On Finding “Dayenu”

I am struggling to maintain a dayenu mindset.

On Passover, one of the highlights of the telling of the story of the Exodus is the song Dayenu. One by one, singers list each of the miraculous things God did for B’nai Yisroel–aka the kin group that became us, the Jewish people. And after each one, they sing the chorus: dayenu.

It’s fun because the chorus is easy to pick up, and the tune is bouncy. But if you listen to the lyrics, it can have a different tone.

“Dayenu” roughly means “it would have been enough for us.”* So the singers start with the first miracles God performed–if God had merely liberated us from Egypt and not also punished those who oppressed us with plagues–and then add, dayenu. It would have been enough for us.

Depending on your personality, political leanings, and degree of religious belief, the song can feel passive-aggressive (it would have been enough for us, but You just had to keep going with the plagues and the drowning); bloodthirsty (we were already happy with the freedom, but hurting our enemies and causing human suffering, wow *chef’s kiss* five stars); or even info-mercially (but wait, there’s MORE!).

But the song wasn’t intended in any of those ways. It’s not really directed at God; it’s directed at us, the singers.

Pause for a moment, so I can level with you here. I’m atheist and agnostic, and I don’t believe that the Exodus from Egypt literally happened as outlined in the Torah. I do believe that it’s a fundamental story describing the establishment of the Jewish people as a nation–that its important truth is spiritual, not historical. That means my understanding of this liturgy probably differs from those of Jews with different beliefs, but there’s room for all of us. Okay, unpause.

Religiously, the dayenu song reminds us that God never owed us anything and still doesn’t. For theistic believers, that means that everything God does for us is a miracle and a blessing–that the Exodus and all its attendant glories was such a cosmically generous gift that the Jewish people should be in awe of it for all time. It reminds us that expecting any grace from a Divine Being, no matter how good we’ve tried to be, is overestimating ourselves and our importance, or maybe underestimating Theirs. And that evidence of God’s existence is not owed to believers in exchange for their faith.

But, as I shared above, I’m not a believer. So why am I aiming for a dayenu mindset?

It’s true that I don’t believe in the existence of a Divine Being who is personally interested in each human. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in miracles. Humanity is a miracle. Being alive is a miracle. The universe is a miracle on such a colossal scale, so mind-blowingly bigger and better than me I can’t fathom even a fraction of it.

So to me, dayenu offers a way to approach life in this sublime existence. To think of all the wonderful experiences inherent in just being that none of us deserves, and to remember every one of the good things, large and small, that happen befall me in life.

And Dayenu avoids a lot of bad habits: it doesn’t summarize everything positive in order to hand-wave it away (“oh, I’m really lucky, but…”) instead of noticing, wondering at, and rejoicing in each specific detail. It doesn’t insist that having unearned good fortune when others don’t is a reason to feel guilty. Instead, it encourages humility in the recognition that no one possibly could earn it. And it doesn’t use its list of miracles as a way to dismiss or downplay the pain its subjects also experienced; although Dayenu doesn’t mention the subjugation of B’nai Yisroel in its own lyrics, the song fits with the rest of the seder in which their suffering is taken seriously.

As you may have noticed from some of my other entries, I sometimes struggle with these habits myself. But I’ve already written a little about how they affect me in my overall personal life; here, I’d like to look at how this approach affects my life as a writer.

Anyone who aims to succeed in a creative field, whether professionally or as a hobby, knows how easy it is to feel down about what you’ve achieved (or rather, haven’t). I started finishing novel-length manuscripts when I was middle-school aged; I felt sure that by the time I was an adult, I’d have multiple novels published, and that whatever I studied in school was only a temporary measure until I could make a living as a writer.

Instead, I’m almost forty–middle-aged, no “school” in there–and haven’t lived up to my younger self’s dreams. It’s hard not to dwell on how I’ve disappointed her and continue to disappoint myself. It’s even harder when the growth of the Internet has given me an explosively expanded window on the writing world. I can read editors’ tweets, listen to other writers discuss their ups and downs on specialized forums, and take in publishing news at a rate I never dreamed of as a teen. I hear about and read new books that come out faster than I can keep up with them. I see viral success stories and watch what feels like every other writer in the world except me, newer and younger and more interesting people, snag the contracts of their dreams or watch their self-published series soar.

And then I think of myself, writing stories for decades, and I wonder if I’m deluding myself to think that any of them will ever mean anything to anyone but me. If I’ll reach the end of my life with dozens of Word files on my hard drive that no one else has ever wanted.

This is the opposite of a dayenu mindset. Instead of thinking of what I have done and continue to do, I think of all the things I haven’t yet accomplished and treat them as though they’re out of my reach. I compare myself to others even though I know that some of what makes anyone successful or not is out of everyone’s control. At a certain level of quality, no matter how hard we work or how kindly we treat others, none of us “deserves” publishing success, at least, not any more than any other writer. Instead of telling myself “dayenu,” I look at what I’ve done and think, “That’s not enough!”

But, really, look at just a few of the wonderful things I’ve accomplished so far:

Other people have read my work and enjoyed it… dayenu!

An agent liked where my writing was enough to sign me… dayenu!

My short stories and novels have stood out from literally hundreds of others to reach the final round of editors’ consideration… dayenu!

Some of my short stories and short plays have been traditionally published… dayenu!

I’ve worked with great critique groups/partners and learned a lot AND made lots of amazing friends… dayenu!

Some of my full-length plays have been staged by incredible people… dayenu!

My friends and family support my writing and think it’s good… dayenu!

I’ve been able to entertain, connect with, and uplift people I care about through writing… dayenu!

Writing brings me joy… dayenu!

Just forcing myself to type out these ideas makes me feel a little brighter. I haven’t forgotten the setbacks I’ve experienced or the doubts I have about my ability, but there’s no reason writing had to affect my life at all. Instead, it’s been such a positive aspect, and I can imagine a new future–one where there might be failure, yes, but also many more good experiences I’ve never considered.

This is what I’ll try to take forward with me this Pesach. Regardless of whether you celebrate or not, I hope this blog entry has brought a little dayenu into your life, and if you do–chag sameach!

* FYI, it also means “It is enough for us,” which I’m explaining only so that if a Jewish person happens to tell you “dayenu!”, you’ll know it’s a playful way of saying “omg, shaddup/stoppit lol”