couple who seemed to have no difficulty moving out of themselves and fulfilling the needs of others before their own, and Hakadosh Baruch Hu gifted them with the boundless energy they needed to fulfill the missions He set before them. Yet, I was unprepared for the reality that soon set in, when I would be the recipient of their abundant chesed.
For a few weeks after my move, I worried over the fact that my cousin Renee failed to call. She too was moving to New Jersey, and our moving dates were close in time. We planned to meet at a mall halfway between our homes. Renee was to contact me when she was settled, but she failed to do so. After questioning my mom, she admitted that Renee was very sick, hospitalized and beginning treatment for a deadly form of leukemia. I was horrified by the news, but also overwhelmed by the test of faith I experienced. Renee was the eldest child of the emotionally frail sister my mom carried through the death camps. She, along with my twin, were my best friends. We shared so many things, including the name of our grandmother, who perished in the Shoah. We had our first babies a few months apart, and when we walked with our carriages, we shared the dreams of a “beautiful house with a picket fence and backyard, in the suburbs”; this was the American dream for immigrants in the ‘60s. Now Renee’s dream of moving to the suburbs was dashed; and far worse, the prospect of her survival was minimal. I couldn’t help but wonder how our God of goodness could allow this to happen. After all, Renee’s parents already suffered the loss of their siblings and parents, and my uncle lost his first wife and child. Now they faced the possibility of losing the eldest of their two daughters.
I knew that with regard to my test of emunah, I needed to contact Rabbi Yudin. Yet, I never imagined he would come through in the way he did. Our meeting did not end with the words of empathy and compassion he was famous for. After listening to my story, he asked for Renee’s number, and from that day on a relationship was forged. He knew just what to say and visited with her on a weekly basis. She was impressed with the care, sensitivity and enthusiasm he showed for a fellow Jew and was inspired to belong to the world he represented. As a result, during her year of remission, the family became shomrei Shabbat, moved to a frum neighborhood, and Renee went to the mikvah for the first time. Her newfound faith and commitment never wavered; even when her remission ended after only a year, she never experienced a lapse in faith. During the last few weeks of her life, she showed no signs of questioning God and she expressed hope that her husband, Marty, would not allow her petirah to put a damper on the spiritual gains they made. The levayah and shiva reflected that of a committed family, and when Marty was ready, he was receptive to dating the frum single my sister Adele and I had in mind for him, and the rest is history. Rachel, Renee and Marty’s daughter, went on to marry a frum young man, and their four children attend yeshivot. Recently, the family made aliyah, extending their commitment beyond all of our expectations. Imagine, all of this because of a rabbi who did not hesitate to carry my burden and the burden of my cousin and her family.
The Torah and our Jewish history are filled with inspirational stories of Jews and gentiles who are winners in the war of “altruism over egotism,” and, as Rabbi Goldberg likes to say, “ordinary” people who do “extraordinary” things for others, yet nothing and no one can compete with the treasures in our own backyard. Forty years ago, Rabbi Yudin understood that which experts only recently discovered.
This year, during our stay in Boca for the second days of Yom Tov, as I listened to Rabbi Goldberg’s yearly Simchat Torah shiur for women, I once again saw the yad Hashem. While I began this article on the plane and knew that I wanted to tell this story, I had not yet decided on the overarching theme that would pull it all together. Yet, the moment I read the cover sheet on his handout of sources, I appreciated the relevance his topic, “Nosei B’ol Im Chaveiro—The Dos and Don’ts of Being a Good Friend in a Time of Crisis,” would have for my story. I also knew I would find the glue that would pull together all the pieces of my story, and he did not disappoint. Midway into his shiur he referenced a recent work of fiction, titled “Option B,” written by Sheryl Sandberg, who suffered the sudden loss of her husband. In one chapter, she speaks to the issue of the good intentions and unsolicited advice offered by those who want to help: “…the problem lies in the offer to do ‘anything’… While well meaning, this gesture unintentionally shifts the obligation to the aggrieved … Instead, just offer to do something.”
This really works! I know because I learned this lesson from Rabbi Yudin 40 years ago. Had he asked me the rhetorical question, “What can I do?” I know I would have responded, “Nothing, thank you for listening.” While I would have been grateful for his compassion, as well as feeling heard, little else would have been accomplished. Yet, he and Shevi learned from the masters, the Torah and their own role models. They are true examples of “Nosei b’ol im chaveiro,” and they always know just what to do. As a result of their efforts, countless lives within and outside of our community have been transformed. And even though I will never be lucky enough to cry over trivial mishaps, I am lucky in so many ways: our growing family baruch Hashem continues to follow the example of our parents, and we now live in two communities, led by two rabbinic families, as well as two sets of friends, who all share in the value of “Nosei b’ol im chaveiro,” and as a result are winning the war of “altruism” over “egotism.” I look forward to sharing more on this life-changing topic in future articles.
By Renee Nussbaum, PhD, PsyA
Renee Nussbaum is a practicing psychoanalyst with training in Imago and EFT. She also facilitates a chavruta in cyberspace on the weekly parsha, edited by Debbie Friedman. She can be reached at: [email protected].
