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http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
IT IS ROSH HASHANA, the first day of the Jewish year, and I am
thinking about a message I keep spotting on bumper stickers and T-shirts:
"Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty."
At first glance, it seems a warm, uplifting sentiment. In a world filled
with random cruelty, what could be more welcome than some unexpected
kindness? With all the senseless violence human beings inflict on each
other, we can all use a little more beauty in our lives. Who wouldn't welcome
anything that can inspire us to deeds of kindness and beauty -- even if
only an expression on a bumper sticker?
Yet the more I see this expression, the more it bothers me. The words
are sweet. But taken literally, they convey a troubling message.
For what our society needs more of is not random kindness, but sustained
and dependable kindess; not senseless acts of beauty, but beautiful
behavior that is deliberately cultivated. Of course a random kindness is better than
no kindness at all. But it is the ethical equivalent of sitting down at the
piano to bang out "Chopsticks": quick, easy, and not very serious.
The meaning that lurks in the interstices of "Practice random kindness"
is that treating others with compassion and decency is something to be done
as a lark. That is not a philosophy that promotes kindness as an essential
element of good character. It is a philosophy that promotes kindness as a
fun activity for a slow weekend. This attitude suffuses the recent spate of
"kindness" books. "Guerrilla Kindness," for example, recommends burying
nickels in sandboxes for children to find when they play. "Random Acts of
Kindness" suggests buying coffee for strangers in a diner or secretly
washing a neighbor's car. Something called The Kindness Society offers this on its
Web site:
"Random acts of kindess are those sweet or lovely things we do for no
reason except that, momentarily, the best of our humanity has sprung into
full bloom. When you spontaneously give an old woman the bouquet of red
carnations you had meant to take home to your own dinner table, when you
give your lunch to the guitar-playing homeless person who makes music at the
corner . . ., when you anonymously put coins in someone else's parking
meter . . ., you are doing not what life requires of you, but what the best of
your human soul invites you to do."
I am all for spontaneously giving bouquets to old women. Any good deed
is to be encouraged, even if it is only done on a whim. But if kindness is
merely spur-of-the-moment gestures, if it is "not what life requires of
you," why bother? Because it feels good? Then what happens when it doesn't feel
good? What happens when it takes a real effort of will -- or a financial
sacrifice -- or a significant commitment of time -- to treat someone with
kindness and charity?
How different is the understanding of kindness conveyed by the Rosh
Hashana liturgy.
On the Jewish New Year, Jews revisit the story of Abraham, the father
of the Jewish nation. Each of the three Biblical patriarchs is regarded as the
exemplar of a particular trait, and Abraham is remembered above all for his
acts of loving-kindness. (Isaac's trait is self-sacrifice; Jacob is the
paradigm of scholarliness.)
The Bible portrays Abraham as a man intensely concerned with the comfort
and well-being of others. He leaves his sickbed when he sees strangers in
the distance, ignoring his pain in order to show them hospitality. He pleads
with the Creator to spare the cruel sinners of Sodom and Gomorrah. So thoroughly
does he inculcate the habit of kindness in the members of his household that
when his servant Eliezer journeys to find a wife for Isaac, the litmus test he
applies is one of compassion: He looks for a girl who is willing not only
to offer him a drink of water, but to draw water for his camels as well -- a
backbreaking chore.
This is kindness of a far higher order than dropping nickels in a
playground or handing out carnations in the street.
At the climactic moment of the service, in the famous prayer
of Rabbi Amnon, Jews remind themselves that "repentance, prayer, and acts of
charity can dissolve a bitter decree."
The sages taught that the Creator Himself is the original model of kindness: He
clothed Adam and Eve when they were naked, visited Abraham when he was
sick, comforted Isaac in his grief, buried Moses after he died. We, who are
commanded to follow inthe Creator's ways (Deuteronomy 13:5), must likewise clothe
the naked, visit the sick, comfort the bereaved, bury the dead. We pray on
Rosh Hashana for the Creator to treat us with charity and kindness -- asei imanu
tzedaka va'chesed -- not randomly but daily, not on a whim but constantly.
He wants the same from us. "For I desire kindness, not sacrifices," said
the prophet Hosea 2,700 years ago.
My resolution for the coming year is to practice consistent kindness and
thoughtful acts of beauty. May this year be for all of us a year of compassion,
charity, and
Jewish World ReviewSept. 13, 1999 / 3 Tishrei, 5760
What kind of kindness?
By Jeff Jacoby
"Jews are the compassionate children of compassionate parents," the
Talmud teaches. "One who is merciless toward his fellow creatures is no
descendant of our father Abraham." Jewish tradition teaches that kindness
is what life requires of you -- and even that it is required for life. On
Rosh Hashana, the Creator sits in judgment, deciding who will live and who will
die, whose days will be peaceful, whose tormented. But His decisions are not
unalterable.
JWR contributor Jeff Jacoby's regular column appears here.
You may reach the author by clicking here.
