Each year, a few days before each of
my children’s birthdays, a package arrives at the door from Louise, my former congregant.
Inside the package are two wrapped presents – one to the child whose birthday
is coming and one to the sibling. The present for the birthday child has a card
saying “Happy Birthday” from Louise and the present to the sibling has a card
which says “Happy Un-Birthday” from Louise. The “un-birthday” present is
typically small in size – such as alphabet stamps or a book – but its impact on
my family has been immense.
On the morning of my son’s birthday,
my daughter woke me up at 6:00 am announcing, “I’m ready for my un-birthday
present from Louise.” The un-birthday present allowed her to greet the day with
excitement. The day of a sibling’s birthday can be hard for a small child,
causing them to feel left out or jealous as their brother or sister is showered
with gifts and attention. However, the un-birthday present makes the sibling
feel special and allows them to enjoy fully the magic of the day.
My children don’t see Louise often,
but she has developed a relationship with them as the one who remembers them on
their “un-birthday” each year. As I cherish these packages, I started to think
of the un-birthday gift as not merely a present but a way of life. The giver
thinks about who might feel left out or lonely at a given time and through an
act of kindness, brings them joy.
This approach is echoed in this
week’s Torah portion, called M’tzora,
which means one who has a skin disease. As a result of this infection, the
afflicted person had to be separated from the community until they recuperated.
The parasha opens with God instructing Moses how the priest should help
reintegrate the recovered person into the community. God explains that the
priest should go outside the camp, “and see,” and if the affliction has been
healed, conduct a ritual of purification.
As
Rabbi Harold Kushner notes, the moment of recovery from a serious illness
entails a mix of feelings – including relief and happiness which may be coupled
with “resentment over what had been gone through as well as envy of people who had
remained healthy.” Anticipating these feelings, the priest is “not to wait”
until the person comes to him, but rather to go to meet that person where he or
she is. The priest needs to take the initiative and reach out to the person who
is in an emotionally delicate state.
I
have also known others who have followed this priestly approach – such as Toby
Lee, of blessed memory, who was also my congregant. Toby was always the first
to invite newcomers to the community to her home for Friday night dinner. When
she realized I would be alone for Friday night dinner, she invited me to her
home week after week, and we shared countless meals together.
The
examples of the priest, Toby, and Louise challenge me to wonder: Who can I
reach out to? Who is in an emotionally delicate moment – whether recovering
from an illness, new to the community, facing a difficult transition, or even
feeling a bit sidelined in another’s moment of joy? What kind word or action
can brighten their day?
As
we approach Passover, this week’s parasha reminds us that it’s not always the
grand, sweeping gestures like the splitting of the red sea that distinguish
between affliction and freedom. Sometimes, liberation can come in a smaller
package.
