Yesterday, I had the honor of guest teaching a pastoral care and counseling class at Hebrew College. The topic was collective grief. The students asked many searching and insightful questions. One of them was about how I see God show up in times of collective grieving. Part of my response was to say that our desire to be together when we are scared, grief-stricken, and distressed is something I would call Divinity. The knowledge that we need each other; the instinct to reach for care and connection; the recognition that we can only survive together - all of these things are the spark of Divinity activated within us. They sustain life, they are the source of flourishing and creativity, they are the foundation of our moral life together, and they are worthy of our service. And we often come to know them in a new way when we are grieving.
I also said that grief, for many people, is an encounter with mystery - grief challenges our comprehension of the world and disrupts our acceptance of reality. Facing the incomprehensible as part of grief can, sometimes in surprising ways, feel similar to our lived experiences of Divinity - of feeling close to God, of feeling deep connection and meaning beyond what we understand, of simply being in relationship with something bigger than ourselves. God can become a companion to us in our grief when God feels big and unimaginable and mysterious enough to hold the magnitude of our grief.
As we struggle to get our bearings in the wake of the election, I’m struck by the many different layers of grief I’m noticing. Grief for all that we have already lost. Grief for the relentless, painful reality of Trump’s first four years as president, and what that did to our nervous systems, individual and collective. Grief for the truth that millions of Americans chose cruelty, division, fear, greed, and hate, knowing full well what they were choosing. Grief that there is no escape route, no other option except coexistence and interdependence with those forces of cruelty, division, fear, and greed and the grueling work of resistance. And grief, such deep grief, for all that we will lose. For our beautiful, nourishing planet. For all the families who will be torn apart. For all the lives that will be sacrificed.
I was grateful to be reminded multiple times this week how important it is to grieve. Grieving is part of the way our nervous systems heal, again and again and again. Grieving allows us to regain strength to face the next challenge. Grief is also a strategic necessity, a pathway to accepting reality so that we can respond to it.
I found these words from Rabbi Sharon Brous to be moving and helpful:
“And even as we grieve, we must remember: the allure of tyranny is that we go numb, we capitulate. We forget who we are, and that there is another way. We stop dreaming. When the political reality clashes with our deepest hopes for humanity, we must practice resistance - through compassionate listening. Through tender presence. Through curiosity. Through deep awareness of one another’s humanity. Through truth-telling. We must practice resilience. Patience. Fairness. Humanity. We must remember that we were born to love one another. That showing up for one another is a profound act of courage. That peace is possible. That cynicism is a choice, and so is hope.
In the days ahead, our deepest spiritual work is to make our homes the quiet calm in the storm.
To make our dinner tables a bastion of hospitality and grace.
To make our shuls and our churches and our mosques and our schools true sanctuaries - a light in the darkness.
To make our communities and our neighborhoods oases of love and justice.
Our values are our bedrock, no matter who owns the public square. Even as we grieve, we must be exactly who we were yesterday, but even more so.”
In Lech Lecha, this week’s parsha, God takes Abraham outside and invites him to look up at the night sky. In the endlessness of the stars, God offers promise, offers hope, and offers mutual commitment. V’he-emin ba-adonai - and Abraham put his trust in God. Somehow, the vastness of that glittering expanse inspires in Abraham a sense of trust. We, too, are being called to find trust, to find faith, this week. Not in a moment of promise, not in a moment of looking towards the future with hope, but in a moment when despair will serve our opponents.
God knows, trust and faith are hard to find. God knows, and we know, that we will find them together. We will find them by looking at the night sky, and by laying our bodies down on the thirsty earth and praying with her. We will find them by reaching for care and connection, in the rituals of care that we will never give up, no matter how bad it gets. We will find trust and faith by faking it until we make it - in Jewish words, naaseh v’nishma - by acting first, even before we understand or believe - acting in resistance, acting in hospitality, acting in justice, acting to make every place we find ourselves as safe and healthy a home for all who need it.
Taking action can be a really important antidote to despair, and I hope you will share the actions you are taking that are giving you strength. Giving tzedaka to an organization that supports immigrant rights, trans health, abortion access, racial justice, or climate action can be a source of hope. Dayenu is hosting an organizing call next week. Kirva and Bend the Arc are offering a virtual gathering this Sunday night to process this pivotal moment and gather strength for the fight ahead. Anat Hochberg and Rabbi Laura Belllows are hosting a post-election song circle on Wednesday, at 8:15 pm, at Nehar Shalom, turning to song as a balm in these tumultuous times. Taking action might also mean just calling a friend, walking around the block, or buying a stranger a chocolate milkshake.
We will find trust and faith together, and we will take turns holding them, giving one another a chance to be in the despair that will also be a part of our journey.
And we will find trust and faith by celebrating what there is to celebrate, and on that note: a huge, exuberant, joyful mazel tov to Sasha Sagan, who formally joined the Jewish people yesterday. Sasha has been a dedicated member of Nehar Shalom for a full year, immersing in our community with generosity, already serving on our safety committee and in many other ways. I am totally thrilled to celebrate their belonging among us!
With blessings for Shabbat Shalom and olam shel shalom,
Rabbi Leora
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