Can You Be Happy and Sad At the Same Time? Ask Yisro.

Find happiness by discovering and understanding your sadness, too.

A heartwarming reunion took place in Parshas Yisro. Moshe led the Jews out of Egypt and through the Red Sea to a miraculous survival in the barren desert. On their way, they met Yisro, Moshe’s father-in-law, who had been in Midyan and didn’t experience the Exodus.

When Moshe saw Yisro, they warmly embraced. In vivid detail, Moshe related the miracles of the Exodus and the splitting of the Red Sea to Yisro. Yisro was spellbound as Moshe enraptured him with descriptions of the plagues in Egypt, the miracles at the Yam Suf, and the victory in the ensuing war with Amalek.

The Torah describes Yisro’s reaction. ויחד יתרו – and Yisro had “Chad.” Rashi explains that the word Chad is like “Chedva,” jubilant rejoicing. Yisro was elated to hear about the miracles and the salvation that the Jews experienced. Not only were the Jews saved, his own family was involved and experienced it. Yisro had חדוה. 

Rashi then quotes the Gemara that interprets it differently. Yisro’s skin broke out. He was upset to hear Moshe’s description of the vanquish of the Egyptians. The word “Chad” means “sharp” and refers to חידודין – goosebumps, hives or skin irritation. Yisro was so disturbed at the downfall of the Egyptians that he had a severe dermatological reaction.

Despite Yisro’s identification with the Jews, He felt an emotional connection to the other side. He used to be a heathen and an advisor to Pharaoh in Egypt. He was forced to relocate to Midyan after he gave Pharaoh advice that Pharoah didn’t like. Some time later, Yisro embraced monotheism and Judaism.

When Yisro heard about the total defeat of the Egyptians, he couldn’t help but react negatively. He knew them and felt bad for them. Their suffering resonated with him so deeply that his skin showed it.

Does the contrast between the two meanings of “Chad” strike you as strange? On the one hand, it means that he was exuberant. On the other hand, he was crestfallen. Which one is it?

Yisro experienced true ambivalence.

In common speech, we use the term ambivalent to mean that we have mixed feelings. We are unsure and feel pulled – our feelings are ambiguous. Here’s an example:

“Do you want ice cream?”

”I am ambivalent. On the one hand, I love the taste, on the other hand, I don’t like the calories and fat.”

 I have a mix of feelings and I am unsure which one I should follow. I am ambivalent. The decision can be hard to make and I might feel frustrated.

Freud used ambivalence in a much deeper way. He saw ambivalence as experiencing two absolutely opposing feelings about something at the same time. It is a uniquely human ability to have both positive and negative feelings simultaneously . We can harbor both love and hate for something, or for someone. This awareness calls to attention things we sometimes don’t want to admit, or don’t want to feel.

For example, in a true sense, parents can love and hate their children. They can deeply adore their kids and find that life would be meaningless and unfulfilled without them. At the same time, they can hate them. They eat up their time, energy, money, and resources. It doesn’t sound nice or politically correct, but I might be the truest expression of deep human emotions. In the search for emes within oneself, it can be helpful to give words to that and acknowledge it. We are humans and Hashem gave us the ability to hold two completely opposite feelings at once. 

Rashi is telling us that Yisro has Freudian ambivalence. He was deeply happy to hear about the miracles of the Exodus. At the same time, he was deeply pained by it. Yisro had both, and Rashi calls attention to that complexity.

We can have ambivalence about the things that are most dear to us or most important in life. Rashi pointed it out about Yisro. Often, no one will point it out to us. Ambivalence is still there, but it’s hiding.

Can you allow yourself to be in touch with ambivalence about people and things in your life? If you do, it can make you happier, healthier, and more successful. It can also allow you to live life with a sense of truth.

Are you ready…or are you ambivalent?

Can You Celebrate Your Own Religious Personality?

What does Brachos 17 say about who you are?

Today’s daf (Berachos 17), delineates beautiful, personal prayers that the Amoraim davened at the end of their tefillah. These elaborate requests of the heart describe the struggles of deeply religious people navigating this world and request Divine Providence, assistance and connection.

Did you notice that none of the prayers resemble each other at all? Each one has its own verbiage, foci and imagery.

Why did the Talmud spend the better part of a page repeating these prayers?

The resounding message of the Gemara is that each of the Amoraim had a unique personality.  They were all devout people that shared absolute dedication to the same laws, values, and ideals. Simultaneously, that cadre encouraged personal expression and welcomed different foci on life. Each Amora’s tefilla is unique because each Amora had a different personality, way of seeing life’s vicissitudes, and way of connecting to Hashem.

Can you celebrate your uniqueness while you adhere steadfastly to your religious beliefs?

Marcheshvan Has Left. Where Did It Leave You?

What sweetness can you extract from a month with an unsavory reputation?

Would Marcheshvan by any other name be just as bitter?

Marcheshvan is the Hebrew month that has just concluded. It is popularly seen as the doldrums of the Jewish year. Marcheshvan immediately follows the holiday-packed month of Tishrei, but does not have a singular celebratory day. The name of the month is a slight modification of “Marach Sheman” which means “the eighth month” (see here.) Yet, some see the month as possessing a prefix “Mar” – which can mean bitter, to connote the month’s existence as the epitome of ordinary. The feeling of plainness sometimes pervades the atmosphere of the month. The shofar or Rosh Hashana has long been silenced, the intensity and joy of Yom Kippur seem like a distant memory, and the Sukkah is stored away.

It is common for people to look forward to the next month, Kislev, as a beacon in the perceived gloominess of fall and winter. Chanukah begins in the end of Kislev, so Kislev itself is the harbinger of the Festival of Lights, providing respite from the lethargy of Marcheshvan.

However, you might appreciate an important and essential uniqueness that Marcheshvan has. The holidays of Tishrei are celebratory and exciting, but they also serve another purpose. They distract us from ourselves. When we are focusing on a goal of repentance before Yom Kippur or constructing a Sukkah before Sukkos, we can focus less on the simplicity of our own existence. Holidays serve as diversion from thinking about who we are and our own sense of self. When they end, we need to face ourselves and the complexities of our own personality strengths and weaknesses, our self-esteem or lack of it, and our perhaps underdeveloped self-understanding. The day to day cycle of Marcheshvan and its possible monotony can prompt us to focus on who we are.

Yet, it is sometimes difficult and distressing to turn inward and think about ourselves. It is much easier to be distracted. The bitterness of Marcheshvan is not only because of lack of holidays, but because of the discomfort that sometimes comes from within.

Consequently, the light at the end of the tunnel of Marcheshvan is not only Chanukah, with its happiness and festivity at the very end of the month. A brighter light might come from looking within and examining and exploring our own struggles and strengths, foibles and fortitude, and vulnerability and valiance. There is pleasure not only in lighting – as in Chanukah candles, but from being enlightened – with self-understanding.

Society has allowed us access to many distractions that can fool ourselves into being at peace with not looking inward. These can be very palliative in Marcheshvan-type parts of the year; when we feel uncertain, unsettled, or in pain. Perhaps those situations are better addressed by exploring and trying to understand ourselves rather than diverting our attention.

Kislev is thought of as paving the way toward the glorious days of the Chanukah miracles. Yet, the three and a half ordinary weeks before Chanukah can also stimulate us to spend time with, discover, and try to understand ourselves. There is a sweet opportunity on the heels of a month with a bitter reputation. Greater self-awareness and self-understanding might shed light on our lives, in Marcheshvan-type days, Chanukah-type holidays, and through all the days of the year.

By All Means…Paint!

Multiple selves might be the truest self.

“It’s just not me.”

“I know who I am and I know my strengths. This just doesn’t fit.”

Have you ever thought something similar? You understand your capabilities and your skills. You are aware that some things are beyond their range. It can take courage to look at yourself so frankly, but you summon the fortitude to make that assessment. That is being true, forthright, and honest.

Or is it?

Self awareness might have its downside. We might feel so in touch with who we are that we restrict ourselves. Our previous experiences mold our identity, our concept of who we are and the behaviors that we engage in. When we face situations that challenge those familiar identities, we can be reluctant to embrace them. Instead, we might try to avoid those experiences or alter the circumstances so they still fit with how we see ourselves. If we are unable to change that environment, we might feel stress and tension as we are pulled between our identity and the reality we encounter.

On the other hand, becoming involved with a circumstance that does not fit with how we see ourselves might provide phenomenal opportunity. It can push us to expand who we are and what we can do. New situations unmask our different capabilities. Events that challenge our identities can help us embrace a larger sense of who we are and who we could be. Truth and honesty mean to uncover the panorama of one’s abilities, not to falsely limit oneself.

Yet, we often do not like our identities to get shaped as life progresses. Even when we consciously make a change, our identities might lag behind. One example is what social psychology terms the “impostor syndrome.” Someone who begins a new profession or job might have an acute awareness that he is in his new position, but might remain partially incredulous. It can be hard for the former medical student to see himself as a practicing resident, much less an attending physician. It might be challenging for the former pupil to feel comfortable on the opposite side of the teacher’s desk. They can feel like charlatans, imagining that the patients or students see right through their ruse. In reality, it is usually only the practitioner that has the doubt. Everyone sees him as qualified…except his own mind. He views himself as the person he was, not the one he became. Social psychology suggests that the best cure for the impostor syndrome is to keep on doing his job. As one is more involved in that behavior, his identity gradually welcomes it as part of him.

Over a century ago, a young artist began to carve out his way in the world. He realized the joy, excitement, and vitality that he had from painting and made it his full time occupation. Meanwhile, his younger brother contemplated becoming an artist, too. In a letter, the older brother lucidly painted a picture of his own journey to becoming an artist. He described that he was not born with remarkable artistic talent, so many advised him to take a traditional approach to earning a living.  They encouraged him to give voice to his then present abilities and use them to find a way to make ends meet. They recommended that he find reasonable aspirations. He retorted that the human mind and soul has so much ability and capability that sometimes creating aspirations and goals can be a way to contain oneself. Man is so majestically powerful and multifaceted that seeing oneself in a certain way can be deceiving. With a veiled reference to the soul he declared boldly, “it is the height of conceit to try to force one to define what is indefinable.”

The artist continued to pursue his passions and crafted his career in art. He vividly described that his choice in dedicating his life to painting was still replete with uncertainty. He had to contend with a voice inside him that asked, “are you a painter or not?” He counseled his younger brother that if he were to become an artist, he would face a similar internal challenge. “If you hear a voice within you saying, “You are not a painter,” then by all means paint, boy, and that voice will be silenced,” he recommended.

When the older brother composed his insightful letter at the age of 30, he hardly imagined that a century later one of his portraits, Portrait of Dr. Gachet, would become one of the most expensive pieces of art ever sold, at over $82 million (currently adjusted to approximately $150 million from that 1993 price). That artist who eloquently penned his thoughts was Vincent van Gogh. By following his heart and expanding his identity, he became one of history’s most acclaimed artists.

Van Gogh’s words ring true beyond his specific situations. Most of us can have van Gogh moments, experiences, or episodes. We may have a preconceived identity which we don’t want to alter. Sometimes, fighting the change might be productive. In many other situations, allowing ourselves to expand and embrace a larger identity can be a glorious experience and golden opportunity.

The Sages express that some righteous Biblical figures, such as Abraham, experienced Divinely ordained adversities. Nahmanides explains that G-d designed those hardships to draw out those individuals’ internal character strengths. Encountering hurdles and overcoming them provided opportunity for those righteous people to actualize fortitude that was latent and dormant. Nahmanides is addressing the extraordinary tests of Biblical proportions, such as the injunction to sacrifice Isaac. Interestingly, contemporary challenges and upheavals can have similar results. Shifts and new developments can enable one to expand his identity and reveal talents and abilities that were dormant and unrealized.

One might see a large part of psychotherapy as helping one manage and embrace change. In therapy one can find words to describe life changes, summon his abilities to cope with them, and perhaps use the experiences to grow. One’s past can predict his present, but his approach to the present predicts his future.

This psychotherapeutic perspective was expressed autobiographically by Salvador Minuchin at 95 years old. Minuchin was a pioneer of family therapy and a well known icon. He recently published a brief retrospective in which he described some of the changes he went through in life. Minuchin explained that his experiences shaped him and helped him both discover and rediscover himself. The helped determine who he became as an individual and how he crafted his psychotherapeutic attitudes. His blend of candor and insight are a tribute to him both as a person and as a therapist:

“I grew up in a Jewish family in a small town in Argentina that was a kind of shtetl where, up until the age of 12, I didn’t know anybody who wasn’t Jewish. Then at 18, I went to medical school, and my world grew larger. At 20, I was put in jail for three months with a group of other students for protesting against [Argentinian President Juan] Perón, and my concept of myself changed again: I became an Argentinian Jew who was committed to social justice. From then on, I was a revolutionary and a fighter for social justice, and it seemed natural that I should join the Israeli army, in which I served as a doctor during the War for Independence. Later, when I emigrated to the United States and was on the staff at Wiltwyck School, I was a cultural outsider and found myself identifying with poor black people as I learned to speak English. And as I came to feel that I belonged with the staff and children and families at Wiltsyck, I felt I expanded.”

Minuchin’s multiple experiences unmasked several parts of his personality. He identified with each new experience and embraced it. Minuchin narrates that he took that idea with him as he became a therapist. He drove to encourage his clients to see new circumstances as opportunities to expand and see who they were capable of becoming. He explains:

“I wasn’t interested in their “true self”: I wanted them to experience a series of selves and the expansion of possibility that can grow from that experience. Above all, I wanted them to recognize that there were more ways of being than what their life experience so far, whatever it was, had made them aware of. What I did in therapy was say to people, “You know, belonging may give you a sense of security, protection, harmony, but it also limits you and creates an invisible pattern of relationship that fools you into believing it’s the only way of being.”

Minuchin developed an inspirational level of cognitive malleability. He had the courage to let his experiences shape him, and to embrace both his multiple situations and his transformation. He then used that mindset to create his therapeutic approach.

Minuchin concludes: “At 95, I think of myself as having journeyed through life as many different people, and I think of a line from Antonio Machado, one of my favorite Spanish poets: “The road is not the road; you make the road by walking.” I hope in my own walking I’ve cleared away some debris for those who will follow.”

Like Minuchin and van Gogh, we have different experiences through life. Sometimes they are the results of choice, like following one’s passion and becoming an artist. Other times they are the product of our circumstances, like some of Minuchin’s realities . Either way, we might cling on to our past identities and make minimal alterations. Alternatively, we can allow ourselves to embrace our shifts and appreciate the new selves they uncover.

As you go through life, circumstances will probably change. They might challenge your identity and convince you that you are an impostor. They might communicate to you that you are not a painter. Yet, perhaps you can make your own road by walking.

By all means…paint!