Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
Friday, December 21, 2001
Real Men (Women and Children) Cry
This weekend marks the first yahrzeit of my dear friend and family member, Ferne Crosby. My thoughts turned to Ferne especially this week. It is hard to believe that she has been gone a full year. Often when I think of Ferne, I think of my Dad. May he also rest in peace. Ferne moved to Tulsa with my Dad to help care for him and many of you came to know my Dad during the last 14 months of his life, when he was often in a wheelchair and certainly not a specimen of strength.
That is the exact opposite of the father whom my brother and I knew growing up. My Dad was a physical fitness nut, long before it became a public craze. Evidently he had been touched by polio in his youth, and there were even predictions that he would not walk again. This challenge sparked his stubbornness and spurred him to build up his body by weight-lifting. He was very proud of his huge muscles and bragged that at one time he could lift the front end of a car off the ground. Our Dad was a tough guy who, at 5'9", delighted in bringing much larger men to their knees with a little trick hold and his strength. You get the picture — a physical fitness maven who had built up his body, was very proud of it, and delighted in showing it off and demonstrating his strength. That was how I experienced my Dad during my formative years. But it is not the full picture.
My Dad cried and he taught his sons, by his example, that grown men cry. Dad cried when he spoke of his beloved Mother. Dad cried when he k’velled over his sons’ achievements. Dad cried when he read a particularly sensitive poem to us. His sons knew that beneath the tough exterior and loud barks was a soft and tender core.
Computers can be used in a number of ways — so I’m told. One is that they make tabulating easier. One of my colleagues focused on the word yayvk, which means "he cried." My colleague actually charted this on his computer and discovered that from the beginning of the Joseph story to the time when Joseph dies, the word occurs 16 times. And when the climactic moments of the Joseph story are reached, such as the time when Joseph’s brothers stand before him and he reveals himself to them, the word yayvk happens an astounding 10 times. Joseph holds the record for crying more than anyone in our entire Bible. Tears are the defining characteristic of this man’s growth and the biblical author’s way of helping us see and relate to Joseph in a most human manner. Joseph’s tears flow from the highs and lows of real life experiences. For instance, he cries when his brothers appear before him and do not recognize him. I just read when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers after 13 years of separation; the Torah says: "They fell into each other’s arms and they cried." Joseph, the Prime Minister of Egypt, a person with life and death responsibilities for the entire Near East, wept like a child.
But not only Joseph is a crier in our Bible. In the next chapter when Jacob and Joseph meet, the Torah tells us that "Jacob fell upon the neck of his son and he wept mightily." Earlier we read that when Jacob and Esau came face to face after 20 years of separation and estrangement, "they embraced and they kissed and they wept."
Further on, when David and Jonathan bid farewell to each other, not knowing whether or not they would either meet again, "the two of them lifted up their voices and they cried."
Still later in the David story, when his child died, King David did precisely as every other father in such a situation has done. David cried bitterly all through the night.
All over our Bible grown men cry. Sometimes they cry out of joy as Jacob did when he saw his son again. Sometimes they cry out of fear. Sometimes out of grief. Our Bible does not hide the fact that some of its heroes cried, nor does the Bible condemn them for it. It simply describes it as integral to their experience, as part of their personalities. Nor do the rabbis of the Midrash ever seem to be embarrassed by these tears. According to our Bible and the Midrash, tears have a place in human life. They break down inhibitions, they express emotions, they have a right to come out, and no man need suppress them.
But in 20th century American culture, when I grew up and many of you grew up, it was different. Tears were considered a sign of weakness. For some reason it was considered improper and unmanly to cry. John Wayne would gulp, but never cry. Men were taught to suppress their emotions and to keep their tears inside. I’m hopeful that this is beginning to change, but I am not sure yet. Why should it be considered unmanly to cry? What is wrong with a person giving vent to his emotions in joy or in sadness? I attend funerals and occasionally I witness adult children persuade a doctor to drug, to dope-up a bereaved parent in order that their tears will not spoil the dignity of the service. I want to ask these people: "who says that a tragedy has to be dignified? And by what right to you cheat your parents of their right to cry?
I officiate at weddings and Bar and Bat Mitzvah ceremonies, and I sometimes see parents go off into a corner in order to shed a furtive tear. I want to ask why must we feel embarrassed if our hearts are full and our eyes overflow? A man has a right to cry if it helps. It is a sign of strength, not of weakness if a person can express his emotions. Sometimes it is the man who cannot cry, the man whose emotions are all bottled up, who may be the one who needs help.
It has always been okay for women to cry — maybe that is because they are considered "the weaker sex," or women are somehow supposed to be more sensitive. So it is okay for women, and we expect that children will cry. But then there reaches a point when we say to our male children: "Big boys don’t cry". How many of you men heard those very words when you were growing up? "Big boys don’t cry." And that is why too many, particularly American men, have a hard time expressing some of their most deeply felt emotions. We have been programed not to let out our emotions — especially not to express them through tears.
My colleague, Rabbi Jack Riemer, received a column written by a friend who is a rabbi in the Midwest. Riemer says: This man is a husky, broad-shouldered athlete. He served with honor and courage in the last war and, afterwards, worked in Israel under the most trying circumstances. He is a man of great physical strength and power.
Some time ago, just around the time when his wife was giving birth to a child, Riemer’s friend became ill with a very serious sickness. For some weeks he was on the danger list. When he came out of the crisis, he wrote this column for his synagogue bulletin.
"When I was a youngster, I could never understand why grown-ups cry. Children cry — yes; but not grown-ups! I have just spent four weeks in the local hospital. This month has taught me many things, not the least of which is why grown-ups cry.
A grown-up, I discovered, cries, sometimes from pain. There are times when it hurts so badly that the only thing left to do is cry. And grown-ups experience those times just as children do.
A grownup will cry once in a while from loneliness. No mater how much company one has during the day when one is sick, no matter how many good wishes one receives in the mail, the nights can be very long. And a person can cry due to loneliness.
An adult cries, also, when he comes into close contact with the vast amount of suffering that there is in this world. One is sick, of course, and tends to feel sorry for himself, but when one realizes that in the next bed and down the hall and on the floor above and on the floor below, there are many who are much sicker and there are some who will never get well, one can cry, indeed.
But perhaps the most demanding tears are tears of gratitude. An adult cries from happiness. When one realizes, suddenly, that the crisis has passed and the body is mending, then the tears well up uncontrollably. Life is so short and health is so precious. When the skill and the love of the physicians combine with the goodness of the Divine and the recuperative powers of the human body, resulting in healing and health, then the awareness of these facts results in adult tears, tears of thanksgiving.
I hope that I learned many things while I was in the hospital. One of the most important things I learned is why grown-ups, and I among them, cry — freely and without shame."
That wise old philosopher Kohellet said it best: "There is a time to cry and a time to laugh." In the order of human events, there is a time for each and a healthy man does not skip the time when it comes. If he does, it is to his own hurt. Men can cry in joy and in sadness, in pain and in gratitude, at a Bar Mitzvah and at a wedding, at a funeral and at an unveiling. That is why God has given men tear ducts. It is what the body and the mind and the soul of some — not all — but some people demand and require, and if this is so, then it is their right.
I learned to cry from the example of my "tough guy" father. It is a lesson for which I am eternally grateful to him. You have seen your Rabbi cry, and I hope that males of all ages in our congregation have on one level or another said to themselves; "if it is okay for the Rabbi to cry like a baby, then it is okay for me." Three weeks ago, as I listened to the beautiful words of our son in loving tribute to his Dad, the tears flowed. One of the things that pleases me is that our sons have learned that lesson from me. When I had the greatest privilege and joy of participating in their ordinations and then in their installations, I noted that it wasn’t just Dad who was crying.
Men, women and children, let us never be ashamed to express our emotions. Let’s never cover up what we feel. Let’s never be so foolish or so callous as to judge harshly the ways in which others express themselves. Let’s not try to skip over any of the stages on the road that leads through grief to recovery. Instead, may the promise of the Psalmist come true for us that those who plant in tears will yet harvest in joy.
As I restudied the Joseph story with its focus on tears, I saw where Joseph cries out of frustration and out of pain. But when he learns that his brother Benjamin is still alive, he weeps out of relief. A few verses later, he cries when he sees that Judah is willing to sacrifice himself for Benjamin. Indeed, Joseph cries more out of feelings of love and connection to his brothers than for any other reason. When his brothers stand before him, weak and vulnerable, Joseph cries because crying is the only expression of emotion that he could not control. I especially admire Joseph at those moments, because he shows us how human he is. I know of nothing else in the world as powerful as tears that can make one person see the humanity in another. Tears reveal our feelings for our loved ones.
So, friends, when the tears come, what do they tell us about ourselves? Tears can tell us that we have touched our own humanity, our dependence upon each other and upon God, the recognition of our own fragility.
Someone once wrote "whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are but, more often than not, God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where . . . you should go next."
Joseph’s tears were a long time in coming, but when they did, they told us about who he was and how he had grown both emotionally and spiritually. To cry was to hear the voice of God, and to let the tears flow was to let God move him. Those are the moments we remember more than any other; they are moments of blessing.
I suggest that there are times when we all have those moments of blessing, when the tears flow and we cannot for the world figure out where they came from. At such times, we do well to remember that God is speaking to us through them of the mystery of where we have come from and where we should go to next.
How can we prepare for such a moment? We cannot. When life is lived full of its joys and sorrows — that is when those moments may come. Like Joseph, maybe we’ll cry when we realize how vulnerable we are. For instance, part of the spiritual foundation of the State of Israel comes from the sense of vulnerability that it felt especially in the early days of establishment of the state.
One story that came out of the 1948 War of Independence concerned the very severe chronic shortages of weapons and so the Israelis had to make do with what they had, often having to train with broomsticks and tree branches for guns.
Once, during the war itself, a young man was on guard duty. Unfortunately, there was not ammunition available, so the guard was provided with a broom and told to pretend it was a machine gun in case the Arabs attacked.
Only a short time later, the guard heard footsteps and then saw soldiers advancing toward him. He shouted out for the soldiers to stop or be killed. The soldiers, however, continued to advance.
It was only when they got close that the guard realized they were other Israelis. And not only that, but the guard’s brother was leading the soldiers. The guard turned to his brother and said, "Why didn’t you stop, You could have been killed!"
The brother responded, "You couldn’t have hurt me. You see, I’m a tank!"
Sure we laugh when all is said and done but that laughter comes after the crying of frustration and despair. It is that crying that gives us the strength to go on. For in that crying we may find God and, when we find God, we have found that moment of blessing. Perhaps that is why the Psalmist wrote: "You have kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights; each tear entered into your ledger, each ache written in your book." (Psalm 56)
Like Joseph, tears may overtake us when we realize, in one moment, in a flash, what we are made of. When he sat before his brothers as the Prime Minister of all Egypt, Joseph had a choice — to exercise righteousness or revenge. He chose righteousness and that is how we remember him. The moments that we are blessed by others and the moments in which we bless them come in their own good time. We know when they do because we know that we have somehow been changed. Joseph felt it deeply and God spoke to him through his tears. Each of us will feel it at times in our lives — the special moments when we know that we are supposed to be at that time and place, when the purpose for that moment is revealed.
We are on the cusp of a new secular year and our thoughts gravitate toward the future. Like all new years, this one will be filled with its tears of frustration and joy, moments of blessing and times when we know exactly what we are made of and for what purpose we have been created. Let us then pray on this Shabbat that should we cry this year — men, women and children — that our tears be the voice of God who says to us: this is your gift to the world, use it well. Amen
The writings of Rabbis Jack Riemer and Cy Stanway have helped share this message; I am grateful to them.
