You’ve Got a Friend

Sukkot is upon us, with its promise that our species might find a little spiritual strength by intentionally dining, entertaining, and even sleeping outdoors in a flimsy, handmade fort with a perfectly imperfect roof—open enough for its occupants to see the stars, moon, and clouds–while welcoming lots of other things to drop in as well. Those of us who attempt to do the mitzvah of hanging out in one of these lean-tos will, indeed, find ourselves caught in the crossroads of novelty and nuisance, adventure and adversity, invitation and inconvenience, hanging out with friends and a frantic dash back into the house should the rains come on hard. Notably, the practice is prescribed to occur in a notoriously unpredictable season vis-a-vis weather patterns (in both the northern and southern hemispheres!!) thus ensuring that we stay alert, nimble, and willing to endure a bit of discomfort in the pursuit of a taste of truth. I would go so far as to say that it affords us the opportunity to enjoy that queerest of queernesses: realness.

Rural living and hanging in a sukkah share the challenge and blessing of getting a little closer to the raw world. Living, as I do, in the Sonoma County woods, my “backyard” is constantly being criss-crossed by bobcats and foxes and coyotes, OH MY! Their altercations, warnings, and mating cries punctuate the night with a screeching racket that fills me with ירא/yirah, or, in a rare exact English translation: Fear/awe. And in those moments I am so glad I am not alone. It is good to have strong, loving, and good company in a sukkah. Any sukkah. Every sukkah. It’s good to have friends. 

Years ago, on a magical Shabbat evening, I witnessed something of a human-heart-as-sukkah miracle. My dear friend, T, who was at the time creeping up on fifty, had just earned her Bachelor’s degree. T is a big ol’ school butch dyke–rough as sandpaper except when she is as fine and delicate as a robin’s egg, which makes her the outlier in her given family. She has an extremely respectable, mainstream, and quite affluent gay brother; a straight sister who is a well-heeled suburban mom and career woman; and her parents, z”l, who at the time were highly successful pillars of their Jewish and professional communities. T on the other hand kinda stumbled-bumbled through her teens, twenties, thirties and early forties—chasing after unavailable girls, impossible dreams, and that most precious of all endeavors, self-love and inner peace. All the while her sibs followed their suburban Jewish scripts to the letter, got degrees,lucrative work and stable relationships (or so it might appear). 

The truth is messier, is always messier, and suffice it to say that what was obvious in T’s life, was merely disguised in her siblings. Her parents loved her but were openly disappointed by her lack of conventional “success”, which usually came out through thoughtless barbs and zingers. Her sibs had the temperament to make it in polite society, while T’s disposition was to face the gritty reality of living fully exposed in the glaring light of our rough and broken world. She survived on moxie and charm, loyalty and hard work, gumption and a lot of brilliant jury rigging, and a searing ability to read the room. T is the most intuitive person I’ve ever met. She can spot a liar, cheater, or scammer within seconds of meeting someone. She can discern when someone is ill, in spiritual danger, on their way to a breakdown, or on the verge of a major life shift by looking in their eyes for five seconds. She can predict who will let you down, who will come through, and who will descend into madness with frightening accuracy. Sometimes I call her up and just ask, “Hey T, Yes or No?” without bothering to tell her what I’m trying to sort out, cuz she’s basically the best Ouija board on the planet. I’ve known her for over 30 years and she has hardly ever, like maybe twice, been wrong about any of the above. And maybe it’s because she’s perceived as a big bad butch, or maybe it’s because she speaks truth before most folks are ready to hear it, or maybe it just sucks, but despite her accuracy, she is also hardly ever believed. It’s like having Cassandra for a bestie.

Miraculously though, her whole family came across the country to witness her graduation. In part because they loved her and were thrilled, and in part because they wouldn’t believe it ‘til they saw it. Julie and I invited the whole mishpocha to celebrate with a Shabbat dinner by us. It was everything we had hoped: everyone showed up, our kids were in good moods, the food was excellent–Djaj Bil-Bahar Il-Asfar, if my memory serves!–with which the wine paired perfectly, the table was set for royalty, and the conversation was festive, joyous, and remarkably unsnarky. But the best part of all was seeing T on cloud nine, basking in her accomplishment, and drinking up the love. Our house had a sweeping view of the San Francisco Bay and our dining room table was just two layers of glass away from whatever the elements had to offer. That night, the sky was dark dark dark and the city lights below twinkled, as they do, with ironic beauty. 

As our meal wound down the kitchen became the site of impressive industriousness. T, who spent more than her fair share of time working in commercial kitchens, recognizing the need to inspire the workers, went to put on some cleanup music. She chose Carole King’s 1970s classic: Tapestry. The adults in the room knew every word to every song and a sing-a-long/dance party/cleanup ops situation unfolded. Our kids knew a few of the songs, but were dumbfounded by the passion with which the rest of us geezers belted out every word of every song. It was like a well rehearsed religious ceremony.

What an extraordinary night! A treasure to witness T surrounded by her chosen and bio family, to see everyone’s armor come off, to observe the rare occasion during which no negatively tinged comment was flung. No one wanted to complete the kitchen work because no one wanted the moment to end. So when the last crumbs had been swept up and all the dishes were dried and stowed and the few leftovers were put away, we organically, instinctively, unselfconsciously, put our arms around each other and stood there swaying and crooning in a big circle. The last song contains one of the greatest Jewish texts of all times. And as I recall it was during the second verse that the deep catharsis occurred:

If the sky above you
Grows dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind begins to blow
Keep your head together
And call my name out loud
Soon you’ll hear me knockin’ at your door

You just call out my name
And you know, wherever I am
I’ll come runnin’, runnin’, yeah, yeah
To see you again

Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there, yes, I will
You’ve got a friend

Tears flowed, smiles radiated, and against all odds my beloved ol’ friend, finally and fully luxuriated in the soft and transcendent love of her biological and bespoke family. If Shechina was anywhere that shabbes, She was right there in our kitchen sukkah of peace amidst the rest of us blubbering beloveds. 

T and I have been through many rough patches, sweet moments, losses, celebrations, failures and triumphs with each other over the last many decades. We have exchanged harsh words and have dug in our heels for a while before forgiveness was either requested or bequeathed. We have witnessed and listened, advised and praised, commanded and cajoled each other to always always always show up, no matter how imperfectly. T is far better at the physical manifestations of this than I am. She has crossed the world many times over to be at my side when I needed her the most. My strong suit is that I reliably dial in even when I’m a wildly imperfect mess, she always knows I’m here, for I am not a creature of the shadows. This level of friendship is rare and precious and a mainstay of Jewish spiritual practice.

Judaism is rife with examples of friendships like mine and T’s. On one hand we are chevruta– who, like the many intellectual partnerships found in the Talmud, have forged our friendship through learning life together. And on the other hand, we are reut–trusted pals, confidants, bosom buddies, and witnesses to each others’ flaws, gifts, missteps, and slam dunks. There is a snippet from proverbs (27:17) that kinda sums up our friendship:

 בַּרְזֶל בְּבַרְזֶל יָחַד וְאִישׁ יַחַד פְּנֵי־רֵעֵהוּ

Iron sharpens iron but a person sharpens the understanding of their friend.

The rabbinic tradition examines the relationships between its characters’ and their closest companions. Talmud is rife with stories about how we should honor and value our pals, besties, and acquaintances lest we cause injury or fray the fabric of our community. To ensure communal health the Rabbis privileged right relationship between people, even over their connection to the Creator. Mishnah Yoma 8:9 asserts boldly:

עֲבֵרוֹת שֶׁבֵּין אָדָם לַמָּקוֹם, יוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים מְכַפֵּר. עֲבֵרוֹת שֶׁבֵּין אָדָם לַחֲבֵרוֹ, אֵין יוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים מְכַפֵּר, עַד שֶׁיְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרוֹ.

Transgressions that are between a person and God, Yom Kippur atones; Transgressions that are between a person and his friend, Yom Kippur does not atone until [the transgressor] appeases the other person. 

The message here is clear: The Creator of the Universe can wait for us to make tshuvah, probably forever, because let’s face it, The Creator of the Universe is operating on a very different time line than us mortals. Our flesh and blood buddies, however, don’t have all the time in the world, and neither do we. So let’s not dillydally. The best time to clean up our messes no matter how awkward, cringy, or shameful our behavior may have been, is now. The true test of friendship is if we can show up to those breaches with humility and kindness, openness and even a touch of awe. Because it is an amazing thing to recognize our own power, and tshuvah, returning to truth, is pow-er-ful; it is also humbling to reckon with the harm we can inflict upon those we care about when we yield to anger, frustration, or are mired in self-absorption. And it is miraculous that when our hearts are open and kind, we can heal and be healed.

But that doesn’t always happen. The Gemara (BT Yoma 87a) adds an aggadic illustration to the above mishnah, of what happens when two people are not in alignment on when, how, or why to attempt a relationship repair: 

רַב הֲוָה לֵיהּ מִילְּתָא בַּהֲדֵי הָהוּא טַבָּחָא, לָא אֲתָא לְקַמֵּיהּ. בְּמַעֲלֵי יוֹמָא דְכִפּוּרֵי אֲמַר אִיהוּ: אֵיזִיל אֲנָא לְפַיּוֹסֵי לֵיהּ. פְּגַע בֵּיהּ רַב הוּנָא, אֲמַר לֵיהּ: לְהֵיכָא קָא אָזֵיל מָר, אֲמַר לֵיהּ: לְפַיּוֹסֵי לִפְלָנְיָא. אָמַר: אָזֵיל אַבָּא לְמִיקְטַל נַפְשָׁא. אֲזַל וְקָם עִילָּוֵיהּ. הֲוָה יָתֵיב וְקָא פָלֵי רֵישָׁא, דַּלִּי עֵינֵיהּ וְחַזְיֵיהּ, אֲמַר לֵיהּ: אַבָּא אַתְּ? זִיל, לֵית לִי מִילְּתָא בַּהֲדָךְ. בַּהֲדֵי דְּקָא פָלֵי רֵישָׁא, אִישְׁתְּמִיט גַּרְמָא וּמַחְיֵיהּ בְּקוֹעֵיהּ וְקַטְלֵיהּ.

Rav had had an altercation with a certain butcher who insulted him. The butcher did not come before him to apologize. On Yom Kippur eve, Rav said: I will go and appease/persuade him. He ran into his student Rav Huna, who said to him: Where are you going, Master? He [Rav] said to him: I am going to appease/persuade someone. He [Rav Huna] said: Abba is going to kill a soul, you will hasten his demise, since he hasn’t come to you of his own regret. Rav went and stood by him [the butcher]. The butcher was sitting and splitting the head of an animal. The butcher raised his eyes and saw him. He said to him: You?! Abba? Go, I have nothing to say to you. While he was splitting the head, one of the bones flew out and struck him in the throat and killed him.

This tragic metaphor zeroes in on the painful truth that not all rifts are mendable. When one party is recalcitrant, and not able, ready, willing, or clear enough to apologize or forgive, nothing good will come from trying to force a conversation. If the person who committed the affront is able, ready, willing, or clear enough to apologize for having wielded their power inappropriately and/or deliberately acted with the intent to wound, but the wounded party isn’t able, ready, willing, or healed enough to accept the apology, they are, both of them, stuck. To return from a breach takes time and a deep and sincere desire of both parties to mend the fence. And even the greatest loves can discover devastating fissures. 

There is a strange and kind of wonderful series of passages in BT Bava Metzia 84a–the Rabbis are rattling along in a free wheeling discussion about having large bodies and schmeckle length, which then leads into a series of riffs about physical beauty. Rabbi Yochanan asserts that he alone is left of the beautiful people in Jerusalem. The Rabbis interrogate him and R. Yochanan continues touting his extraordinary beauty making the claim that not only is he hot hot hot, but he is also immune to the power of the evil eye. It’s pretty chutzpadik, if you ask me. His boasting is literally put to rest however, with the terse account of how this tendency of his causes his long, intimate, and beautiful friendship with his beloved chevruta to go horribly awry. 

יוֹמָא חַד הֲוָה קָא סָחֵי רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן בְּיַרְדְּנָא. חַזְיֵיהּ רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ וּשְׁוַור לְיַרְדְּנָא אַבָּתְרֵיהּ. אֲמַר לֵיהּ חֵילָךְ לְאוֹרָיְיתָא. אֲמַר לֵיהּ שׁוּפְרָךְ לְנָשֵׁי. אֲמַר לֵיהּ אִי הָדְרַתְּ בָּךְ יָהֵיבְנָא לָךְ אֲחוֹתִי, דְּשַׁפִּירָא מִינַּאי. קַבֵּיל עֲלֵיהּ. בָּעֵי לְמִיהְדַּר לְאֵתוֹיֵי מָאנֵיהּ וְלָא מָצֵי הָדַר.

One day, Rabbi Yochanan was bathing in the Jordan River. Reish Lakish, a badass bandit, gang leader, and former gladiator, saw him and jumped into the Jordan, pursuing him. R. Yochanan said to R. Lakish: Your strength is fit for Torah study. R. Lakish said to him: Your beauty is fit for women. R.Yochanan said to him: If you return to the pursuit of Torah, I will give you my sister in marriage, who is more beautiful than I am. He, R. Lakish, accepted upon himself to study Torah. Subsequently, R. Lakish wanted to jump back out of the river to bring back his clothes, but he was unable to return, his physical strength yielded to his intellectual exertion upon agreeing to study. 

The Gemara tells how R. Lakish became a great scholar under R. Yochanan’s tutelage. Their debates and conversations, numbering in the hundreds, are scattered throughout the Talmud. But here the passage jumps from their first meeting to their final discussion. They are considering when during the making of a blade, is it susceptible to the laws of ritual purity. The gemara concludes it is when the manufacturing is complete. But then the tale takes a tragic turn. 

וּמֵאֵימָתַי גְּמַר מְלַאכְתָּן? רַבִּי יוֹחָנָן אוֹמֵר: מִשֶּׁיְּצָרְפֵם בַּכִּבְשָׁן. רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ אָמַר: מִשֶּׁיְּצַחְצְחֵן בְּמַיִם. אֲמַר לֵיהּ לִסְטָאָה בְּלִסְטְיוּתֵיהּ יָדַע. אֲמַר לֵיהּ: וּמַאי אַהֲנֵית לִי? הָתָם ״רַבִּי״ קָרוּ לִי, הָכָא ״רַבִּי״ קָרוּ לִי! אֲמַר לֵיהּ: אַהֲנַאי לָךְ דַּאֲקָרְבִינָּךְ תַּחַת כַּנְפֵי הַשְּׁכִינָה.

The Sages inquired: And from when is their manufacture complete? Rabbi Yochanan says: It is from when one fires them in the furnace. Reish Lakish said: It is from when one scours them in water. R.Yochanan said to R. Lakish: A bandit knows about his banditry. R. Yochanan’s subtext is “Well, you should know–once a bandit, always a bandit.” R. Lakish said to R. Yochanan: What benefit did you provide me by bringing me close to Torah? There, among the bandits, they called me: “Rabbi”, and here they call me: “Rabbi”. R. Lakeish’s throwdown is, “So what did you give me that I didn’t already have?” R. Yochanan snaps back and said to him: I provided benefit to you, as I brought you close, under the wings of the Shechina.

Their interaction devolves quickly from there. R.Lakish feels unseen, R. Yochanan feels dissed. R. Lakish falls ill. R. Lakish’s wife pleads with her brother to back off and pray for R. Lakish’s recovery, lest she become a widow and her children fatherless. But R. Yochanan digs in. He tells her, “Don’t worry. I’ll raise the children and take care of you if you end up a widow.” At which point R. Lakish dies. R. Yochanan becomes despondent. His students try to pull him out of his funk by setting him up to learn with other hotshot Rabbis. R. Yochanan plows through them one after another, as none of them can hold their own and they just end up extolling his brilliance. He berates them saying, “When I explored a matter with R. Lakish he would poke 24 holes in my thinking. It was through his challenges that my understanding was refined. All you do is tell me how right I am. I know how right I am! What I need to know is how I am wrong!” The story ends with:

הֲוָה קָא אָזֵיל וְקָרַע מָאנֵיהּ וְקָא בָכֵי וְאָמַר: ״הֵיכָא אַתְּ בַּר לָקִישָׁא, הֵיכָא אַתְּ בַּר לָקִישָׁא״! וַהֲוָה קָא צָוַח עַד דְּשָׁף דַּעְתֵּיהּ מִינֵּיהּ. בְּעוֹ רַבָּנַן רַחֲמֵי עֲלֵיהּ וְנָח נַפְשֵׁיהּ.

1. Yochanan went around, rending his clothing, weeping and saying: Where are you, son of Lakish? Where are you, son of Lakish? He screamed until he lost his mind. The Rabbis prayed for God’s mercy to be on him, and his soul rested, i.e. he died.

I cannot imagine that it was a mere coincidence that the redactors of the Talmud buttressed the delightfully flirtatious and spiritually erotic beginning of their relationship with their clumsy, hurtful, and tragic break up. Yochanan and Lakish are the paradigmatic perfect talmud couple. Their love for each other was deep and abiding. There was no human foible or communal problem they wouldn’t tackle. They argued passionately and persistently. Their relationship was passionate, long-lived, and dynamic. So, what happened?

As brilliant as they were when interrogating content, I can only think that, as the years wore on, they simply got sloppy where their heart connection was concerned. And this is something that happens frequently. We forget to see each other. We lean on familiar and comfortable patterns while avoiding awkward conversations. We tacitly adopt a “better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission” stance, but then we even dodge asking for forgiveness. 

The Yamim Noraim/Days of Awe chart a course through what should be a corrective for these lapses. Rosh Hashanah reminds us of the power of renewal while Yom Kippur coaxes us out onto the high dive—if we jump we immerse in the hard work of facing failure, weakness and injury. If we don’t we could die of spiritual delusions up on that roost. We are adjured to admit our limitations, refine our ethics, commit more fully to our core values, and willingly heal our open wounds into scars, which one day will, hopefully, be subtle. 

So, it makes perfect sense that the end of that 10-day journey would lead us to surrender to the elements, to sit down in a flimsy structure that we built, festoon it with reminders of abundance, and fill it with sacred guests–friends, family, ancestors, strangers, and if She can make an appearance, Shechina Herself.

A sukkah is a lot like our relationships, a simple structure that needs constant tending to remain safe and comfortable. Perhaps Yochanan and Lakish just got tired. Maybe forty years in, they simply didn’t have the steam to mend the torn curtains, sweep out the leaves, replace the rotting gourds, and refinish the weather weary benches one more time. But I daresay that anyone of us reading that piece of Talmud, so meticulously curated to break our hearts, will take stock of our own untended relationships. Maybe sitting in our rickety sukkah, or even just plopping down in a chair outside for an hour or two–to meditate on the power of love, its ability to bind us or break us–will think of them. Maybe we can remember Rav, and try to practice patience with those whose bitterness burned its way out, scalding us along the way. Maybe we can feel the relief of knowing that The Source is being patient with us all the time. 

Cuz Honey, we have collectively spewed a veritable sea of bitterness across this planet, and ya don’t see Shechina running across the Universe to get us to repent with Her on Yom Kippur. No. Instead, She shows up when a family puts their judgement aside long enough to clean up a messy kitchen and sing oldies together. She shows up heartbroken when two of her brilliant children turn their pain on each other. She shows up radiantly when we make things right with each other. She shows up because, in fact, She is actually and always within us. We are, each and everyone of us, the sukkah She lives in year round. And if you listen you just might hear a still small voice wiping down the table of our heart singing: Winter, spring, summer, or fall, all you gotta do is call, and I’ll be there, yes I will. You’ve got a friend.

And ain’t it good to know, you’ve got a friend?