Just having learned of President John Kennedy’s assassination, Daniel Patrick Moynihan exclaimed, "When you’re Irish, one of the first things you learn is that sooner or later the world will break your heart."
Coping with pain is the great trial we confront time and again. It is no simple matter to deal with the pains of life an adult, well-adjusted manner. We want to scream, curse, cry, or ball up into a tight cocoon where no one can touch us. The older we get the more the same patterns of behavior repeat themselves in our lives. We do the same thing over and over. The source and kind of pain changes but not our reaction to it.
There is a discussion among the sages in the Talmud about right and wrong blessings. In the midst of one long conversation a rabbi comments that it would be a sin to approach your home, see smoke rising in the distance and pray, "I hope that is not my home." Such a prayer implicitly asks that it be someone else’s home.
A minister was giving an impassioned sermon to his congregation and said, "Everyone in this church is going to die."
The preacher then noticed a man in the front row who was smiling broadly. "Why are you so happy?" the minister asked.
"I’m not from here. I am just visiting my brother for a couple of days."
We know what pain is like. We are familiar with its taste, texture, how we react to it. For most of us, we are far too intimate with the way it feels. We all know that Moynihan was correct: the world will and does break our heart.
A strong Jewish current of thought is that we are supposed be familiar with a broken heart. That kind of woundedness gives us empathy for others who suffer. It makes us better friends and spouses, better parents and leaders. Above all, it makes us better Jews. Our job is to help people, not be personal consumers for our own welfare. That is why it is a sin to be unconcerned with those who suffer - whether we know them or not.
In the aftermath of the Great Liberation from slavery the Jews threw themselves on the shore of the Sea as the waters rushed to engulf the Egyptians coming to capture them. As the languid waters suddenly gushed over the helpless bodies of the slave-masters, hosts of Angels began to sing in heaven. Praising God’s might and sovereignty they cascaded into a massive chorus of praise. "Stop," said the Holy One. "My children are downing and you sing?"
Shir HaShirim Rabah 5
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