Starting Anew

by Michelle Friedman, MD, Sharon and Steven Lieberman Chair Emerita in Pastoral Counseling at YCT

How do we pick up after disappointment or heartbreak and go on living? How can we heal painful wounds of rupture, loss, and dislocation and begin again? What have we learned from past experiences that might inform future choices?

Through multiple stories, the Torah teaches us that Judaism is a religion of second chances.

In Sefer Bemidbar, we come across a striking word usage that occurs only twice in the Torah. The phrase is conjugated slightly differently in the two stories in which it appears: Lama nigara and lama yigara, “Why should we/it be diminished,” or, if you like, “why should we/it lose out.”

In the first case in Numbers 9:7, some men, having been rendered impure by contact with a corpse, cannot take part in the crucial Passover offering at the appointed time. Upset at the prospect of being left out, the men protest their situation to Moshe in raw, insistent language. By this point in the wilderness sojourn, Moshe’s ear is finely tuned to B’nei Yisrael’s whines and whimpers and the beleaguered leader has expressed exasperation with the people many times. This time Moshe hears the sincerity and urgency of their request and turns to God for guidance. In response, God provides for the new law of Pesaḥ Sheni, the second Passover, allowing a unique do-over a month later; God goes beyond the request to include people unable to perform the ritual due to being far away.

Just a few chapters later, the Torah details how distribution of inheritances passes exclusively through the line of male descendants as catalogued according to the original 12 tribes. In the 27th chapter of Bemidbar, the five daughters of Ẓelopheḥad from the tribe of Menashe come before Moshe to protest that their father’s inheritance and name will be lost as he had daughters and no sons. As in the earlier story, the petitioners’ language is terse, unvarnished. Just as before, Moshe immediately acknowledges the legitimacy of the women’s protest along with his own uncertainty as to what to do. Moshe seeks God’s counsel and once again, Hashem responds to the sincerity of the remarkable petition put forward. As with the Pesaḥ Sheni situation where God’s solution enlarges the scope of the original request. God not only resolves Ẓelopheḥad’s daughters’ inheritance problem, God also provides a template for more general inheritance problems related to lack of male descendants.

The plea “Why should we/it be diminished” is the cry for a second chance. Exclusion from God’s grace and disinheritance represent grievous blows to dignity and status, both materially and spiritually. But neither the men unable to bring the Passover offering nor the daughters of Ẓelopheḥad succumb to despair; instead they demonstrate resilience. Rather than bringing naive, brazen petitions to Moshe, they draw on wise consideration of the failed rebellions of others. Unlike Koraḥ or Eldad and Medad, for example, they come as articulate, respectful collectives rather than as disgruntled individuals threatening Moshe’s leadership. Their clarity of purpose and accrued experience help them take a series of meaningful steps—approaching authority with humility, making a specific request, and then waiting patiently for a response.

And from the other side, the great Moshe demonstrates hard-earned forbearance and wisdom in the face of loss. Several times earlier in his leadership career he acted on impulse—hitting the Egyptian, smashing the tablets, and striking the rock at Ḥorev, to name a few such incidents.  In the situations of Pesaḥ Sheni and the daughters of Ẓelopheḥad, Moshe does not act precipitously; rather, he listens and pauses. His consideration bespeaks a deep understanding of the significance of the requests being made. Moshe also carries the pain of heartbreak; his own rash action has cost him the privilege of entering the promised land. Moshe’s experience softens his ego and allows him to calmly turn to God for help.

The Yamim Nora’im are all about second chances. In establishing this annual opportunity to reflect on and change behavior, our religious tradition establishes as its core the belief in the human capacity to reflect, rise from despair, and re-enter life. We pause, we look inward, and we begin anew. My experience practicing as a clinical psychiatrist and teaching and mentoring rabbis in their pastoral role confirms the profound importance of believing in the possibility of starting over. I have found that people who struggle the most—whether it be quitting alcohol, putting their dating profile on line or learning a new skill are folks who are the most self-critical and inflexible. Those, on the other hand, who are able to look back on past experience with curiosity and even affection are more likely to start a new chapter, perhaps cautiously, but hopefully with a smile.

So too we need to look to our own sources of resilience and to practice self-compassion when confronting the inevitable challenges of life. If we thrived being in an intimate relationship, we mourn after its loss and when we feel ready to venture out, we take steps to seek a new partner. Hopefully we bring a mindfulness of what worked best in our past relationship and deploy this awareness in appreciation of new encounters. If we are trying to launch a new career, we assess our strengths and weaknesses in earlier ventures. When we can no longer play a sport with the energy or keenness of younger days, we look to modify that hobby or find another pursuit that engages our athletic capability. Reflect on what can be learned from the past and look ahead. Ḥag same’aḥ.