The Prescription for Loneliness

Yom Kippur/5784

Rabbi PJ Schwartz

One of the classic stories told around Tu B’shevat, the New Year for the Trees, is that of Honi the Circle Maker.  One day, Honi was walking down the street when he met an old man who was planting a carob tree. Honi asks the man,  “How long will the tree take to bear fruit?”  “Seventy years,” says the man.  Mocking him, Honi asks why he would plant a tree that he might never eat from.   The old man replies, “I was born into a world with carob trees, and just as my ancestors planted trees for me, so too will I plant them for my children.”

We are then told that Honi eats a meal, and subsequently falls asleep for decades.  Upon awakening, Honi sees a man gathering fruit from the carob tree.  “Did you plant that tree?” he asks.  “No,” says the man.  “It was my grandfather.” At that moment, Honi learns that he had slept for seventy years.

Now this is a story that teaches us about the importance of nature, and caring for our next generation.  Yet, like many stories in our tradition, there is an ending that is glossed over when we were children:  Upon waking up, Honi begins to wander around town.   In the seventy years asleep, people had already mourned his death. When he tries to tell the villagers that he indeed was Honi, no one believed him.  And, when he went to the place where he felt most safe and at home, the communal study hall, his rabbinic colleagues also rejected him.   He overhears his colleagues referring to his teachings, citing his previous legal rulings and interpretations. 

While Honi’s presence was felt acutely in the study hall, Honi himself felt invisible, isolated, and alienated from his colleagues and himself.  He prays to God for mercy, and God hears his prayers and takes his life.  Years later, a rabbi only known to us as Rava, reflected upon the story of Honi with one simple phrase: “Either companionship, or death.”^[1]

There is an epidemic, one that has been lurking in the shadows for many years.  We are in a loneliness epidemic, and loneliness is indeed killing us.

Recent studies have indicated that lacking connection can increase the risk for premature death to levels comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.

The physical consequences of poor connection can be devastating, including a 29% increased risk of heart disease; a 32% increased risk of stroke; and a 50% increased risk of developing dementia for older adults.  In an advisory released this past May, Surgeon General Dr. Vivek Murthy notes that people are spending less time with each other in person, across all age groups, than two decades ago.  While COVID surely exacerbated this health concern, no less than 50% of adults indicated that they were lonely prior to the pandemic.^[2] 

Loneliness, according to Johann Hari, “isn’t the physical absence of other people; it’s the sense that you’re not sharing anything that matters with anyone else.”

Loneliness stems not from being alone, but from being disconnected.^[3]  And loneliness is so prevalent within our tradition – Abraham, Sarah, Hagar, Jacob, Leah, Joseph, and Moses all experience deep loneliness.  We learn that our experience in Egypt, while collective, was painfully lonely: Pharaoh ensured that our ancestors would be separated from each other and imposing loneliness upon them.

But we need each other.  We have always needed each other. Everyone’s gifts and contributions were needed to build the Tabernacle, the portable dwelling place for God. The mystics teach that Tikkun Olam is achieved when each of us, through our deeds, are able to lift up the shattered sparks of the Divine.  Our tradition tells us we need a minyan to pray, it is a mitzvah to visit the sick, protect the lowly, and be witnesses at life-cycle events.   Rabbi Hillel instructed us to not separate ourselves from the community, and reminded us that our individualism is only part of our identities when he said, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?  If I am only for myself, what am I?   If not now, when?”   For the Jewish people, we have always been combatting the loneliness epidemic.   And its treatment plan: community and belonging.  

On Erev Rosh Hashanah, I noted that it is not what we do, or how we do it that truly matters – it is the why that gives us meaning and purpose.   What has been abundantly clear is that why Temple B’nai Sholom is indeed a Beit Tefillah, a House of Prayer, and a Beit Midrash, a House of Study, we are first and foremost a Beit Knesset, a House of Gathering.  

So much of our congregation’s narrative has been one of feeling disconnected from each other, and so much of the past few years has been about building bridges of reconnection.  And there is no doubt that we are a community that craves connection.  We show up.   During times of illness, recovery, and grief, we step up to support each other, visit each other, and offer meals.   And just last week, following Rosh Hashanah, one of our Caring Committee members dropped off flower arrangements for our homebound congregants.  We have perhaps one of the most active congregational Facebook groups that I know.  I have often been in awe of the number of people who attend Friday night services, even on those Fridays that have traditionally been quieter than others.  And, let’s face it: One rarely attends services solely for the sake of attending services.   We want opportunities to see people and engage with them face-to-face. This is true for our learning opportunities as well.  Even recently, a congregant shared with me that even though they knew how to read Hebrew, they wanted to join our Adult Hebrew class so that they could socialize.  

Our congregation is not just a place to find God, it is a place to find each other.   And we want to find you.  You belong here.   We want you to be known.   We know that our congregation will not become your Soul Cycle, Barre class, Rotary Club, or Pickleball match, but it can be a place where we can become more whole and strengthen our minds, bodies, and spirits.

A little over a month ago, we launched the TBS Passion Project, an initiative designed to give our congregants the space to fuel their interests and passions, and to do so within the community.  Our Kesher (Connection) Groups will be formed according to particular interests.   Whether it be cooking, Maj Jong, book discussions, bike riding, hiking, or other interests, members who share the same interests.   We will encourage you to join together in the community and enjoy opportunities to be connected to each other and enjoy building deeper relationships with individual members of Temple B’nai Sholom’s diverse congregation.

Sometimes, we need the anonymity of our community events.  Other times, we desire smaller settings in which to grow and share in the experience of being a Jew.  In truth, we need both the large and small gathering moments: to pray, celebrate and learn from our tradition AND to experience Jewish values in personal and relatable smaller settings, where we are seen for who we are, and where see others for who they are.

Now I believe in this initiative, in part because I believe that it will help us feel even more connected with each other, foster engagement, and emphasize moments over member numbers, and relationships over revenue.

And I think all of you can agree that we want connection, we want engagement, and we surely do not want to feel lonely.  I need your help, though.   Not many have completed the online survey.  And the majority of those who did indicated that they did not want to lead particular Kesher Groups.   But imagine a group of parents who know that they can rely on each other for playdates and friendship.   Imagine a group that sets apart the sanctity of Shabbat by hiking or biking together on Saturday mornings.  Or a group meeting for coffee to discuss Jewish perspectives on the latest news.  Or a “foodie” group that checks out the latest restaurant openings in town, attends concerts, plays, and sports events together.  It’s when we gather together over time that our bonds are strengthened and relationships have the space to grow.

As small as our congregation may seem, it is large enough for both members and visitors to feel lonely and disconnected.   Judaism teaches kol Yisrael areivim zeh bezeh, all of Israel is responsible for one another, and that responsibility means ensuring that all of us feel part of something bigger than ourselves. Our Kesher Groups become those intentional connections that can allow us to feel more committed to our congregation, and to each other, stronger than ever before.  We will be re-releasing the survey this Wednesday, and it will be available through October 6. Our goal is to formally launch our Kesher groups right after Thanksgiving.

In a mountain village many years ago, there was a Jewish nobleman who wanted to leave a legacy for the people of his town. So he decided to build a synagogue.  In the course of his planning, the nobleman decided that no one should see the plans for the building until it was finished. He built a wall around the entire area, and swore the workers to secrecy. They worked day and night. And the people of the town would gather around the walls, wondering what was inside.  Finally, the work was completed, and the people began to enter. What they saw astounded them. No one could remember such a beautiful synagogue anywhere in the world. They marveled at its magnificent windows, and admired its intricate designs. They stood in awe of its craftsmanship and attention to detail.  But then, one of the crowd noticed a serious flaw. “Where are the lamps?” she asked. “What will provide the lighting?” The crowd looked around, and indeed, there were no lamps. They began to talk amongst themselves, “He’s built such a beautiful building, but forgotten to provide any light, so that we can see when we worship.” The murmuring grew louder and louder.  Until finally, the nobleman held up his hand to silence the congregation. He pointed to a series of brackets that hung all along the walls of the synagogue. And he handed a lamp to each family. “The lamps,” he said, “belong not to the synagogue but to you. Whenever you come here, you should bring your lamp, so that your light will fill this place of prayer. And, each time you are not here, a part of the synagogue will be dark. Your community is relying on your light.”^[4]

We are a people who lights up each other’s lives, a people that fosters connections, relationships, and a sense of belonging.  Dr. Murthy teaches: To be home— to feel at home— is to be known. Loved for who you are. It is to share a sense of common pursuits and values with others who care about you.  On this Day of Atonement, may all of us be reminded that we are home, we are known, and we are truly, never, alone.  G’mar Chatimah Tovah.

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