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September 3, 2010
A Jewish view from “inside”
Lessons are learned from work with inmates, chaplains, guards.
RABBI SHMUEL BIRNHAM
Every year, on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, we read the story of Avimelech’s dealing with Avraham. Avimelech had apparently seized a well of Avraham’s and we know that having a well can spell the difference between life and death in a desert culture. Avraham reproaches Avimelech, but Avimelech says, “I do not know who did this; you did not tell me, nor have I heard of it until today.”
We are entering teshuvah season. I define teshuvah to mean a holy return to our best selves. There are five “Rs” associated with this spiritual return:
1. Recognize our wrongs
2. Regret our actions
3. Repair what you can, even via apologies
4. Resolve not to do it again
5. Repeat, not!
Avimelech is a paradigmatic individual who doesn’t confront his own actions. He doesn’t go through these steps. Don’t we all have some of Avimelech in each of us? When we are confronted with the truth of a situation, how do you respond? Do you own it or do you respond defensively? Do you take responsibility or do you try to get out of it? Do you deeply apologize or make some excuse for what you did? Do you have the courage to say, “Yes. I did that and I am sorry.”
For nearly two years, ending July 2009, I was the chaplain visiting Jewish inmates in federal prisons in the Lower Mainland. A year ago, I passed that job into the capable hands and warm heart of Cantor Michael Zoosman of Beth Israel. Twice a month, I’d take a Thursday and drive out to Abbotsford, Mission or Aggasiz.
I was privileged to hear stories of personal courage and wisdom learned the hard way – the very hard way. Part of me misses those meetings when we experienced powerful moments of chen (grace) and kedushah (holiness). The fact is, anyone who has heard someone’s journey, like the one from addiction to recovery, knows the magic moments of which I speak; moments like those lay bare the mystery of God’s power of redemption at work for all to see.
I think one reason we read Torah is to find models of heroism for our lives, to find models of how to live with wisdom, generosity, courage and kindness. Some of the people I met in prison were just such heroes.
I am well aware of the brutality in prison life and I heard numerous stories from guards, chaplains and inmates to this effect. But I also met some women and men who managed to transcend their environment. A number of officials and guards I met exhibited great sensitivity and feeling for the inmates. I saw examples of kindness and compassion shown toward men and women who’d admitted their wrongs and who were trying to change for the good – just like the rest of us – and who deserved kindness – just like us.
Some of the guards clearly went out of their way to show kavod (respect) to the inmates, acknowledging that they are people with souls and feelings, some of whom are genuinely trying to better their lives and those around them. While the inmates sometimes spoke badly of the staff, all of them also knew of those who behaved like mensches.
The chaplains I met were mostly men, but a few women too. Some of these people became my friends and confidants in the work we shared. They were largely Christian but I worked with a couple of imams as well and, though we didn’t share some critical theology, we had far more in common than not. We shared the vision of a world filled with peace, acknowledging that each person is created b’tzelem Elohim (in G-d’s image) and that, whether that person is an inmate, on parole or not in the correctional system, all deserve kavod, care and rachmanut (compassion). They worked to connect with and participate in the healing and growth of their charges. Many of them are unsung heroes. Just think how quickly we tend to judge people, often negatively. These chaplains worked with those inmates without judgment and, though many of the inmates did bad things, the chaplains could see the divinity of the One even in them.
Lastly, there are the inmates themselves. I can only speak about the ones I met, talked with, noshed with, studied with, prayed with and counseled. Obviously, this group was small and self-selected – either Jewish or wanted to be Jewish and wanted to talk with a rabbi. Out of the thousands in the system, we’re talking about fewer than 20 individuals.
The inmates I met all spoke at deep levels about guilt and their efforts to use their lives in better ways. Nearly all of them came from rough backgrounds or left home after getting involved with the wrong people, entering the world of gangs and crime. Most of them had a father or a mother who was Jewish, sometimes both. Nearly every one of them acknowledged his wrongdoing; some were in for murder and others for other lesser crimes. One of them pretended to be innocent; one of them spent (on and off) more than 40 years behind bars and talked freely and sincerely about the process of teshuvah in his life. I now meet with this individual downtown for coffee. He’s paroled and continues to do teshuvah – work that brings him back to his holiest and best self. If he can work on this daily, can we?
These men with whom I sat sometimes in silence, these men who I embraced physically and spiritually can serve as beacons to us all to look at our lives with the kind of courage that says, “OK, I messed up. I am paying for it. I want to do and live better.”
Sure, some of their crimes can’t be fixed. But, that’s like all of us, to a more or lesser degree. Many of us can’t take back inappropriate looks we gave or words we said or actions we did. It is the season to celebrate the joy of living and the joy of community but also to begin to honestly face how we’ve not lived up to our potential, how we’ve lied, pretended and cheated.
What kind of courage do we have to face our own failings, our own shortcomings without whitewashing them or lying to ourselves? Have we lived as a spouse should, as a daughter or son should, as a parent should? Have we lived as a Jew should? What does that mean to you?
I conclude with a story many of you know, but it’s so good, I will tell it again. Reb Zusia taught his disciples the following: “When I die and meet Hakadosh Baruch Hu, the Holy One, God will not ask me why I wasn’t like Moshe or like Avraham or Itzchak, God will ask me why wasn’t I more like Zusia?”
Each of us should ask ourselves, “Why didn’t I become who I was meant to be thus far?” This is one of the reasons our tradition has us gather on these Days of Awe, when we can deal with these questions, look inward and get the nudge we need so that we become the people we were meant to become.
Shanah tovah.
Rabbi Shmuel Birnham is the spiritual leader of Congregation Har El in West Vancouver. He can be reached at [email protected].
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