Parashat Vayera 5785
On January 21st, 2016 was, at the time, the largest single day protest in the history of the United States. Between 3 and 5 million people participated in Women’s Marches across the country, filling the streets with pink hats and signs. Signs primarily with messages against misogyny, because the then newly inaugurated president flaunted and still flaunts a deep disdain for women. There was a sense that this was more than just about women, though. It was about our democracy. As Gloria Steinem spoke at the march in DC, “Our constitution does not begin with 'I, the President'. It begins with 'We, the People'. I am proud to be one of thousands who have come to Washington to make clear that we will keep working for a democracy in which we are linked as human beings, not ranked by race or gender or class or any other label.”
I showed up at the march in Boston alone yet surrounded by thousands of people of all ages. Trying to find my friends in the crowd was a lost cause, so I gave into the sense of togetherness, the sense of connection I felt with the crowd, the sense that alongside the despair I was feeling, I was not alone. I was in the midst of a truly historic moment, marching with millions across the country and even the world.
This past Saturday, the New York Times reported that there was an attempt at a Women’s march in Washington D.C, about 200 people showed up.
There were and are many rightful critiques of the women’s march, its mission and organizers. Some mention antisemitism, which popped up there as it does so many unexpected or unwanted places. Some mention the fact that it was mainly organized and led by white women, who suddenly realized there was a problem with this country. Similarly, some noted that there was a lack of intersectionality, the knowledge that multiple struggles were and are connected to one another–that perhaps what we as white women are experiencing now with this misogynist president is just a taste of the burden that black women and women of color have been shouldering since the violent beginning of this country. What would these marches or this movement have been like–how strong could it have been–had that been different? What might last Saturday’s protest have looked like, if the foundations of the movement had been stronger?
And yet, even with its major shortcomings, the women’s march–and the many protests that following year, at airports, borders, and more–were one positive sign of our country’s vitals. Like a stethoscope–it showed us that our heart was still beating, that we could still feel anger and channel it into peaceful protest. That despair hadn’t completely taken us.
In this week’s Parsha, three guests visit Avraham in the heat of the day to inform him that he and his wife Sarah are to have a child in their old age. Sarah, hearing this from the tent, laughs in disbelief.
וַתִּצְחַ֥ק שָׂרָ֖ה בְּקִרְבָּ֣הּ לֵאמֹ֑ר אַחֲרֵ֤י בְלֹתִי֙ הָֽיְתָה־לִּ֣י עֶדְנָ֔ה וַֽאדֹנִ֖י זָקֵֽן׃
And Sarah laughed to herself, saying, “Now that I’ve lost the ability, am I to have enjoyment—with my husband so old?”
Sarah laughed b’kirbah in her insides, at her core, at the idea that she could have edna–enjoyment. We might have expected the word ha’na’ah or ta’anug–both words we and the Torah more commonly use to describe pleasure. This word edna is connected to Eden, or the garden of Eden. It describes a type of joy that comes from total abundance, of having everything you need, of feeling totally and completely at home, and of having no shame whatsoever.
With this in mind, Sarah’s laugh becomes not simply a sign that she doesn’t have enough faith in God, as she is accused of in the next verse. Rather, this laugh points to her despair and shame, how preposterous it seemed to her that she could ever again have the feeling of abundance and freedom from shame that is connected to Eden. And the fact that she laughs to herself, alone in the tent, is telling as well. Despair isolates us, it keeps us distant from other human beings, including the struggles of other human beings. We don’t need to know exactly why Sarah was feeling despair in order to relate to her experience at this moment–the ways in which we have collectively seem on the verge of being taken by despair and disbelief that anything good can happen. A loss of our collective imagination.
Israeli activist Elad Nehorai writes about this time, “So the age of anger has passed. We have now entered the age of exhaustion and, as a result, cynicism. While some have been able to sustain their anger, the vast majority are beginning to tune out.” He explains that this exhaustion, this despair and hopelessness, is exactly what this type of leader wants. That the true and ultimate weapon against fascism is our hope and our imagination.
There will, fortunately and unfortunately, be many times in the next 4+ years where we are called to action in big and powerful ways. And I hope and know that we will be arm and arm in that as a community. In this specific time of very understandable exhaustion and cynicism, I have a seemingly simple call to action for myself and for us which is just to put down your phone and look up. Look at the sky, at babies, at flowers, look at the way the sun hits the brownstones and the shadows of the leaves waving. Allow yourself even one percent more Edna, Eden-like enjoyment per day. Allow your senses to take in the simple magic of life as much as possible, so that when it’s time for us to act–to create a world that is more like Eden–we will have a deep familiarity with it, and will then be able to create it from that place of knowing.
Writer and activist Rebecca Solnit wrote these viral words this week, "They want you to feel powerless and to surrender and to let them trample everything and you are not going to let them. You are not giving up, and neither am I. The fact that we cannot save everything does not mean we cannot save anything and everything we can save is worth saving…Take care of yourself and remember that taking care of something else is an important part of taking care of yourself, because you are interwoven with the ten trillion things in this single garment of destiny that has been stained and torn, but is still being woven and mended and washed.”
May we know that we are not alone in our strivings towards creating a more Eden like world–a world of abundance and freedom from shame. On this Shabbat and every Shabbat, may we be able to keep our imagination alive, imagining and then creating the world we so desperately want and deserve.
Shabbat Shalom.
