LET GO OF THE ROPE

YOM KIPPUR MORNING 5768

There was a man who had given much thought to what he wanted from life. He had experienced many moods and trials. He had experimented with different ways of living, and he had had his share of both success and failure. At last, he began to see clearly where he wanted to go.

Diligently, he searched for the right opportunity. Sometimes he came close, only to be pushed away. Often he applied all his strength and imagination, only to find the path hopelessly blocked. And then at last it came. But the opportunity would not wait. It would be made available only for a short time. If it were seen that he was not committed, the opportunity would not come again.

Eager to arrive, he started on his journey. With each step, he wanted to move faster; with each thought about his goal, his heart beat quicker; with each vision of what lay ahead, he found renewed vigor. Strength that had left him since his early youth returned, and desires, all kinds of desires, reawakened from their long-dormant positions.

Hurrying along, he came upon a bridge that crossed through the middle of a town. It had been built high above a river in order to protect it from the floods of spring.

He started across. Then he noticed someone coming from the opposite direction. As they moved closer, it seemed as though the other were coming to greet him. He could see clearly, however, that he did not know this other, who was dressed similarly except for something tied around his waist.

When they were within hailing distance, he could see that what the other had about his waist was a rope. It was wrapped around him many times and probably, if extended, would reach a length of 30 feet.

The other began to uncurl the rope, and, just as they were coming close, the stranger said, “Pardon me, would you be so kind as to hold the end a moment?”

Surprised by this politely phrased but curious request, he agreed without a thought, reached out, and took it.

“Thank you,” said the other, who then added, “two hands now, and remember, hold tight.” Whereupon, the other jumped off the bridge.

Quickly, the free-falling body hurtled the distance of the rope’s length, and from the bridge the man abruptly felt the pull. Instinctively, he held tight and was almost dragged over the side. He managed to brace himself against the edge, however, and after having caught his breath, looked down at the other dangling, close to oblivion.

Which end of the rope are you holding?

There are times in our lives when we are left holding the rope. All too often, we discover that we are responsible for the fate of the universe, whether we desire it or not. The best-laid committee plans fall onto the shoulders of one individual, who feels guilty not to complete the task alone – even though it is an unfair burden and the other members of the committee have let her down.

When a decision is pushed down the chain of command and, rather than delegate and assist, the superiors assign and forget, those at the bottom of the chain become resentful; they know that they are holding the wrong end of the rope.

When a Board makes unreasonable expectations about their CEO, it is as if they have just jumped off the bridge. The entire company is dangling and one person is left to pull it together, knowing how to do it is not enough; knowing that he is not going to get any help is the kiss of death.

“What are you trying to do?” he yelled.

“Just hold tight,” said the other.

“This is ridiculous,” the man thought and began trying to haul the other in. He could not get the leverage, however. It was as though the weight of the other person and the length of the rope had been carefully calculated in advance so that together they created a counterweight just beyond his strength to bring the other back to safety.

“Why did you do this?” the man called out.

“Remember,” said the other, “if you let go, I will be lost.”

“But I cannot pull you up,” the man cried.

“I am your responsibility,” said the other.

“Well, I did not ask for it,” the man said.

“If you let go, I am lost,” repeated the other.

He began to look around for help. But there was no one. How long would he have to wait? Why did this happen to befall him now, just as he was on the erge of true success? He examined the side, searching for a place to tie the rope. Some protrusion, perhaps, or maybe a hole in the boards. But the railing was unusually uniform in shape; there were no spaces between the boards. There was no way to get rid of this newfound burden, even temporarily.

“What do you want?” he asked the other hanging below.

“Just your help,” the other answered.

“How can I help? I cannot pull you in, and there is no place to tie the rope so that I can go and find someone to help me help you.”

“I know that. Just hang on; that will be enough. Tie the rope around your waist; it will be easier.”

Fearing that his arms could not hold out much longer, he tied the rope around his waist.

“Why did you do this?” he asked again. “Didn’t you see what you have done? What possible purpose could you have had in mind?”

“Just remember,” said the other, “my life is in your hands.”

Sometimes, we are ones at the end of the rope, dangling helplessly in the wind. Hopefully, there is a lifeline but the question remains: how do we get to safety – especially if we are the ones who have jumped? We dangle at many times in our lives: when we are born, when we are about to die, when we feel helplessly lost or hurt: these are times when we reach out for help. And well we should; usually there are people at the other end of the rope willing to help us.

But are we willing to help ourselves? Do we have the right, as sentient and virile human beings, as Jews charged with the fulfillment of the Brit, our Covenant with God, as ones who are supposed to be L’or Goyyim, a light unto the nations, do we have the right to dangle without coming to our own aid? Do we have the right not to help ourselves?

I would say that both our Torah and Haftarah portions this morning command us to pull ourselves up on the rope. Certainly we can expect that the person standing on the bridge should help us – but most of the work has to come from our own efforts. When we dangle and feign helplessness, do we really have the right to expect help?

In our Torah portion from Deuteronomy, God commands us to “Choose life so that we and our children may live.” In order to live, we have to choose to pull ourselves up on the rope; only then will the person at the top of the rope – or perhaps only then will God – pull on the other end.

And Isaiah commands us to do justice. If we do so, if we feed the hungry and clothe the naked, our light will shine forth; we will again climb the rope and embrace the person – or embrace God, if we dare say so – when we rise to the top.

What should he do? “If I let go, all my life I will know that I let this other die. If I stay, I risk losing my momentum toward my own long-sought-after salvation. Either way this will haunt me forever.” With ironic humor he thought to die himself, instantly, to jump off the bridge while still holding on. “That would teach this fool.” But he wanted to live and to live life fully. “What a choice I have to make; how shall I ever decide?”

Why do we reward dependency? Why are the dependent so often calling the shots? Why do we jump whenever somebody calls out for help, even when we know that they don’t really need it? Why do we come to resent ourselves in the end? It seems that the one who screams the most gets the most. That is not how life should be.

Often negativity is a form of dependency. Those who criticize the most are the most dependent. We have all known people who adore celebrity, who think Brittany, Paris and Lindsey can do no wrong – just because they are celebrities. This is a form of dependency. But just as insidious is the one who attacks a leader, simply because he or she is a leader. We do not often recognize this form of dependency but it is just as dangerous, perhaps even more dangerous, than celebrity dependency.

One of the important things that we as Jews must learn to do is to stop being enablers. We need to break the cycle of dependency and co-dependency. Now this is a very difficult task; we are wired to take care of others – and that of course is a good thing; our entire mitzvah-based religion has Divine service as its core belief. But there is a difference between doing a mitzvah and being an enabler. A mitzvah is taking a casserole to one who is sick; an enabler is buying an alcoholic a bottle of vodka – or making excuses for one who has done wrong. How many times have we heard the phrase, “I’m not making excuses for him but…” And then, we go on to make excuses for him and enable the behavior. There may be valid reasons why a negative behavior happens – an unhappy childhood, a setback at work, trouble at home – but while that may explain the behavior, it does not excuse the behavior. We should just stop at not making excuses and get our “but” out of there.

As time went by, still no one came. The critical moment of his decision was drawing near. To show his commitment to his own goals, he would have to continue on his journey now. It was already almost too late to arrive in time. But what a terrible choice to have to make.

A new thought occurred to him. While he could not pull this other up solely by his own efforts, if the other would shorten the rope from his end by curling it around his waist again and again, together they could do it. Actually, the other could do it by himself, so long as he, standing on the bridge, kept it still and steady.

“Now listen,” he shouted down. “I think I know how to save you.” And he explained his plan.

But the other wasn’t interested.

“You mean you won’t help? But I told you I cannot pull you up myself, and I don’t think I can hang on much longer either.”

“You must try,” the other shouted back in tears. “If you fail, I die.”

Such responsibility! How much responsibility has the man on the bridge taken for the other who is dangling? How much responsibility should he take? If he cannot pull the other up by himself, and if the other won’t help, what should he do to break the stalemate? After all, he has his own goals to fulfill, goals that are imminent, goals that will propel him forward. Can he afford to take responsibility for one so dependent that he cannot even help himself climb the rope of life?

The point of decision arrived. What should he do? “My life or this other’s?” And then a new idea. A revelation. So new, in fact, it seemed heretical, so alien was it to his traditional way of thinking.

“I want you to listen carefully,” he said, “because I mean what I am about to say. I will not accept the position of choice for your life, only for my own; the position of choice for your own life I hereby give back to you.”

“What do you mean?” the other asked, afraid.

“I mean, simply, it’s up to you. You decide which way this ends. I will become the counterweight. You do the pulling and bring yourself up. I will even tug a little from here.” He began unwinding the rope from around his waist and braced himself anew against the side.

“You cannot mean what you say,” the other shrieked. “You would not be so selfish. I am your responsibility. What could be so important that you would let someone die? Do not do this to me.”

If someone came up to you and said, “Hold the end or I’ll jump,” what would you do? By a show of hands, how many of you would instinctively take the rope? I know I would; it’s human nature to help somebody in need – or even just to respond to a simple request, such as holding the end of a rope. It’s really no different than a stranger asking you to hold her package at the counter at Nordstrom’s while she got a few dollars out to pay the cashier. We are programmed to do this kind of favor and if we don’t, we’re considered rude.

But think of the consequences. Think about how simple favors morph into major catastrophes – and we are left holding the rope. We curse ourselves for getting into these situations but then we do it again and again and again. We curse ourselves for dangling at the end of the rope, too but we do it again and again and again. We live at both ends of the rope, sometimes at the same time!

How should this story end? I’ll take four answers, one from each of the four sections here in the Sanctuary. You tell me how this story should end, and why. I’ll repeat it for the benefit of all of us and then I’ll tell you how the author of the story, Rabbi Ed Friedman, ends this fable. (Go down and solicit answers.)

Now I will tell you how the story ends:

He waited a moment. There was no change in the tension of the rope.

“I accept your choice,” he said, at last, and freed his hands.

Story is found in Friedman’s Fables, by Rabbi Edwin Friedman (Guilford Press, New York, 1990).