Honest With Ourselves
Rabbi Ron Shulman
Yom Kippur 5772
I went to the tailor a few weeks back to fix a suit. I went into the dressing room to put on my pants. Lifting them off the hanger, a couple of pieces of paper fell out of my pants pockets. I bent down and picked them up. Reading them, I realized they were reminders still in my pockets from the last time I wore that suit. (I guess they didn’t work!)
One of the notes reminded me to check in on a friend who is ill. The other one listed some ideas for a paper I was writing. When I got home, I called my friend feeling bad that I hadn’t been timelier in my caring. When I got back to work, I filed the ideas for later, feeling good about how I planned to use them.
All of us do this. It’s simple. We jot down a note. Put it in our pocket, our purse, our phone, or our notebook so we won’t forget. The trick, of course, is to remember to check our notes. It’s simple.
Hasidic Rabbi Simha Bunam of P’shiskha used to say, "Every person should have two pockets. In one, there should be a note that says ‘bishvili nivra ha'olam - for my sake was the world created.' In the second, there should be a note that says ‘anokhi afar va'efer - I am dust and ashes.'"
It’s simple. When feeling bad, remember that the world exists for your sake. Perk up! Who you are matters! When feeling important, remember your origin and destiny. Find perspective. Who you are doesn’t matter as much as you may think! It’s simple. But, we have to remember to check.
This quaint and familiar teaching is commentary on a Torah verse from the end of Leviticus. “Do not deceive one another, but revere your God; for I the Lord am your God.” The verse itself is the basis for one of the 44 sins we enumerate in our confession this Yom Kippur. “Al het sh’hatanu lefanekha b’hona’at re’a - We have sinned against You, God, by deceiving one another.”
The pocket notes are Rabbi Simha Bunam’s way of interpreting this text, explaining this sin. "You shall not deceive another, but revere your God" includes you, yourself. We revere God by respecting other people and by being honest with ourselves, and honest about ourselves.
I fear we’ve lost that ability. It’s discouraging when political leaders spin partial facts or half-truths into talking points to score political advantage. It’s disappointing when public figures reveal their character flaws. It’s damaging when people mislead us. It’s demeaning when we convince ourselves that no one else will know. We say, I didn’t want to, anyway. I’m too old to change, too weak to try, or too busy to pay attention.
I fear we’re over exposed. We post our lives’ details on Facebook. We publish our opinions as arguments of fact. We lose our privacy. We hide in our transparency. The poet W.H. Auden observed, "The image of myself which I try to create in my own mind in order that I may love myself is very different from the image which I try to create in the mind of others in order that they may love me."
It’s hard to be honest, harder than we like to admit. We convince ourselves things are better or worse than they actually are. We avoid constructive criticism. We politely stay quiet rather than politely offering correction or comment. In his book, The Social Animal, David Brooks describes it as, “the dishonesty of niceness.” We don’t want to cause pain to ourselves or to others.
We are right to be sensitive to people’s feelings. Still, I worry that as individuals, and in our society, too often we are less than honest, unable to face foibles that hold us back or facts that make us uncomfortable. We create illusions to comfort us in the face of realities that upset us.
Let me share an example. I know a couple so angry with another couple they don’t speak anymore. Once, they were long standing friends. Now, they try to avoid each other. Why? The first couple decided their friends weren’t being honest. About what weren’t they honest? The second couple, the ones seen as being dishonest, went to an event that the first couple invited them to. They went to be supportive.
To their hosts, the gesture felt half-hearted. When asked about it, these friends said, sincerely, they were happy to be there, happy to see their friends so involved. But perceiving this as untrue, the first couple rejected their statement as insincere. Then I found out what really happened.
While at the event, the invited friends received a phone call. A client needed some urgent attention. So, not fully engaged in what was happening, they slipped out for a brief time to take care of that business. When they came back, their absence noted by their hosts, they discovered they missed their hosts’ public remarks. They apologized profusely, but the first couple refused to believe their explanation. They called them disingenuous, not really attending to offer their personal support. No honest conversation between the two couples was possible.
The problem is this. In their regret that their friends weren’t present at a key moment, that first couple focused their disappointment on people rather than circumstances. They created a perception of dishonesty where none existed to assuage their displeasure. The ones being dishonest are that first couple. Their dishonesty is with themselves.
In ways more and less profound, we all mislead ourselves to protect our feelings, to sustain our self-images, to feel better when we fall short. We blame others for what is our fault. We find excuses for what is our responsibility. Yom Kippur urges us to be honest. Honest with others. Honest with God. Honest with ourselves.
In the midst of our confessions, when in prayer we list what we’ve done wrong and strike our chests, we read in the Mahzor, “Atah yodea razei olam - You, God, know the mysteries of the universe, the deepest secrets of everyone alive.” It’s a call for honesty.
There are things known only to each of us, properly private and hidden. Hurts we remember. Loves we feel. Things we’ve done. Thoughts we’ve chosen not to say out loud. Hopes and memories we cherish. Disappointments and choices we regret. What we know and keep quiet forms our bond with God and our sense of mystery - as long as our secrets are true, as long as we’re being honest with ourselves.
When we don’t live truthfully, when we fool ourselves about why we can’t or don’t or won’t, about why they can or did or will, when we live the lie rather than tell the truth, we stop believing in ourselves. “Ki emet asita va’anahnu hirshanu – For You, God, were honest, and we have sinned.” Our prayer reminds us.
I recently heard the story of an elderly woman who owned a popular bakery in her community. Word was that she made the best breads, cakes, and cookies anywhere in town. One day, a young man brandishing a gun entered the shop and demanded money from the register. “Listen to me,” she shouted. “I survived Auschwitz, you don’t scare me. Put down your gun. Put on this apron, and get into the backroom. You want some money? Earn it.”
He did. Shocked by her strength and indignation, this would be robber started working in the bakery. First, he washed pots, baking trays, utensils, and equipment. After a couple of months working regular hours, he started learning how to bake from his unexpected employer. He became her apprentice. She taught him her recipes and methods. He learned them all. Over the course of a few years, he became the new chief baker and her most trusted employee.
One day, the aging bakery owner called her protégé into the backroom. “Give me a dollar,” she demanded. “What? Why?” he asked. “Just give me a dollar,” she repeated. “Ok, fine. Here, take this dollar.” “Good,” she said smiling. “I’ve retired. You now own the bakery.”
The elderly woman understood her would be robber’s self-delusion. Rather than focus on the young man, she took a look at his circumstance. By hiring him, by holding him accountable, and by trusting him, she taught him to tell the truth about himself, to believe again in what he could do and who he could become.
When is the last time you were that honest with yourself, or helped to be that honest about who you are? For me, there have been a few such life moments. During them, I talk to loved ones and mentors. I sit outside late at night and gaze at the stars. I sit in synagogue and think as I pray. I worry myself and occasionally feel ill at ease. As a result, I grow. I change. I set out on my course. Finally, I know the truth.
It’s not simple to be really honest. It’s not as easy as putting notes in our pockets and remembering to check them. That’s why we’re here today, fasting and reflecting. We seek a different kind of reminder.
“Public acts and private ones are equally revealed and known to You, God,” claims the Mahzor. “Meh anu? Meh hayeinu? What are we? What is our life? Mah nomar l’fanekha? What can we say before You?” These are our questions. Demanding honest answers, they require the truth.
Our Biblical patriarch Jacob had to answer these very questions. Nervous for his welfare, aware that he has been less than truthful about his identity in the past, Jacob prays one night after hearing that his older twin brother Esau approaches.
(Remember, Esau rightfully expected their father’s blessing as the first-born. But, Jacob coaxed him into selling it. Later on, Jacob deceived their father Isaac by pretending to be Esau at their mother Rebekah’s suggestion.)
Jacob seeks safety from Esau’s anger by separating himself from his family, from everyone else around him. Jacob stands alone. Now he must account for who he is. He wrestles under the night sky until the break of dawn. He is injured. Then, he is asked. Who are you? “What is your name?”
Answering this question honestly defines us. For Jacob, the answer was Israel, one who wrestles with God and prevails. Jacob is someone who struggles to be honest with himself and with others. So are we, Jacob’s descendents, individuals who need to be honest with ourselves and with others.
“Al het sh’hatanu lefanekha b’hona’at re’a - We have sinned against You, God, by deceiving one another.”
This sacred day, let’s imagine new notes in our pockets. Like Rabbi Simha Bunam, let’s imagine two. On one, let’s write, “Am I being honest with myself?” On the other, let’s write, “Are they being honest with me?”
Remember to answer these questions. Answer them when you are criticized. Answer them when you are worried. Answer them when your conscience alerts you. Answer them when circumstances disturb you. Answer them when someone disappoints you. Answer them when you disappoint someone else, or yourself. Answer them when you have to try harder. Answer them when things seem too easy. Answer them when you fail. Answer them when you succeed.
Keep these questions in mind. As if you carry them in your pockets. Am I being honest with myself? Are they being honest with me?
Throughout this year, striving to define who we are and how we relate to everyone else, let’s remember to answer them. It’s simple.
© 2011 Rabbi Ronald J. Shulman
