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My grandparents used to say that they always wanted a big family. I’m sure that there’s a lot of truth to it, but I always wondered whether it was partially due to Costa Rican contraception in the 50’s. In any case, my grandparents went on to have seven children, six women and a man, to which in turn you can add dozens of cousins who, in typical extended-family form, were always popping in and out of the house. As you can imagine, every day was quite a commotion... fights over who took the last piece of cake, annoyance when somebody forgot to flush the toilet or left their clothes lying on the floor. There was juicy gossip, healthy rivalry, wars over prized pieces of clothing borrowed and not returned. In my mind I always idealized my grandma as the epitome of patience and understanding, and my grandpa as the archetype of the ancient patriarch, ever-ready to impart wisdom and impose authority. Today I’m sure that if my grandma had ever participated in the TV show Wife Swap, her replacement would have had a panic attack after two seconds.
Living with my mum just half a block from my grandparents, their home was where I basically spent most of my after-school childhood. I have indelible memories of meal-time in our family table. To me that long table extended endlessly till Nicaragua, and my grandma always managed to pile every inch of it with comfort food – with guacamole and tortillas that even the Aztecs would’ve been jealous of. Each of my aunts was like a mother to me, so every dinnertime I had dozens of eyes inspecting me to ensure that I didn’t eat with my mouth full or play with my food. Home seemed like the best place to be, somewhere you’d always find love and a good laugh. Family seemed like the best thing to have, people who you could rely on unconditionally. Family was to my young mind the only thing certain in life.
A few months back when talking on the phone to one of my aunts, she invited me to visit her in the US for Thanksgiving weekend. Almost all of my aunts and my uncle went to university in America and had thereafter settled close to each other. I haven’t seen them since my grandpa’s death four years ago, so it seemed like a good idea - a quick weekend flight to reconnect with loved ones and gain extra air miles, definitely worth the jetlag! I knew that after the funeral there had been tensions in the family, as it sometimes happens under such circumstances. I was unaware that things had deteriorated to the point where a big rift in the family was created. A and B will not talk to C and D, let alone share a turkey. Making my travel itinerary has thus become an exercise in Logistics Management, trying to divide my hours equally between A, B, C, and D. Family broigez, division, seemed to me like something that happened in other peoples’ families. I never imagined it could happen in my own. My grandma has been greatly affected by all this, and has preferred to cancel her yearly trips to America rather than seeing her family in pieces.
I have chosen this Rosh Hashanah to touch on this subject after much thought. Considering all the different conversations I have had with congregants over the past year, apart from bereavement and illness, deep family conflict has struck me as the issue that has most often affected those in our community. By family I don’t only mean those tied to us by bonds of blood or marriage. In today’s world we have widened the concept of family to include all those friends and special beings who form part of our most inner circle of intimacy. I’m not talking about one or two cases – you’d be surprised at how many. Strained relations between parents, children, siblings, spouses, in-laws, hindered contact with children and grandchildren, life-long friendships extinguishing in a second. The list goes on and on…
Rosh Hashanah and other holidays are the time when family rupture affects us the most, sometimes to the point where we dread reaching this time of year. We sit at our Yom Tov festive tables, with glowing candles and warm challah, and can’t help but stare at the vacant places. Each empty chair is like an empty space in our hearts. Some of our dear ones are not sitting with us this year because they have left this world, others because they have left our lives. When we dip our apples in honey, it sometimes feels like we’re dipping them in bitter herbs instead. I know, it’s tough.
I am reminded of a rabbinic story. There were two brothers who had grown estranged from each other and lived on two opposite sides of the same mountain. A fence separated their properties and their lives. One was rich but without children, and the other one had many children but was very poor.
With time, the rich brother said to himself: “I have acquired great wealth, yet my brother lacks and has multiple mouths to feed. I will secretly go to the top of the mountain at night and roll my brother down some extra crop.” Simultaneously, the poor brother thought: “Look at me, I am so blessed by my children. My brother on the other hand has been denied this joy. I will secretly give my brother of my crop to at least cheer him up somewhat.”
And so, concealed by the darkness of the night, each brother climbed separately to the top of the mountain and there released some produce till it rolled down hill to the other side. When daylight would come, they’d be surprised to find that their stock was exactly the same as before. Confused, they both dismissed it as a miracle rewarding their good deeds.
As it was bound to happen, after many years of this routine, both brothers climbed the mountain at exactly the same time and crossed paths at the summit. They saw each other and suddenly realised what had been going on for all those years. They dropped their produce and ran towards each other with tears streaming down their cheeks. There, on that mountaintop, they embraced one long embrace, and their past conflicts were all forgotten.
According to the story, no one knows who those brothers were. Yet nonetheless, God chose that very mountaintop as the site for the building of the Temple, a House of Prayer for all Peoples, a centre for conciliation, a sanctuary of peace.
Unfortunately, family schism is complex and multi-layered. Sometimes it can’t be easily whisked away by a story or good will. As much as we want to make peace with our family, it takes two for reconciliation. We can therefore feel frustrated and powerless, being able to build only half a bridge that ends in the abyss. If that is the case, I truly feel for you.
The High Holydays are nonetheless the ultimate time for reflection and for building bridges. Let us therefore use this time to think. If we are facing one of these situations, let us search deep inside ourselves to see whether we have done everything in our power to solve the conflict. Let us not leave any door un-knocked, any stone un-turned.
Sometimes we have been genuinely wronged, but considering what’s at stake, it might be worth our while to swallow our pride and take the first step towards mutual healing. Forgiveness is not easy...as Gandhi used to say: “The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong”. Hearing these words made me think. I understand that sometimes we want to be weak, that sometimes we can’t find it in ourselves to be strong – yet when our life is marred by discord, it doesn’t feel much like life anymore. Somehow we don’t have really have a choice if we want true fulfilment. Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, states in the name of Hillel, not me, the older one: You should be of the disciples of Aaron, not only loving peace but chasing after it. The laws of Rosh Hashanah state that during this time, it is duty for every person to seek those he or she is in conflict with, and make amends. I can’t think of a more imperative law to apply. If we wait for peace to come to us, it will not come – we must run after it in full gear.
In this Season of forgiveness, let us open our hearts to cleanse it of all anger, bitterness, rancour and resentment. Gall and wormwood can poison us from inside until nothing is left of the person we seek to be. Patience, tolerance, and understanding are our best weapons to win the war against disaffection.
Love is the most precious thing life has to give us. Let us not give up on it lightly, especially without a fight.
In this New Year, may we all be able to make the trek to the summit of the mountain, and there, standing together with our differences aside, let us come together in one long embrace.
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