Alone and Together

          The greatness of Moses, I believe, is not (just) in the time he spent on top of the mountain.  Whatever it may mean to say he communed with God, our tradition teaches that he went up alone.  But to me, the greatness, and the life-lesson for us, is that... he came back down. 
          In Judaism, the goal is not about isolated enlightenment.  There are times for that, and it is has its role, for all of us.  But a different form of fulfillment is found in that next step.  The turn from philosophy to pragmatism. The return from looking inward.  The application of insight.  In involvement and engagement.

          I have been thinking about being alone in recent days, in different ways.  First, and less personal: I have been reading a new niche of memoirs of late – the writings of those who have left the ultra-Orthodox fold.  I am fascinated by the glimpse of a world I can only imagine, but equally moved by the courage it has taken some people to leave… and the isolation and loneliness they feel in turning away from – or having been expelled by – such an all-encompassing cocoon of a community.  The best energy, the most humane and compelling part of the ultra-Orthodox world comes not, in my view, from its beliefs, but from its impact, and the closeness and connection it brings to every moment of life.  What – and who -- would someone who leaves that world need… to restore a sense of wholeness and meaning in their lives?  And what, I often wonder, can we do, in a liberal world, to bring meaning and connection to so many parts of our own lives?

          As I am thinking about the social structure of religious communities, I am also facing a more personal issue in my own extended family.   My father fell this past November, and we have been dealing with hospitals, rehabilitation facilities and private aides, bills and taxes and insurance and Medicaid and choices about comprehensive care ever since.         We work with a social worker who helps manage his care, financial advisors and accountants, people in all different departments of his residential facility, two hospitals, two rehabilitation facilities.  The list goes on.  And in the midst of this I keep thinking:  what would he do if he were totally alone?  How would he manage?  How would we, without help?  Actually, how does anyone manage, who has to navigate this system we have… on their own.  Truly you need an advocate to deal with any aspect of our health care system.  What kind of country are we, what kind of society have we created where it is so difficult, indeed, so dangerous, to be alone?

          For this moment, I want to focus not on an immediate programmatic answer or an urgent policy proposal.  I just want to ask us to take the time to appreciate those who are around us, the human connections we have, the ways in which others are there for us… and we can be there for others. 

          Because yes, often, we are indeed alone.  For good and for bad, both on top of a mountain or in the deepest, darkest valley.  But meaning, fulfillment, connection and community come… from what we do, and from who we are, together.