Once Rabbi Elimelekh had his friend Rabbi Mendel as a guest
for dinner. As it happened, that night, Rabbi Elimelekh’s servant forgot to set
out a spoon at Rabbi Mendel’s place. Everyone was eating except Rabbi Mendel,
who sat looking at his soup. The Tzaddik observed this and asked: Why aren’t
you eating? Well, said Rabbi Mendel, I don’t have a spoon.
Look, said Rabbi Elimelekh, one must know enough to ask for
a spoon, and a plate too, if need be!
There are two ways to look at this story. One is that Rabbi
Elimelekh should have made sure that Rabbi Mendel had a spoon. Quite rude and
unwelcoming. But the other is Rabbi Elimelekh’s point; that Rabbi Mendel,
seeing his situation, should have asked self-advocated, and asked for help. We
can’t wait for someone to notice whether we’re in distress; we have to ask.
And here’s the thing; we’re not good at asking for help. We’re
great at offering help. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve visited someone in
the hospital after surgery and asked if they wanted the caring committee to
reach out, only to be told with a dismissive wave of the hand that they used to
be on the caring committee. We’re happy to be the one who supports; we’re less
thrilled to be on the receiving end. Maybe it feels infantilizing, or as
Americans, it feels weak. I don’t know. What I do know is that our tradition
teaches us that the point of being in community is as much to have a shoulder
to lean on as it is to offer that shoulders to others. And that no one is
keeping score. We see that in our torah portion, which talks about a person
with Tzaraat; sometimes called leprosy but really some kind of spiritual skin
disease. We are told right at the beginning that as soon as a priest hears
about the person having tzaraat, he’s to go to that person outside the camp to
address his needs. This tells us that someone had to tell the priest, and that
the priest has to go to that person as soon as he hears of their suffering. I
know that sounds self-evident, but too often I find that we’d rather suffer in
silence or hope someone notices that we don’t have a spoon than admit frailty
and get the help and support they need. And when we close ourselves off like
that, in a way, we push our friends away, we tell them that we don’t trust them
to be there for us. And we tell ourselves that we aren’t worthy of love and
support.
Rabbi Mendel deserves a spoon. The metzorah—the person with
tzaraat—deserves to be seen by the priest, to have his illness attended to so
he can reenter the camp. And we are deserving of love and support. But
sometimes, folks, we have to ask. Let’s be brave enough, trusting enough, to do
so. Amen.
