You Get What You Get

...and you don't get upset? Anyone who has ever not gotten what they wanted has experienced disappointment, frustration, or more. As we celebrate another Rosh HaShanah beset by COVID and other challenges, how do we navigate our emotions and what does Judaism teach us?

“You get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

I remember walking around the Falk Auditorium a few years ago handing out ice pops to our Wednesday afternoon Hebrew students on their last day of school for the year. I was not taking flavor requests to avoid the inevitable complaint of “that’s not fair!” if I didn’t have their favorite flavor left by the time I got to them. I opted instead for randomness, which comes with its own issues but is, at least, fair.

Each time I approached a kid, I looked into their eyes, reached into the bucket to pull an ice pop out, and said, “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.” Then I handed them an ice pop and watched their face light up or fall, depending on the flavor I handed them. The ones who got what they wanted skipped away with joy. The ones who didn’t—some of them looked like they might be about to complain, so I repeated, “You get what you get and you don’t get upset.” Then they would turn and slump away. There wasn’t really another option. After all, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.

By the time students are in 3rd grade, which is when they start Wednesday Hebrew school, they’ve heard that warning rhyme dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Pretty much anyone who works with young children uses it to try to preempt the inevitable complaints that arise when there’s a chance that a kid won’t get exactly what they want. Children get frustrated and upset so easily when things don’t go their way, and they are still developing the emotional regulation skills that will help them handle disappointment without tears or tantrums. So we teach them, “you get what you get and you don’t get upset.”

But here’s the problem: it’s normal to be upset when something doesn’t go your way. Who doesn’t feel a twinge of disappointment when you can’t get your preferred flavor or treat? Who doesn’t get annoyed when you’re running late and can’t find your keys or your phone? Who doesn’t feel frustrated when the sink backs up while you’re trying to cook a holiday meal? It’s even totally normal to express that upset—maybe with some choice words or an expressive face or a primal scream. Certainly there’s a matter of degree—I wouldn’t expect the same reaction to not getting a favorite flavor ice pop as I would if my sink backed up—but I do expect a reaction. You get what you get, and when it’s not what you want, it’s natural to get upset.

For better or worse, this last year and a half has been an exercise in dealing with disappointment, frustration, annoyance, and more. At the beginning of 2020, none of us anticipated COVID, let alone how it would upend our lives. So we made plans, anticipated the future, and just went about our daily lives. Then COVID came and changed all of that. Within weeks we discovered that most of our 2020 plans were either not going to happen at all or were going to be very different than we expected.

We all experienced losses of some kind as a result, whether it was an event that didn’t happen the way it should have or a postponed celebration or a loss of social connections or having to figure out childcare while schools and camps were closed or even the deaths of family and friends. The challenges and losses from COVID are too numerous to name. Every single one of us has suffered, and I would be surprised if any one of us had NOT gotten upset at some point because of how COVID has affected our lives. I can’t even count the times that I myself have cried or screamed or otherwise vented my frustration because of some COVID-related issue.

As a congregation, we have also experienced communal losses due to COVID. We haven’t been able to gather as a full community in almost two years. Some of the big celebrations that we had planned for Rabbi Gibson’s retirement were postponed, moved online, or just shrunk. Our new Torah scroll, which was supposed to be dedicated at the beginning of the 2021, is still waiting to be finished because folks still haven’t gotten their opportunity to write a letter in it. We didn’t get to say goodbye to Cantor Berman the way we would have wanted, and the choir has barely gotten to sing together. For all the work that our incredible staff and volunteers have done to keep our congregation open and our community strong, the lack of hugs and handshakes and smiles has taken its toll on us, just as we know that it has taken its toll on you.

But we pushed through—some of us more easily than others—and hoped that, in a matter of months, maybe within a year, at least once vaccines were readily available, we would be back to normal. So we settled in for a long haul and waited to see the light at the end of the tunnel. And here we are, a year and half later, wondering what happened. We thought we were nearing the end and emerging into a post-COVID world, and instead, COVID is resurging. Once again, we are facing individual and communal loss and disappointment.

Here at Temple Sinai, we really hoped that we would get to welcome our new senior rabbi, Rabbi Fellman, this Rosh HaShanah with our normal crowds and a bimah full of people. We hoped to have friends and family over for a delicious, celebratory meal for the new year—maybe even our big Erev Rosh HaShanah dinner here at Temple Sinai. We hoped that we could sing with full voice and see each other’s unmasked smiles. But it’s just not going to happen. We get what we get—how can we not be upset?

Getting upset is very Jewish. Our Biblical texts are filled with people crying out in response to personal and communal difficulty. Just think of the Passover story, with the Israelites groaning under the weight of Egyptian oppression. Or their complaints in the wilderness when the journey takes too long and the food isn’t varied enough. Or think of Moses begging God to heal his sister Miriam when she’s been stricken with tzaraat, a scaly skin affliction. Or Hannah, whose story we’ll read tomorrow morning, who pours out her heart in sorrow and grief because she’s unable to become pregnant. And that doesn’t even get to the Psalms, many of which are themselves laments or which recount the laments of the past.

Even God gets upset when carefully laid-out plans go awry. Don’t forget, in the Noah story, the Torah tells us that God wipes out just about everything that lives on land because humans, who were supposed to be the crown jewel of God’s creation, become too violent. And then there’s the Golden Calf story. God is working on building a covenantal relationship with the Israelites and tells them not to make any sculptured images or bow down to them. But left on their own a little too long, the Israelites do exactly what they promised not to do. God rages at this betrayal. A couple of books later, God has plans for how to bring the Israelites into the Promised Land, but when the scouts spread fear among the community about the size and strength of the current inhabitants, God is again incensed at the Israelites.

Our tradition shows us that getting upset is not just normal and expected, but also perfectly acceptable. It also gives us two other teachings about getting upset: First, hurting others because you’re upset is problematic. In each of those stories about God’s anger and frustration, God wants to destroy the people who mess with the plan and start over. Noah lets it happen, but in the two stories (Golden Calf, Scouts)about the rebellious Israelites, Moses appeals to God’s needs and values to prevent the destruction of the Israelites. Moses knows that wholesale destruction isn’t the answer, especially not when it comes as an impassioned rage.

In theory, we know well that we need to be careful not to hurt others with words or actions when we’re in the midst of anger, grief, or frustration. But in real life, this knowledge gets forgotten or, worse, cast aside. How many of us have said things we regret or just been mean because we’re sad or frustrated or angry? Sometimes this is because it’s physiologically difficult to manage what we say and do when these emotions take hold—our brains aren’t wired to pay attention to others or think through actions when these emotions are triggered. Venting to a trusted support or taking a time-out can keep us from lashing out in destructive ways until our bodies have a chance to calm down. Moses serves as God’s trusted support and, for most of the other biblical characters, God serves as their support.

But sometimes the immediate physiological response has faded, and we’re still upset and push to change the situation even though it causes harm to others. This might be the kid who, the next time ice pops are handed out, pushes classmates out of the way to make sure they get the flavor they want. I have heard stories from colleagues across the country about families that harassed rabbis and lay leaders because the synagogue’s COVID restrictions prevented their families from celebrating a Bar Mitzvah or a wedding the way they wanted to. The attempted coup of January 6 is yet another example. It’s OK to get upset, but don’t harm others because of it.

The other lesson we learn from our tradition is that NOT getting upset when the situation demands it can also be problematic. In one story, Moses doesn’t take time to grieve when his sister Miriam dies in the wilderness. The next thing we know is that Moses strikes a rock instead of speaking to it as God had commanded. In the story that we’ll read tomorrow, God tells Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the son who is supposed to carry the eternal covenant that God made with Abraham. And Abraham? Abraham who, just two chapters prior, argued with God to spare the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah for the sake of ten innocent people, says nothing to save his son. He just sets off on a three-day journey to Mt. Moriah. Then he hikes up the mountain with Isaac, some wood, a firepan, and a knife. He gets so far as to lay Isaac out on the wood-covered altar, and even raises his arm, knife in hand, before the angel of God stops him.

Throughout this entire episode, Abraham says NOTHING in response to God’s command. How could this be?! We know that he knows it’s bad, because he only speaks in half-truths to his servants and to Isaac. But not one ounce of emotion, not one peep of protest. Every time I read this story I get upset by how unmoved, how not upset Abraham is. And while, ultimately, he does not sacrifice his son, Abraham suffers the consequences of not reacting to this unjust command—he never speaks to or sees his wife or his son again, nor does he ever hear from or speak to God.

When we see injustice, we are expected, almost obligated, to get upset. Not to lash out but to demand that justice prevail. Our anger, our frustration, our grief needs to be felt and then channeled into compassion, creativity, and strength so that we can bring about necessary change. We cannot be complacent, we cannot turn away, and we cannot stand by. And getting upset can give us that charge, that push to work for justice.

Except...except that we’re still in the middle of a pandemic that is so politicized and was so badly mismanaged that we can’t even agree to follow scientifically-based safety protocols. And the climate crisis that we’ve been anticipating for decades currently has the West Coast burning while the Gulf States and East Coast flood. And antisemitism and racially-motivated hate crimes are at an all-time high. And many state legislatures, including Pennsylvania’s, are working to keep the people who won’t vote for them from voting at all. And a full-time, minimum-wage job won’t pay for rent in any US city. And most Americans are one medical crisis away from bankruptcy. And the Supreme Court just allowed average citizens in Texas to sue anyone suspected of helping a pregnant person get an abortion after six weeks’ gestation, but apparently no one can do anything to stop assault rifles from entering our schools, movie theaters, or houses of worship. And that’s just a fraction of what’s happening in the US.

It’s too much. We need to be upset about these injustices so we can work toward change, but there’s so much to be upset about. It’s more than any of us can hold and it can overwhelm us to the point that we can’t do anything at all. Luckily our tradition reminds us that we don’t have to do everything, but we have to do something. We should not accept the injustices we get as long as we use our distress to bring about good.

So here we are, celebrating a new year while holding the sadness, the anger, the frustration, the disappointment of the past year and knowing that what we had hoped for in the coming year isn’t going to happen the way we want it to. This is what we get. It’s not even close to ideal, and it’s OK to be upset. Grieve what you can’t have. Cry, rant, scream if you need to. (Honestly, if I didn’t think it would scare the little kids here tonight, I would invite you all to scream it out now.) Feel the loss and then figure out the next move. What of your hopes and plans can you keep? What do you need to change? How can you move forward with compassion, strength, creativity, and generosity? How can you turn the losses into blessings?

I wish I could promise you that the coming year will bring nothing but sweetness and blessing. We all know it would be an empty promise, and I’d have to atone for it on Yom Kippur. So instead I’ll promise you that you can keep going, that you can push through all the challenges of the year to come just as you have pushed through those of the past year and half and the many years before. I promise you that your Temple Sinai family will be here to support you when you need it and that there are outside resources to help as well. We get what we get, and together we’ll get through.

Together—even distanced—we can hold each other up when challenges knock us down. Together we can honor the losses that we will experience and make space for us to feel what we feel. Together we can share the grief, lessening its burden on any one of us. And together we can find creative alternatives to the things we have to change. Together our voices are stronger when we speak out against injustice. And together we can share the joy and blessings of our lives, multiplying them for all of us.

May the coming year bring sweetness and joy along with blessings of health, strength, and love. L’shanah tovah!