Good Yuntif, Gmar Tov

I remember a sermon from 45 or 50 years ago, which has stuck with me ever since. Rabbi Harold Stern of Congregation B'nai Emunah in Skokie noted that since Yom Kippur fell on Shabbat that year, we would not blow the shofar. He was initially apologetic, because he knew the children loved the dramatic sound of the ram's horn, and perhaps the thrill of that ancient clarion call was the biggest compensation they received for sitting obediently in temple all day, in dress-up clothes, through the mostly Hebrew service.

B'nai Emunah was a Conservative Congregation, not Reformed, but it had a large number of "three-day-a-year Jews." Most people fasted on Yom Kippur, or at least pretended to. The kids got out of school for the High Holy Days. Many of their mothers kept kosher homes, but they went out to restaurants for dinner and didn't always mind cheeseburgers. The men were of the "greatest generation" who fought through France or drove Higgins boats to Pacific beaches and then, having survived, returned home to obediently make money and babies for America. Some of them worked on Saturday.

Harold Stern was a very capable religious scholar, but he was an absolutely brilliant politician. His congregation was wealthy and large, and he was paid very well for many years, despite growing cultural cynicism and the youth rebellion that was in full flower by the time my wife and I were in high school. Stern later convinced the mother of a close friend not to attend her daughter's wedding because it wasn't Jewish; and in 1975 he told my wife and me that if I didn't go through elaborate rituals and grueling study to properly convert to Judaism (which he made a point of saying he wouldn't recommend anyway), then he would never officiate at our wedding. He was sort of a Jewish version of Richard J. ("shoot to maim") Daley or George Wallace to us. It seemed incomprehensible that he could get away with being so arrogant and mean, and yet be so respected for so long by our parents.    

The ultimate crowning-blow offense was when Rabbi Stern was appointed to officiate at my wife's grandmother's funeral. He refused to even consider any statements or recollections by family members as part of the memorial. These were people who had loved the deceased Bubbie all their lives, but Stern insisted that he knew what to say and he didn't need or want any advice or suggestions from anybody.

In retrospect, Harold Stern ruled his flock of almost 1000 families with guilt. They knew they were not Jewish enough and their children would be even less Jewish. Their parents and grandparents were frowning on them from their graves. They had somehow left it to the Orthodox to replace the Six Million. B'nai Emunah's people would remain negligent in many duties, despite their rabbi's best efforts. They were ignobly assimilated, and the congregation finally merged with another shortly after the end of the Twentieth Century. Perhaps ironically, its architecturally beautiful building was sold to an Assyrian foundation, and it now hosts classes teaching an ancient Middle Eastern language that is not Hebrew.

Nevertheless, that one sermon about why we don't blow the shofar when Yom Kippur comes on Shabbat established Rabbi Stern as an important religious figure for me. Blowing the ram's horn is itself work; but what of carrying it  to and from the synagogue? We are commanded to "Do no work!" on the sabbath; and we are also told to blow the shofar at the conclusion of the Day of Atonement. How do we choose which is the more important duty?

In God's eyes, the heroic, dramatic actions performed rarely or just once a year are not as holy as the routine weekly disipline. It's the ordinary, not the extraordinary stuff that counts most. We can dream all we want to about winning the lottery or an epic battle. But in the final analysis our happiness comes from mundane production of value added each week in life. If we can create our world in six days, then on the seventh we should rest: create time, plan for that weekly sabbath, not Christmas and New Years.

The current thrall of psychedelic drugs, and psychiatry's broader apotheosis of the brain, show our continuing human demand for a short-cut or a catalyst to give us mental health and spiritual salvation without a necessity for religious work and study, and tedious planning and collaboration. This is precisely the wrong instinct. 

The "miracle of modern medicine" is a graven image. Psychiatry is the golden calf most offensive to God.

Have an easy fast and keep the sabbath holy.

The Ruffin-Tibbets Century

I'm not sure how to relate this idea to mental health or Elgin Mental Health Center or Gustavo Rodriguez, but if you can bear with me, I'll try.

On April 12, 1861 at Charleston Harbor, Edmund Ruffin, having paid good money for the privilege, fired the first cannon shot against Fort Sumter, thereby opening the American Civil War. Ruffin was a wealthy planter who served in the Virginia State Senate, and a fanatically ideological proponent of African slavery, who truly believed (along with perhaps half the population of the United States at the time) that the Antebellum South's "peculiar institution" was ordained by God. 

In only a few years, Ruffin's view had been decisively proven wrong, and Abraham Lincoln expressed a different version of God's will: that every drop of blood ever drawn by slavery's lash should be repaid with another drawn by the sword. At Shiloh, Gettysburg, Vicksburg, Cold Harbor, Antietam, the Wilderness, and on so many other bloody fields, Lincoln's version of God's will was grotesquely done. The United States was not the same country after that inferno.

A bit more than four score and four years after Ruffin's demonstration of his faith at Charleston, on August 6, 1945, Paul Tibbets flew an American B-29 bomber named after his mother to Japan and killed more than 150,000 people with a single bomb. Tibbets never regretted doing this duty and later wrote, "Morality, there is no such thing in warfare. I don't care whether you are dropping atom bombs, 100-pound bombs, or shooting a rifle. You have got to leave the moral issue out of it."

Only a few days after Tibbets had facilitated the final end of World War II, the United States effectively ruled the world. American ideals and political philosophy had only a single competitor, which American leaders quickly understood as a new existential threat they called "Godless Communism." But the planet was not the same, and morality was a very different subject, after humanity had arrived at a godlike ability to destroy everything and literally end the history of our species.

This century (84 years), bracketed by Ruffin's and Tibbets' separate dramas, was a pivotal moment in the far longer saga of Abrahamic faith irregularly collaborating with scientific reason. Humanity always wanted an Authority higher, or a necessary factual frame more real, than ourselves. We no longer have that. Our story, from the binding of Isaac to the Manhattan Project, is over. (Now we have such a weird thing as so-called "artificial intelligence," and we somehow convince ourselves to be terrified of our own created machines.)

The whole world is new, and it's a frickin' mess. This startles us and dismays us. It reduces our ability to live, partly because we do not recognize what has occurred. The old story is over. The Christian "golden rule" and mathematics alike have become almost irrelevant. We must create new things from scratch.

The way this probably applies to EMHC is, you guys can forget about anyone (and I must say, especially Gus!) believing you're even trying to help. They have learned that "help" means control and betrayal as much as anything else. You can also forget about anyone thinking your professional skills and your education give you any knowledge that they should be interested in. It's just too obvious to all these days, that "you don't know shit" and neither does anyone else. I don't suggest people are right in those attitudes, only that those are their attitudes.

What's necessary is a thing called two-way communication. In his book, Dianetics 1955, L. Ron Hubbard explained it as a very specific formula, a technical action that can be learned and drilled: "cause, distance, effect, with intention and attention, and duplication at effect of what emanates from cause," going first in one direction and then reversing to go in the opposite direction, between two people.

The easiest thing a person does is change his/her mind. In the interests of a better game, any of us will change our mind at the drop of a hat, and we can just as easily change it back if the new offered game doesn't turn out to be as good as we had hoped. Every problem, every conflict or unpleasantness, is dependent upon an absence or failure of two-way communication; when that absence or failure is remedied things get better, life gets better in any circumstance.

The current political culture of intolerant rage has everyone on a hair trigger to dismiss, fight and hate another person the moment they are revealed to be, e.g., a Democrat or an antipsychiatrist, at which time all communication must be refused. It's a hopeless, losing strategy.

The successful influencer does not promote their own opinion with magical power: they understand and suitably acknowledge the opinions they encounter in the world, and they create from those viewpoints of other people, at least until those other people know they are understood, until they become less anxious about changing their own minds and therefore more willing to turn the communication around.

Here's the real connection to mental health. Force is the ultimate losing strategy. The Ruffin-Tibbets Century finally taught humanity that exact lesson. Manipulating brains with drugs or electricity is force and it makes things worse. Only two-way communication by individuals unafraid of force changes minds and improves conditions.

You guys have law and guns, but if you can't change minds by communication alone, you will certainly lose.

And that's the lesson of history!