Ayecha?

I’d like to relate two notes that are in my heart today…

The first is a parenting tip I read a long time ago. It stated that when a young child asks for the hundreth time, “Why is the sky blue?” they are not actually asking WHY the sky is blue, but they are looking for the reassurance that, yes, indeed, the sky IS blue, and yes, that is the sky, and yes, it is so much larger than us. But if we stand here together and hold hands and look at that vast blue sky together, we can simply enjoy the vastness and blueness of the sky.

The second thing I would like to share is a touching story I recently read about an 11-year-old boy whose father had just died. Being of an observant Jewish family, each morning the boy got up at 5:30am so he could walk to synagogue and pray kaddish for his father before going on to school. This is required of the mourner who has lost an immediate family member for the first year of loss, and the prayer is to be prayed with a minyan of at least ten others.

A few mornings after the death, a regular to the morning minyan stopped by the young boy’s house and explained that the boy’s home was on the way to synagogue for him, and he wondered if the boy would like to walk with him so he didn’t have to walk alone. Each morning, the older man held the young boy’s hand as they crossed busy streets and made the trek through snow, rain, sunshine, and gloomy days. For a full year, they walked to synagogue to pray, together, hand in hand. The young boy did not realize then how much of a gift he was being given by the older gentleman, and his burden of grief was lifted a bit by the mere presence of the older man walking with him each day.

When the young boy was much older and had begun to drive, it was then that he learned that the older gentleman did not live where walking to his house was on the way to the synagogue, but had actually walked an hour out of his way each morning to collect the young, grieving boy and accompany him to synagogue for prayer. He took the time and effort to be there for a frightened and lonely boy during his time of grief and healing.

Both of these stories touch me deeply.

As humans, we crave a sense of belonging, of family, of being connected, in good times, and most especially in the more challenging times. We long to be connected, for someone to hold our hand, feel our pain, share our joys and our concerns, and just to be there and walk beside us. No matter our age, I believe this is a deeply held need in almost each one of us.

Rabbi Mordechai Kaplan, one of the most important Jewish theologians in the 20th century, illustrated this point using a grammatical analogy: dependent and independent nouns. Independent nouns don’t need anything else to be what they are. A blade of grass is just a blade of grass; it is not defined by any other blade of grass surrounding it. And a table is just a table; it might sit in a kitchen or a dining room or a cafeteria. But it is still a table. A fence can just be a fence.

But a dependent noun only exists in relationship to something else. A daughter cannot be just a daughter in general. A daughter is the daughter of a particular parent or parents—-adopted or biological. A teacher is not a teacher unless that teacher has students.

Rabbi Kaplan taught that at our very essence, we human beings are dependent nouns. We might be able to exist simply by eating, drinking, holding a job and providing for our basic needs in the way that most animals provide for themselves. But to experience the fullness of our humanity, we can only do so in relationship to others. We become fully human only by virtue of families and friendships, and through the ways that we interact with one another in a meaningful way.

In other words, our humanity is expressed when we experience the uniqueness of each other’s souls. We need each other—and depend on each other—to be fully human. All human beings have the need to feel connected to something larger than our individual selves.

Think about all the ways we have to express our individuality. We have personal trainers, personal nutritionists, personal coaches, even personal shoppers. If we shop on Amazon or other online venues, we have customized suggestions. We have larger homes and more personal space, and far more autonomy than ever. Our individual choices are myriad.

And yet, we are increasingly lonely. Addiction rates have never been higher. Time spent being on social media increases every year. Why? Because we are silently screaming for the heart to heart connections missing in our lives, for being part of a deeply caring family or community of others. We are dependent nouns yearning for interdependence with others.

Another great Rabbi of the 20th centurey, Rabbi Harold Kushner, author of the book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, reminds us that in the story of Eve and Adam in the garden of Eden, G!d calls out to them. “Ayecha?” which is to say, “Where are you?” Rabbi Kushner posits that G!d was not asking because G!d did not know where they were. G!d was asking “Ayecha?” because G!d, too, is a dependent noun, a G!d of relationship.

In fact, G!d yearns for this belonging to one another in relationship so much that the entire Bible is filled with stories about G!d repeatedly establishing and re-establishing a covenant with humans. This means that not only do we need each other, it means that G!d needs us, too.

Here’s the interesting thing about a covenantal relationship: While a contract requires both parties to hold up their end of the agreement or the contract is null and void, with a covenant, both parties agree to uphold their part regardless of whether the other party comes through. A relationship that is covenantal has transformative power.

When we look back at our two opening notes, the parenting tip about the child who questions the blue sky and the endearing story of the older man who took a young boy into his heart for his year of loss and grieving, we come down to the interdependent nature of a covenantal relationship… the simple act of holding hands and facing something much larger than ourselves, and being there for one another. That is the truest sense of belonging, of family, of care and support, of covenantal interdependence. We are there for the other in quiet but powerful ways. We feel their pain and celebrate their joys. We share their concerns and hold the umbrella as we walk in the rainy days of our lives, together.

Maybe we don’t have all the right words; we can’t take away the pain or fix the situation, but we can BE there, holding their hand, surrounded by the vastness of the blue sky, walking to synagogue to pray together.

At the end of the day, all we have are hearts that long for one another’s company and presence. We are dependent nouns. We cannot be a friend without the other. We cannot be a sister or brother without a sister or brother. We cannot be a community of one.

During this time of t’shuva-- Rosh Hashanah and Shabbat Shuvah and again on Yom Kippur-- we hear G!d calling out, “Ayecha?” Not only where are we with G!d, but where are we with one another? The only answer our heart can give is “Hineni!”, which means, “Here I am, ready and willing, simply to BE here with you. I have no answers, but you have my presence and my love.”

So when you are asked, “Ayecha?”, how will you respond?