The Power Of The Words "I Shall Try"

AUG.20.2013 

When my husband Tzvi was ill many friends offered their help. Some asked me explicitly what we needed, and others made different and thoughtful gestures. I remember a group of friends from work who came over and took my husband to sit by the sea.

One of my friends, a widow herself, called me and said how grateful she was for all the help I had given her at the time when her husband was ill. She said that she wanted to reciprocate, but added that, unlike me, she could not visit Tzvi at the hospital. She asked whether there was something else that she could do. Since she had asked, I tried to think of something appropriate for her to do and found, what I considered to be, a small thing. When I told her she immediately responded: ”this I cannot do.” I was really taken aback, as it wasn’t that I who had pursued her to ask for her help, she had offered it.

I am not saying that she had to help me with my request, but saying no especially at a time like that was very unfortunate. Rather than refusing she could have said that she would try, that she would see what could be done, that she would ask around.  Saying that she would try did not mean that she would actually do it, it only meant that she would not close the door on the chance to help. Often people ask you things that, at that time, you have no idea how you could help with their request. Not saying no allows for the possibility to keep on looking for ways to help so that eventually a solution for the problem could be found.

By saying no we just push the request away without ever thinking about it  again.

I like to think of myself as a helpful person, but as a result of that incident I became even more careful with my response to people’s requests.  Saying yes means that I try harder, it makes the person who is in need feel better, as it is not easy to ask for help. It also makes me feel better, and in general it brings good will and positive energy to the relationship, and helps it grow.

The other night a group of us sat together and discussed insights which we have collected throughout our  life. Mine was about the empowering effect of the words "I shall try." I acknowledge the importance of the word  'no' when we talk about violence, danger, the law and drugs, among others. However, in interpersonal relationships, when we do our best not to refuse another person's request we make our world a little better.

Best Friends Are Forever?

TOCT.04.2013 

My mom’s best friend called me on my mother’s birthday to let me know that she hasn’t forgotten that date. The friend is 97 year old and my mother has been dead for almost 20 years. Still I wasn’t surprised, isn’t that what  best friends are all about, to be there for you forever and ever?

My mother met her friend in Tel Aviv in the 1930s when they were young and single. They  have remained best friends throughout their lives and  for us, the children, she has always been family. If, like my mother, we are lucky to have a best friend in our adult life, she is often closer than a sibling, we trust her completely, and depend on her for affirmation, strength, and advice. We may even share with her secrets that we won't tell our partner. 

Perhaps because of its significance, "a best friend" is quite a complicated institution, and the attitude to its mere existence is ambivalent. For example, husbands, who are aware of the power and influence of their wife's best friend, sometime see  her as a threat which could  undermine their marriage. Moreover, they could feel that she sees through them, knows all their faults, and her compassion and  loyalty always lie with the wife.

Ambivalence is also an intrinsic part of the relationship itself; one of its manifestations is expectaions. Such strong emotional bond between best friends entails high expectations, and when those are not met it could lead to deep disappointment. 

Thus it may not be surprising that in spite of its depth and intensity,  friendship among women has traditionally been disparaged. The Victorian writer Charlotte Yonge observed in 1878: “It has been said that women are less capable of real friendship than men, and certainly historical friendships, such as existed between even Greeks of the highest type, do not appear to have been known amongst women; but this is because woman in her degraded state, uneducated and only her husband’s foremost slave, was incapable of more than gossip and rivalry with her fellow-women. Friendship could not begin till woman was refined and elevated.  .  . It requires that the woman should have a mind, and should go beyond the actual interest of dress, marriage and family, in order to have substance enough to make a real friendship with man or woman”

The great feminist Vera Brittain also noted that historically friendship between women has been underestimated by society: “From the days of Homer the friendships of men have enjoyed glory and acclamation, but the friendships of women, in spite of Ruth and Naomi, have usually been not merely unsung, but mocked, belittled and falsely interpreted” (1942).

Similar conclusions were found in sociological studies, conducted around the middle of the twentieth century. Graham Allan suggested in 1989 that relationships between women tend to be viewed through the prism of negative conventional images and stereotypes, with their actuality usually masked in a fashion that favors the interests of more powerful groupings.

Lately social scientists have finally acknowledged close friendship among women as the most individualized and unregulated social relation. I am sure that all of us who have a best friend will agree with that conclusion.

When my best friend of over  30 years ceased to be my friend, I mourned  that loss and the void it has left in my life. But while death is final, there is always hope that with your best friend things will somehow, miraculously, be restored to the way they were, didn’t we say that a best friend is forever? 

"Man Plans And God Laughs": Home Renovation And Bereavement

 NOV.06.2013 - 12:26 AM

After our two daughters had left home my husband Tzvi and I decided to downsize-- to move from our  house in the suburbs to a smaller one in town. It was going to be a happy move, an opportunity to be centrally located while still having a house with a garden.

In a green neighborhood  just outside Tel Aviv, we found the perfect house. It was an old semi- detached that needed a lot of work: in Israeli terms "old" means about 60 year old. We were thrilled, we knew that this was the place where we would spend many happy years together, and in February we signed the contract.

 However, as the Yiddish proverb goes “man plans and God laughs,” a week after we committed ourselves to buying the house Tzvi was diagnosed with lung cancer. Still we worked on the plans for the  new house together, it was our light in an otherwise very dark period. Originally we planned two studies, and  I remember my heart sinking when he told me one day “I don’t believe that you would need that second study,” I didn’t want to hear it.

On Tzvi’s last day in July he was busy saying good bye to friends and family, he also signed the final papers for the sale of our house in the suburbs to make sure that my move  to the new house would go smoothly.

Taking possession of the new house occurred on the day when I got up from the Shiva, and two days later, on the first day of August, the renovation began. I was grateful for this project, it forced me to be sharp and stay focused in order to take the necessary decisions and make the right choices. I was very fortunate because the architect and the builder, who were aware of my plight, were kind and generous. They took special care of me and we worked together in perfect harmony.

 I have not seen renovation mentioned as a prescribed medicine for bereavement, but for me, (although I was still angry with Him for laughing at our plans) it was “God sent.” It is almost a cliche as the word "renovation" has within it the root "renewal." Indeed as we demolished and built new walls gradually turning  a building site into  a home, I realized that my shattered life was also taking a new form. It gave me new hope for the future.

This was the beginning of my recovery, and  in less than three months, at the end of October, I moved into my new house. I remember waking up on that first morning -- boxes everywhere,  telling myself “this is where my new life starts.”

Each year, around this time,  when I mark another anniversary to my house, I reflect on my circumstances in the summer of 2007, and am thankful for the project and the kindness of people who helped me get back on my feet. But most of all, like Virginia Woolf, I am just happy to have “A Room of One's Own. “

Public Mourning Is Naked

In the first year of my widowhood I sought the company of other women in the same circumstances as mine. Being confused and overwhelmed, I felt  that if I spent enough time with experienced widows, I could learn from them how to cope. Perhaps I was also hoping to skip some of the steps of mourning, and to expedite the healing process.

So I contacted a woman, whose husband died the previous year, I had met her before at social gatherings since her late husband was a colleague of my husband. We liked each other, had a lot in common, and as we were both lonely, we became fast friends. It was comforting to spend time together: we took long walks along the sea, went to concerts, and couple of times even drove out of town for the whole day.

Then all of a sudden, without warning, she ended our friendship. She claimed that there were other obligations and that she was too busy and had no time to meet up. I didn’t understand what was wrong, and wondered if it was something that I had said or done. I wrote her a letter and apologized, in case I had hurt her feelings without noticing. She replied that it wasn't my fault, but never made alternative plans to meet or expressed any wish to see me again.

Not long ago I heard on This American Life that “public mourning is naked.” I don’t remember the context, but I found those words so moving that I recorded them in my notebook, and wrote underneath: desperation, neediness, empathy. 

In Biblical times the words "naked" and "public mourning" were connected, and had a physical/literal meaning. At that time tearing one’s clothing, especially in front of a crowd, was the custom of the land,  and  it was a powerful expression of pain and sorrow: Job 1: 20

“Then Job arose, and tore his robe, and shaved his head, and fell down on the ground, and worshiped.” (World English Bible)

Tearing the robe and shaving the hair were outward (public) signs of grief. Originally, people would rip their garments as soon as they heard the sad news. The mourner tore  his clothing until he exposed his heart.

In a more figurative sense,  these words paint a picture of deep sorrow. In displaying grief I expose my heart. Being naked also  means that the masks have been removed, leaving me unprotected, vulnerable and at risk. Expressing raw emotions (or as the idiom goes: wearing my heart on my sleeve) is probably too uncomfortable, and embarrassing, for those around me. Therefore, and since public mourning is no longer in fashion, it is probably prudent to do it quietly and privately.

It has been almost seven years, and I was fortunate  to find other women friends (not only widows), with whom I share my feelings. But every once and a while I think about that friend and the time we spent together. I don't blame her, after all her husband died only a year earlier, and she had her own mourning to deal with. I still don't understand why she stopped being my friend, but when I heard the statement: “public mourning is naked” I realized that this was part of the answer: it was probably the nakedness of my grief which felt too close and scared my friend away.