On the Long Haul

As you can tell by this blog entry, these reminders are as much for me as for readers of this blog. The long haul is hard, but we can do it. This month, the Black Solidarity Fund (via Canada Helps) benefits from donation-matching. If you’re in a position where financial contribution makes sense for you, this might be a good opportunity.

The COVID-19 pandemic has helped me better understand one of the key principles in Judaism.

The first time I encountered this principle was in Hebrew school when we were studying the laws of different holidays.* In particular, we were learning about the protocol when two holidays’ laws conflict with each other. On Yom Kippur, the holiest of holy days, one must hear the blowing of the shofar. But what if Yom Kippur falls on the Sabbath, when playing musical instruments or recordings of musical instruments is forbidden? The shofar counts as a musical instrument, so blowing the shofar is technically forbidden on the Sabbath. What to do?

Well, according to Jewish law, then you just don’t blow the shofar on Yom Kippur.

If, like me, you grew up in mainstream Canadian culture, this might feel backwards. Yom Kippur comes only once a year, you might reason. It’s special. If you believe in Jewish theology, it’s our last chance to atone before our fates for the new year are sealed. On the other hand, Shabbat comes once a week. So what if, on a single Shabbat out of 52, we waive a single, somewhat convoluted rabbinically derived rule, not because we feel like it but because we want to prioritize a holy commandment we seldom have opportunity to fulfill?

The rabbi explained it to our class differently: that prioritization would be backwards. We’re mistaking what’s rare and conspicuous for what’s important.

We don’t blow the shofar on Yom Kippur when it falls on Shabbat because Shabbat is more important than Yom Kippur. Shabbat is our ordinary, everyday practice. Yom Kippur is a special event.

Judaism considers the everyday to be more important than the once-a-year, because the everyday is who we are. If, like so many of us, you go to synagogue on Yom Kippur but don’t attend any other time, well, it means something, of course, but it doesn’t mean that your life is steeped in Jewish principles and practices. But if you observe the Sabbath every week but somehow don’t observe Yom Kippur, Judaism is still woven into the fabric of your life.

The fact of the matter is, big, one-time gestures are easier than slow, constant effort. It’s easier to celebrate a big holiday once a year than to be mindful of dozens of minor observances 24-7. In rom-coms, it’s easy to splurge emotionally on a big romantic gesture–but it’s much harder to live your life negotiating, loving, growing with another person (or other people). You can plan a jaw-dropping anniversary date surprise, but can you forgive your spouse for their annoying bad habit every night for the rest of your lives?

I don’t know about you, but despite knowing all this, I still tend to see the everyday as “easy.” It’s simple logic, right? If a small task was easy today, it should be easy tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that.

I forget that the hard part isn’t the effort to do it once. The hard part is the effort to keep it up.

The pandemic has brought the labour of consistency to the forefront. So many little things, easy to do once, have become a burden through repetition.

Is it easy to wear a mask? Sure! Can we make do without the exact groceries that we wanted this week? Of course we can! Can we wash our hands every time we want to touch our face? Absolutely! It’s simple! A child could do it!

Can we do all that all the time, without seeing tangible, obvious results, every day for a month? Two? Three? The rest of the year?

Because doing it once seems so simple, doing it regularly feels as though it should be simple too. But it’s not. Sometimes, it’s so complicated that we secretly long for one big gesture instead–couldn’t we make one giant sacrifice that would be painful in the moment but get rid of COVID once and for all? Isn’t there some intense but momentary pain we could endure or some cause to which we could funnel all our money or even a dramatic last stand at which the courageous few can give their lives to fix everything for the grateful many?

Haven’t I been good enough? the small child inside us asks. Can’t I come out now?

I’m an optimist on human nature. I don’t doubt that, if there were some grand, voluntary showdown between good and evil, there would be brave and selfless souls willing to give their lives for the greater good.

But I also don’t believe that the courage to do something incredibly hard once makes any difference when you need to do something comparatively easy, only… for a very long time. That kind of strength is very different. In some ways, for some people, mustering it can be more difficult than a single heroic sacrifice.

It’s like the difference between a one-repetition max at the gym–the heaviest weight you can lift, even if you can lift it only once–and how much weight you can actually stand to carry around in your backpack all day. Can I manage my own bodyweight for one deadlift? Darn right. Can I carry half that around with me? Not even close.

The only note of hope is that the same thing that makes the day-to-day so hard is also what helps us to keep doing it: repetition. When we work to do the same little good every day, whatever that means for us–whether that’s wearing a mask to prevent the spread of COVID or observing the dietary laws of our faith–we teach ourselves to keep doing it. That doesn’t mean it gets emotionally easier, but it does get physically easier.

Emotionally, I’ve gone from indifference toward wearing masks to feeling a little sad and weary every time I put one on. But physically, I do it almost automatically. I’ve left the apartment accidentally wearing my indoor slippers before, but never accidentally not wearing a face mask. Keeping myself and others safe with this little gesture is so ingrained in me from repetition that, even in my dreams, I’ll suddenly realize and become appalled that no one is wearing a mask.

So, as the days go on, I don’t have to keep being strong all the time. I just have to make sure I never muster the energy to break the habit. Which may not be as dynamic or exciting as building the strength to do something dangerous and flashy with wide-ranging, instant effects.

But, I guess I’m beginning to understand–in a different, more visceral way than I did before–why, when I have to choose, it’s more important.

* If you’re not Jewish, this may sound odd–holidays have laws? Short answer: in Judaism, everything has laws. Holiday observances aren’t only celebrations, they’re fulfillment of obligations to God. The Torah phrases outlining those obligations are carefully analysed, unpacked, and systematized to make sure that everybody can meet those obligations without confusion.