One Friday night, I gave a speech in shul about the importance of maintaining emunah (faith) during challenging times. Later, one of the congregants, who I had seen a thousand times in shul and always thought of him as a fairly simple person, came over to me and said he had a story to tell.
A few years prior, he lost his job. He did everything he could to try to find a new position, sending around his resume, networking, and so on, but to no avail. Every day, he turned to Hashem and desperately asked that He send him a job so he could support his family. For a number of months, he had no income, and the debts started to mount.
Finally, one day somebody called him with a job offer. He went to the office, and he sat and spoke with the employer for hours. The job was perfect, and paid a respectable salary.
After several hours, the employer finally pulled out a contract for the fellow to sign. Just as he was about to sign, the boss said, “Just one thing – you’ll have work five Saturdays a year. It’s not such a big deal. Just five a year.”
“What?!” the man said. “I cannot work on Saturday.”
“Look, you really need a job, and this job is perfect for you. What’s the big deal? It’s only five Shabbatot a year!”
The man refused to sign the contract, and he turned down the offer. As he walked outside, he turned to Hashem and said, “You gave me a special gift – Shabbat – and I’m not going to give it up, for anything in the world.”
Even if he had to work on Shabbat just once, he said to himself, the job was not for him.
The next morning, he woke up at 6am, and saw a message with a great job offer. He’s been working in that job ever since.
This story has a great deal to teach us about the importance of Shabbat and about having faith in Hashem. But this is not what I would like to focus on here. I want to talk about not this fellow, but how I viewed this fellow.
When I left shul, I was struck by the fact that I had never known about what a hero this man was. I always figured he was just a normal, simple guy with nothing special about him. After hearing this story, I saw him as a true hero, a giant of emunah. Never have I ever faced a religious challenge anywhere near as difficult as the challenge which he faced and so spectacularly surmounted. And it disturbed me that I had judged him unfairly, that I assumed he was just a simple fellow.
The Sportscasters in Our Minds
This is something which we all do, all the time, numerous times every day.
Any sports fan who watches or listens to live broadcasts of games knows that there are always two announcers talking to the viewers or listeners during the game. One does the “play-by-play,” informing the audience what is happening – ball, strike, groundout, 20-yard pass, tackle, and so on – and the other sportscaster in the studio is there to add “color commentary,” to analyze what happened, trying to explain why the player did what he did, and why the play went right or wrong.
We all have two sportscasters in our minds. We have one voice giving the “play-by-play,” and another giving the “color commentary.” The first voice simply tells us what we saw, and the second analyzes it and gives an explanation for what happened.
We are about to pull into a parking spot, and somebody we know sneaks in and grabs it. The “play-by-play” in our mind tells us that our spot was taken. The “color commentator” in our mind tells us that this driver is obnoxious, that he gets it from his mother, and that he is a mean, inconsiderate person.
We get an invitation in the mail. The “play-by-play” in our mind tells us that this family is making an affair at a certain time and place, and they want us to attend. The “color commentator” in our mind analyzes the size and elegance of the invitation, and takes note of the high-end banquet hall where the affair is taking place. It then says, “Wow, I didn’t realize they had so much money. That’s really surprising. They must really be doing well.”
Some people’s “color commentator” speaks for just a brief moment of two, whereas others’ goes on with further discussion and analysis for a long time. Some people convey the commentary at the Shabbat table. Regardless, we all do this; we all have a natural instinct to give commentary to everything we see.
The thing is, we’re almost always wrong. Rarely, if ever, is our commentary accurate. We see or hear about somebody doing something, and we immediately explain to ourselves why this person did what he or she did. We are always convinced that we are correct, but we almost never are. Nobody can ever really understand why other people act or speak as they do.
The Mask
The Torah in Parashat Vayishlach (35:29) tells of the death of Yitzchak, adding that he was buried by his two sons, Yaakov and Esav.
A number of sources tell a fascinating story that happened at Yitzchak’s burial. Yaakov was in the Machpelah Cave, where his father was being buried, while his sons stood outside. Then, Yaakov’s brother and long-time nemesis, Esav, entered the cave. Yehuda, Yaakov’s fourth son, saw Esav entering the cave, and sensed that this could be trouble. He followed Esav into the cave, and saw that his suspicions were true – Esav tried to kill Yaakov. Yehuda immediately proceeded to kill Esav. The Midrash tells that Yehuda needed to kill Esav from behind, as he could not look at Esav’s face as he killed him. Esav’s face very closely resembled that of Yaakov, and Yehuda was unable to kill somebody who looked like his beloved father. And so he killed Esav from the back.
There is something very significant about the fact that Esav outwardly resembled Yaakov. He looked like Yaakov, but could not have been any more different inside. His character was the diametric opposite of Yaakov’s. They looked the same, but were in fact very different from one another.
Isn’t this true of all of us? Don’t we all appear different from the way we really are?
· How often do we see a couple who seem happy and loving, but later find out they’re getting divorced?
· How often do we see teens in the community who seem to be doing great, but later find out they’re having serious trouble?
· How often do we see somebody who seems to have everything in order, but later find out that he’s drowning in debt?
We all wear masks. When we go about our business, nobody knows what’s going on in our lives, in our hearts or in our minds. Nobody knows about our problems, our struggles, our frustrations, our anxieties and our difficulties. Just like somebody as wicked as Esav could outwardly resemble somebody as righteous as Yaakov, likewise, we all look very different from the person who we really are. This does not make us liars or fakers. This is just the way it is. We wear masks.
This is why trying to give “color commentary” to people’s lives is not just wrong, but dumb. What we see is only a small fraction of the whole picture. Why do we assume we know what’s going on in somebody’s life? On what basis do we claim to know the whole story? We don’t know anything about other people, even when we think we do, so passing judgment is just plain silly.
Imagine riding the train and seeing somebody listening to his iPod. Do we have any idea what he’s listening to – whether it’s classical music, hard rock, heavy metal, jazz, rap, an academic lecture, or a comedy routine? Of course we don’t. Every person in the world walks around with certain “music” in his mind, with thoughts, feelings and ideas that result from his experiences. We don’t know what that “music” is. When we see somebody act a certain way, we cannot presume to know why he acted that way, what he has gone through in his life that produced this kind of behavior. We see only the mask, not the real person behind it.
“Drive-By” Advice
One of the most annoying examples of this mistake, of assuming to know what other people are going through, is “drive-by” advice, when somebody offers his fellow advice to a complex problem without having any idea what’s really going on.
A person is talking with his friend and mentions a bitter fight he’s having with his brother. The friend says, “I’m sure you can just work it out”; “Look, just give in”; “You don’t want to have this fight, just end it.” As if the person hadn’t thought of this option, and as if the friend knows all the intricacies of the situation, he has the gall and arrogance to give this “brilliant” piece of advice.
As a community Rabbi, I get this all the time. “You know, Rabbi, you really should speak about such-and-such topic.” “Rabbi, why aren’t you taking a tougher stand on such-and-such issue?” “Rabbi, you should go easier on such-and-such issue.” A person who says these kinds of things either assumes that I do not invest a great deal of time and thought into the issues facing the community and the best way to deal with them, or assumes that I do but still feels he knows better than I do what should be done. Either way, this is arrogance. Does he really know about everything I do, how I spend my time? Does he know about all the various factors that need to be considered when I decide what subjects to talk about and how to talk about them?
Giving “drive-by” advice is both offensive and plain dumb. It bespeaks a terrible failure to recognize the obvious reality that everybody has so much more going on than what meets the eye, that everybody has a mask that conceals so much of what they’re going through.
After Yaakov returned to Eretz Yisrael, Hashem appeared to him and announced that his name would be changed. Hashem said, “Your name is Yaakov; your name shall no longer be called ‘Yaakov,’ but your name will rather be called ‘Yisrael’” (35:10). This has been explained to mean that although his name would now be “Yisrael,” which signifies strength and triumph, he would also retain the name “Yaakov,” which refers to struggle and hardship. Hashem was telling Yaakov that he and his descendants would always succeed and triumph, but this success and triumph will require a degree of struggle, problems that they will need to endure and overcome.
We all have an element of “Yaakov” beneath the “Yisrael.” Even those of us who appear happy, content, successful and secure have struggles and frustrations in their lives. Everybody is dealing with difficult problems of one sort or another. And we need to recognize this when we deal with people, before we judge, before we criticize, and before we offer unsolicited advice.
Different Worlds, Different Lenses
There is also something else we need to bear in mind in our efforts to stop being judgmental and critical of other people.
In the beginning of Parashat Vayishlah, we read that Yaakov sent a message of appeasement to Esav, telling him that he had been living with their uncle, Lavan, and he acquired large herds of animals. Rashi explains that Yaakov’s message to Esav was that the blessings he had stolen, for which Esav had sought to kill Yaakov, were not fulfilled. Yitzhak had blessed him with power and dominion, and also with an abundance of produce. Yaakov lived as a foreigner in somebody else’s home, and had animals, not grain.
Of course, as we know, Yitzhak’s blessing to Yaakov was fulfilled – in later generations. But Esav desired the blessing because he assumed that it would be fulfilled already in his lifetime, and this is what irked him. Yaakov, who lived with a long-term vision for the future of Am Yisrael, wanted the blessing for his descendants. He told Esav that he had nothing to be jealous of, because the blessing would not be fulfilled until well into the future.
Yaakov and Esav were worlds apart in their thinking and their outlook. Esav’s world was the world of the present, of the here and now, whereas Yaakov’s world was the world of eternity, of the eternal nation that he was destined to produce.
Of course, Yaakov and Esav are a drastic example, but this is true of every two people. Nobody sees things exactly the same as any other person does. Each of us has his own world, his own pair of mental lenses through which he sees things. Even a husband and wife who are very close, who speak together every day, do not think alike or see things the same way. They live together happily in the same home, and raise their family together, but they live in two very different worlds. And this is true of all of us.
A woman in the community lost her father, ר"ל, and as I could not attend the shivah, I called her to express my condolences. She told me an amazing story about an exchange that took place between her husband and her father after they married. Her father owned a small business from which he made a modest living, while her husband was a wealthy owner of a large business with production plants in the Orient. Her husband offered to help her father expand his business so he could earn a much better living and become wealthy.
“I’m not interested,” her father said.
The son-in-law was amazed.
“What?!” he exclaimed. “I’m telling you, this business can expand and you can become rich!”
“I’m very happy with my life,” the father-in-law said. “I get to have dinner with my wife every single night. I never have to travel away from home. My business supports me, and this is fine with me.”
“We laughed at him,” the woman said, “but he was right – this was the life he enjoyed, and he lived a happy life well into his 80s.”
The father-in-law and son-in-law were on two completely different wavelengths, in two completely different worlds. One enjoyed the excitement of big business, of trips across the world and a luxurious lifestyle, while the other enjoyed the calm, serene life of a small business and modest lifestyle. Neither was right or wrong. Each person has his own world, which is, by definition, drastically different from everyone else’s.
This is also the root cause of political strife. Different groups of people see things so differently and can’t understand how the other group could possibly disagree. We need to realize that everybody looks at life and the world through different lenses, and once we realize this, we will be less judgmental and more accepting and loving.
Why Did the Limousine Drive Up to the Bunk?
In the summer of 1993, on visiting day in one of the Jewish camps, a large, white stretch limousine oddly drove into the camp. The driver ignored the “no entry past this point” sign, and continued right onto the lawn and stopped just in front of one of the bunks. The door opened for several minutes, at which point the limo proceeded to drive to the head counselor’s bunk, where it remained for a while. It then drove off and out of camp.
Everyone who was present looked at this strange spectacle gaping in astonishment.
Later, a counselor approached the head counselor to discuss this incident.
“I assume you know by now what everyone is saying,” the counselor said. “They’re saying, ‘When you’re rich, you can do whatever you want.’ They assume that this camper’s family is very wealthy, so the parents were allowed to drive their limo wherever they wanted.”
“Actually,” the head counselor said, “this is not true at all.”
He explained that there were two brothers in camp whose father was gravely ill, and the doctors gave him just another several weeks to live. His sons very much wanted him to come visit them in camp, realizing that this might be their last opportunity to see him, and they wanted to show him their bunk. The only way the father could make the three-hour drive from the city was in a special car with a bed so he could lie down, and have a nurse to tend to him. The family had no money at all to spare, but their friends got together and hired a limo so he could sleep during the trip. The father couldn’t walk, and so the limo drove up to the bunk, where the door was opened and the father looked in to see his sons’ bunk. They were thrilled. They then went to the head counselor’s bunk so the boys could spend time with their father – probably for the very last time.
This story is a dramatic example of the “mask” that people wear. We cannot assume anything about people based on what we see. If we live intelligently, we will remember that everybody struggles, everybody has experiences and baggage that we don’t know about, and everybody sees things differently. We never have any idea what kind of “music” is playing in any person’s head, so let’s stop thinking that we do, and once and for all silence the arrogant “color commentator” in our minds.