It is Broken
“It’s broken! Put it back!” our two year old screams at me from the backseat on our too long commute home.
“Fix it,” he yells again.
“It is broken,” I gently tell him, gripping the steering wheel, taking deep breaths because I cannot tolerate his anguish. “I’m sorry, honey, it is broken and I don’t have any more.”
“Put it back!” He continues to scream. “It’s broken!”
This very scene repeats itself most mornings in our home. “It’s broken!
Put it back! Whole thing! Fix it!”
“Yes, it IS broken, honey,” I tell him. “I cannot fix it, we cannot fix it,” we tell him over and over again.
I find these moments excruciating. Aside from the fact that reaching into the back seat while driving is physically uncomfortable, any time I encounter someone upset, I feel sad when I cannot fix it for them, get them the help they need fast enough, or lessen their pain enough to matter.
Coupled with taking a wider lens at the world, another smoggy sky, another ICE shooting, more war, more hungering families, more unhoused individuals, more people suffering in the midst of painful and often costly medical treatment, amid more and more grief – what do we do when we look around and see that the brokenness is so expansive that there is simply too much that needs fixing?
***
We think about things that need repair a lot at the synagogue, Temple Shalom of Newton, where I serve as one of the rabbis. Tikkun Olam, repair of our world, is a core value in our community.
When we meet with our BMitzvah students to plan a Mitzvah project, we explore various ways one can pursue justice and compassion. Inspired by a framework learned from Moving Traditions, we break down the idea of Tikkun Olam, the repair of all that’s broken in the world, into three smaller areas:
- Tzedekah – as in charity, whether money, food, or gently used clothes
- Chesed – as in acts of compassion like showing up for shiva or visiting lonely elders
- Tzedek – including activism, raising awareness, and speaking up.
When I sit with our students and parents in 6th grade and ask them to brainstorm all the brokenness in the world that needs our care, parents are often blown away at how aware their children are of the inequities and injustices in the world. The whiteboard is filled with global issues that seem impossible to repair.
“Can you fix it yourself?” I ask them.
“No,” they nod, “of course not.”
Then we move to action. We take a big issue – such as homelessness – and break down that global concern into various related issues faced by people who don’t have houses. Like the need for food, weather appropriate clothing, hygiene items, and beyond. The problem looks bigger than we started but we continue to winnow down into something actionable for a thirteen year-old and their family, even if it only touches a few people in need, and even if they never meet the person their efforts are helping. And mostly, we talk a lot about how – despite the privilege that many of our students experience on a day to day basis – we have to accept that in some ways, sometimes that’s as much as we can do on our own. That reality can be painful.
***
I’ve been sitting with the image of my son crying – the metaphor and meaning of it – for some time. First, because it happens every day. But also because I noticed how I immediately jump from – “what do we do when things are broken?” – right to “here’s how we can approach fixing things”- practically and spiritually right away.
But I realize I’ve skipped a step. I didn’t really let us sit long enough in grief.
Why not?
Because it’s not comfortable to sit in our grief. It can feel lonely, or awkward, or just too difficult. So many of us are looking for a way forward. Sometimes it’s easier to avoid grief with either humor or solutions. And the grief, the brokenness in our world and in many of our lives is all consuming, so maybe, let’s just skip it for once!
But of course our calendar gives us a moment to revisit that step of sitting in our grief. This month of Av is our month of grief and mourning, commemorating the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, a catastrophic hurban in Jewish memory that changed every aspect of Jewish life.
The day offers us a framework for how to face the brokenness in the world right now. It’s observed by fasting and by sitting in grief, on the ground wailing and reciting kinnot, words from Ecclesiastes lamenting and mourning the calamitous loss. From mourning to fasting to chanting to sitting in quiet reflection, Tisha B’av can create spaciousness to let grief sink in.
***
“Fix it,” our son yells again. “I cannot fix it, honey,” I tell him.
Trying to reason with most two year olds is akin to crafting a global peace treaty. In his toddler grief and rage, our son is typically grieving either a broken granola bar or bananas split in half. In our attempt to give him the best life possible, it turns out that the granola bars with the lowest added sugar content are the least resilient for an imprecise backseat handoff. All the artificial ingredients keep granola bars together.
I know that I will have to accept that I cannot fix so many things for him, which will involve watching him go through pain and grief and sorrows. But I have to let Tisha B’av sink in a bit in my soul, remembering how our ancestors sat and wept by the waters of Babylon.
I listen to the very words I say to soothe him: “Yes It IS broken, honey, I cannot fix it, we cannot fix it.” I have to listen to my own voice because maybe I am comforting myself, too.
Rabbi Jen Gubitz is the founder of Modern Jewish Couples and a rabbi at Temple Shalom of Newton. Read more of her writing here: jengubitz.substack.com
