Finding Comfort

Rabbi Melanie Aron

Friday, August 12, 2011

As we were walking around one of the geysers up at Yellowstone this summer, we heard a child shriek. At first I worried that he had touched something hot and burned himself, but soon it became clear that he had just tripped on the gravel. His loud protest was a result of having scraped his leg, along with the indignity of finding himself sprawled on the ground. Fortunately his parents had a little first aid kit with them, and as we walked toward the parking lot, we saw the young boy quite content, putting about 20 band aids on his leg. They weren’t necessarily covering his wound, but they were giving him a lot of comfort.

Comfort foods, sometimes work the same way as band aids. They don’t really heal the wound, but they do give us psychological comfort. Whether from nostalgia, or as a recent New York Times article argued, physiologically, they are effective in altering our mood and become part of our repertoire in responding to stress.

In early times, the ancient Hebrew word for comfort, nun, chet mem, was related to the word for taking revenge. If you were hurt, you were comforted by getting even with the person who had hurt you.

Over time the focus of the word shifted and became more related to compassion. While striking back is one way people respond to pain and loss, hopefully with maturity we find that part of finding comfort is also feeling a sense of empathy for others in the same situation.

The best known of all the psalms, Psalm 23, speaks of comfort but in a way that is not entirely clear, “Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.” Contrary to one commentary I read, which understood God’s staff to be God’s ministering angels, who respond to their boss’s commands, the image here is of a shepherd. But how are the rod and staff comforting? Aren’t they instruments of discipline?

Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of When Bad Things Happen to Good People, argues that we need to understand a little bit more of how the shepherd used the staff and the rod. The staff was to help straying or fallen sheep out of pits they might have stumbled into and the rod was to reign in stubborn sheep that wandered into danger. When the world seems to be spiraling out of control, any sense that there is order and discipline in the world can be comforting. That is why the shepherd’s rod and staff are experienced in a positive way. One translator incorporated this into his translation: “comforting me with your rod and your staff, showing me each step”.

Our tradition offers advice on offering comfort to others. In particular it reminds us that there is a time for comfort, but also a time when one is to be allowed to feel the pain of the loss. In Pirke Avot we are taught: “Do not attempt to comfort your neighbor while his dead still lies before him.” If you try and comfort him prematurely, the rabbis say, it will seem as if you do not respect your friend’s anguish. Rather, you should wait a short period of time, usually the time from the death until after the burial, and only then come to offer comfort.

This is understood not only for mourning but also for other losses. Do not visit someone on the day of their public disgrace, or profound financial loss. A person can be so upset that they don’t want to look at themselves, let alone entertain visitors, They might feel that rather than sympathizing, you are making fun of their predicament. Or they may feel so embarrassed at seeing you at that time, that they avoid you in the future, and so you will find yourself unable to help when they need you.

Finally, in the words that we say to mourners we learn a lot about the Jewish concept of comfort: “HaMakom yenachem etchem…..May God bring you comfort amidst all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem”.

First of all we ask God to bring comfort, reminding ourselves that our role is to support the mourner, not to take on unrealistic and unhealthy expectations of making them feel better right now. Bringing comfort is a process that will take time and move forward in fits and starts.

Secondly, it is interesting that the name we use for God in this blessing is HaMakom and not Harachman, the merciful one, the name used in other petitionary prayers, like Harachaman, Merciful One send us Elijah the Prophet bringing news of ultimate redemption. In loss of any sort, one common feeling is the absence of God. HaMakom, the place, reminds us that God is everywhere, even in this dark place.

Finally, we extend comfort to the mourner among other mourners. This is not, I believe, an attempt to minimize loss saying, well others suffer too, but rather an attempt to bring the mourners back into community and remove the sense of aloneness, even shame, in their loss. When I went to say Kaddish at more traditional synagogues during the year after my father’s death, I found the standing alone or with a few other people for Kaddish as is customary unnerving. I did not enjoy being singled out or exposed at that moment. I believe the words of comfort are to allow the mourner to feel engulfed in a larger community, who are also feeling what is in the mourner’s heart.

This Shabbat is the Sabbath on which we begin reading the Seven Haftarot of Consolation which will take us from Tisha B’av, which was this past Monday evening and Tuesday, until Rosh Hashanah. The words of this first Haftarah, known as Nachamu, bring us comfort in several different ways. They paint a picture of a better tomorrow, while speaking gently and tenderly to those who have endured hard times. They tie the losses that were experienced in the generation of the destruction of the Temple with the general mortality of human kind, but remind us that even so there is something in our lives which is more enduring. Finally they assure us that as strong as our enemies seem, even if they seem invincible, they still can lose their power, while we can find reserves of strength within ourselves.

Nachamu- Be comforted O My people.