YOM KIPPUR REMARKS 5771

YOM KIPPUR 5771: ANGER MANAGEMENT

Rabbi Jonathan Blake

Westchester Reform Temple

A husband confronts his wife one day and says, “Whenever I get mad at you, you never fight back. How do you control your anger?”

“I clean the toilet,” she says.

“You clean the toilet? How does that help?”

“I use your toothbrush,” she says.

This is a sermon about anger and anger management.

I offer it because, as I have tried to put my finger on the pulse of our country, all I can feel is blood boiling, pressure rising, a great seething anger roiling underneath the skin.

Oil belches into the Gulf while we watch in horror and stew in an impotent rage.

Plans for a Cultural Center in Lower Manhattan unleash a wave of vitriol, drowning out not only the project’s supporters, but also those whose reasoned critiques come from a place of even-tempered thoughtfulness. Opportunistic politicians stoke American rage to solicit votes.

Speaking of votes: the Tea Party’s unrelenting anger seems to have struck a chord. Yet as an unwanted side- effect--and much to the chagrin of its organizers--the Tea Party has inadvertently rallied some of the most unsavory elements of American society: foaming-at-the-mouth White supremacists, garden-variety bigots, and more than a few anti-Semites!

Liberals are angry too--angry at the President--and why? Because, no matter how bad it gets, the President never seems to get ... angry! They’re wondering, “Doesn’t he care?”

Anger has seized the whole political spectrum. Consider the fight over health care--more bloodbath than debate.

So here we sit, having sweat out a sweltering summer, soaked in anger. A lot of people lose control when they get angry, lose their ability to reason and focus. Our country has become kind of like the man who said, “I’m so think, I can’t mad straight!”

Anger, most destructive of all character traits, has undone many a great one. Moses, let us remember, had an anger management problem. Exasperated at the Israelites who, believing themselves stranded in the desert, cry out for water, Moses totally loses it. “Listen up, you rebels!” he screams. “Shall we get water for you from this rock?”

Taking his staff--once the crook of the gentle shepherd, once the staff upraised to part the Sea--Moses strikes the rock, once, and again, his staff now nothing more than a blunt instrument. He loses his temper... and also, his job. God tells him: not you, but your successor Joshua will take the Israelites into the Promised Land. End of story.

Now even if we grant the Torah’s depiction of the Israelites as--shall we say--hard to please, can you imagine what would happen if every Jewish leader totally lost it every time an Israelite came forward with a kvetch?

And Moses wasn’t the only one with a problem. The Bible’s Prophets--while filled with passion and inspiration--often spoke from anger and their message fell on deaf ears. We even have a word that’s come down to us in English, jeremiad, which means a long, bitter diatribe, named for the angriest of the Prophets, Jeremiah, who, by his own account, spent the final years of his life in exile in Egypt, trying in vain to convince his people to renounce their sinfulness and return to God.

But why am I talking about figures shrouded by time and geography when I could be talking about us? For there is not a person in this room whose life has not been touched by anger, and surely many of us would like to do a better job managing our own.

We know that anger takes a toll on us. It hurts our health. Physicians believe that anger contributes to cardiovascular stress and puts us at risk for early death. It hurts our relationships. Our loved ones recoil when we lose our tempers and then we have to find a way to do “damage control.” And it hurts our sense of self: we don’t like how we look, we don’t like how we feel, we don’t like how we sound, when we explode in anger. Long after an outburst we may feel consumed with remorse.

I have heard that when a rattlesnake is cornered, it can become so frenzied that it will accidentally bite itself with its deadly fangs. When we harbor anger, we often end up poisoned by our own venom.

Two rabbis, Elazar and Yossi, once became so angry during a debate over a minor point of Jewish law, that a Torah scroll got ripped up. A third rabbi who witnessed the argument commented, “I would be surprised if this synagogue does not become a house of idol worship,” and that, the Talmud reports (Yevamot 96b), is exactly what ended up happening, because where anger holds sway, Reason and Wisdom and Mercy and God have no dominion.

The Talmud also tells us that Rabbi Chanina ben Gamliel had such a hot temper that his servant eventually ended up serving him unkosher meat because he felt too afraid to tell him that the house had no kosher meat left.

You may have experienced this harmful side-effect of anger. Rabbi Joseph Telushkin reminds us that “the most common reason children lie to their parents is that they are afraid of what might happen if they tell the truth.”

And yet anger comes with our humanity. Never to feel anger, never to lose one’s temper, would be unnatural and, in some cases, inappropriate. Maimonides wrote that a person without the capacity for anger resembles a corpse (Hilchot De'ot Ch.2). Sometimes anger is not only justified but necessary.

An insufficiency of anger has led to terrible decisions. Who among us would not prefer the rage that Winston Churchill felt toward Hitler to the ameliorating goodwill of his predecessor Neville Chamberlain? Abraham Joshua Heschel said that to suppress anger “in the face of outbursts of evil may amount to surrender and capitulation.... The complete absence of anger stultifies moral sensibility (The Prophets, pp. 280ff.).

Even Moses, whose anger eventually undid him, as a young man grasped its occasional necessity. Witnessing an Egyptian taskmaster beating a Hebrew slave within an inch of his life, Moses slays the oppressor to save the victim in a strategic display of rage.

Reasons for justified anger abound. I for one would submit that we have a Jewish responsibility to feel anger that in a nation of supermarkets overflowing with food, more than a million American children will go to bed hungry while we’re breaking fast. When religious officials violate a sacred trust, a sexual boundary, we ought to respond with anger. We should feel anger at willful ignorance, particularly when exploited for political gain. Not to feel anger is sometimes to abdicate moral responsibility.

Further, the Rabbis noted that anger and creativity often spring from the the same primal impulse. A world without anger would mean Picasso without Guernica, J.D. Salinger without Holden Caulfield, Spike Lee without Do The Right Thing, The Beatles without John Lennon.

And there will come times when--as parents, children, siblings, spouses, and friends--we will need to express anger. I consider it no indicator of future wedded bliss when, in pre-marital counseling, a couple boasts, “we’ve never had a fight.” A Chinese proverb counters, “If you haven’t fought with each other, you do not know each other.” Holding anger inside can actually hurt us. An inability or unwillingness to display it sometimes results in it eating us alive.

The late Princess Diana brought global attention to land mines buried in battlegrounds long ago, that continue to kill and maim. Yvon Bouvet, who heads a French government team that defuses explosives from World Wars I and II explains: “Unexploded bombs become more dangerous with time. With the corrosion inside, the weapon becomes more unstable; the detonator can be exposed.’” The same holds true for buried rage. It can explode when we least expect it.

Yet few of us have mastered how to express anger in a constructive way that would allow our relationships to grow as a result. “Anger doesn’t automatically dissipate by being unleashed,” notes one expert. “We rarely experience catharsis. Venting... only increases the intensity of the feeling. Anger often feeds on itself" (“The Downside of Anger,” Hara Estroff Marano, Psychology Today, July/Aug 2003).

Moreover, what really deserves our anger and what should we let go? It’s often hard to know. A Jewish tradition imagines that even God struggles. When God prays, how does God pray? The Talmud says, like this: “May My capacity for mercy overtake My capacity for anger.” (Bavli Berakhot 7a). This is really hard work, for everyone.

Yet our anger can teach us much about ourselves. If you want to tackle it, begin with Rabbi Telushkin’s exercise in self-awareness. Ask yourself:

When I’m angry, do I overreact and inflict pain on others? Or will I deny that I am angry while treating others with coldness, disdain, or annoyance? Do I speak curtly, making people feel that I have no time for them? Do I convey my anger to the right people, or take it out on the wrong people? Am I moody? Do I make people around me feel responsible for my moods? (Questions paraphrased from Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, Reform Judaism Magazine, Spring 2006, and A Code of Jewish Ethicas, Vol. I: You Shall Be Holy, p. 260).

If the answer to any of these is “yes,” then there’s still work to do. Fortunately we have received much practical wisdom when it comes to anger management, helping us to use our anger as a strategic tool and not as a blunt weapon.

It starts with a realistic goal. Pirkei Avot teaches, “Be slow to anger and easy to pacify" (5:14). Not, “never get angry,” but rather, work on that short fuse. Start by surrendering your most petty annoyances--like going ballistic when you can’t find the pen you swear you left on your desk, or flying into a rage at every inattentive driver on the road, or losing your temper with a child who habitually refuses to take a bath.

Taking a “time-out” after an upsetting incident also helps. Waiting to respond for at least twenty-four hours after a provocation can really take the edge off.

Cultivating a state of mindfulness is beneficial. Some do it through exercise or yoga. And although the idea was lampooned in an episode of Seinfeld in which George Costanza’s dad would yell, “SERENITY NOW!” every time he felt upset, many have found reciting a mantra to have a calming effect.

Unless under the influence of mental illness or mind- altering substances, we almost always can control our impulses. For instance, when we sense a clear and present danger, we tend not to explode. Few of us would voice our inner rage if held up at gunpoint. And if we had positive incentives, like a monetary reward, for every time we exercised self-restraint, would we not quickly learn to control our anger? Or “positive disincentives”: I know some people who have imposed a fine on themselves, a contribution to tzedakah, every time they lose their temper.

Many have benefited from giving anger an outlet that will neutralize it before it can hurt someone. Abraham Lincoln’s secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, once felt angered by an army officer who accused him of favoritism. Stanton complained to Lincoln, who suggested that Stanton write the officer a sharp letter. Stanton did, and showed it to the President. “What are you going to do with it?” Lincoln asked. Stanton replied, “Send it.” Lincoln shook his head. “You don’t want to send that letter,” he said. “Put it in the stove. That’s what I do when I have written a letter while I am angry. It’s a good letter and you had a good time writing it and [you] feel better. Now, burn it, and write another.” How much the more do we need Lincoln’s advice in our era of impulsively sent e- mails?

Finding compassion for the person provoking us can also supply an antidote. Rabbi Noach Weinberg points out that if we were standing on a street corner and someone pushed us into traffic, we would understandably feel infuriated. But if we turned around and saw that a blind person had bumped us, our anger would dissolve into compassion. We need to remember that many times, the culprit in our dispute is, in a way, blind--honestly blind to how he or she has hurt us--and while we need to protect ourselves, compassion provides a better response than anger (Ibid, pp. 270-271 (paraphrased)).

Don’t assume that this work is best done alone. Many individuals and couples have coped successfully through the assistance of a therapist. Even a friend can help. When you need to vent, choose a fair- minded person who can calm you down and see both sides of a dispute.

Rabbi Israel Salanter, who a century-and-a-half ago founded the Musar Movement, a spiritual discipline focusing on personal ethics, liked to say that “the loudest sound in the universe is the breaking of a bad habit.” We know how difficult it can be to choose a softer path when old ways have become hardened. But what relief when we do!

Take it from Moses. The youth who used his anger to rescue a defenseless slave grew up into the man who lost everything in his rage. Now he has heard the final summons. He knows that he will die soon, will see the Promised Land but never enter. In that moment, this is what he says to his people--words taken from the Yom Kippur Torah portion--

U’vacharta ba-chayim. “Choose life.”

In spite of life handing Moses the ultimate disappointment in the final inning, Moses managed not to die an angry old cynic.

Look, he could have said, “Despite all our best efforts, life is unfair and the best advice is not to expect too much.”

Instead he said: “Choose life.”

Every day we choose how we will live. Yes, much comes to us without our choice or control. But we get to control how we will choose to respond.

The classic Barry Levinson movie Avalon depicts a Jewish family growing up in Baltimore. At Thanksgiving one year, the family waits and waits for habitually late Uncle Gabriel. Exasperated, they start without him. He finally shows up hours late, just in time to utter the movie’s crucial line: “You cut the turkey without me?! I can’t believe you cut the turkey without me!” Soon enough, we stop laughing, as his rage turns into an estrangement that permanently severs two branches of his family.

Do you know the Talmudic definition of an “enemy?” An “enemy” is a person you haven’t gotten along with or spoken to in three days. (Bavli Sanhedrin 27a). Do you get the implication? It teaches that when a person hurts us, offends us, disappoints us, we may need to feel angry for a day or two, but we will have to find a way to deal with it, fast, or pretty soon it will grow, take over, rupture our relationships, make enemies of friends. A friend of mine describes the choice to persist in one’s anger, to nurse a grudge, as “performing CPR on a grievance that otherwise would have died of natural causes.”

I do not minimize that many of us have real grievances over real wounds. I know that among us, trusts have been violated--between parents and children, between siblings, friends, business partners, lovers and spouses--and that hopes and expectations have been bitterly disappointed. Our religion does not teach that we should hand out forgiveness casually. And surely there exist some forms of abuse that make forgiveness impossible. Nor does Yom Kippur have any power to erase the old hurts; it just reminds us that we need to work on earning forgiveness through sincere efforts to do better.

But when sincere efforts have been made, and forgiveness earnestly sought, we need to work on granting forgiveness--freely and sincerely. It starts by letting go of anger. I ask you: Can you, this Yom Kippur, let go of some of the anger in your life?

Yes: people have let you down. People have wounded you through what they did or said or what they failed to do or say. They are imperfect and this is what imperfect people do. But if you found a way to put some of the anger aside, could you clear the record ... this Yom Kippur?

It really can happen, if we choose.

You know, and I know, that life is too precious to squander on hard feelings and built-up resentments. Don’t let your anger get the best of you, because it costs too much of your best self.

Don’t say, “What’s done is done; I cannot change it.” We can choose the lives we wish to live. We can choose to become the people we want to be. Starting today. Why wait?