At the time, I’d turned to a wise mutual acquaintance for moral support. “This isn’t okay,” I said.

“You’re one hundred percent right,” she agreed. “What Tamar did was completely wrong. But you have to understand where she’s coming from. Tamar is going through a crisis at home right now. She’s totally not herself.”

“And therefore?” I wanted to ask.

I didn’t.

Instead, I flexed my dan l’chaf zechus muscles and viewed it as an opportunity to work on my own middos.

Tamar wasn’t the only one going through a rough time. Several days later, Michal, another work acquaintance, snapped at me, in front of someone else, “I’m still waiting for you to send me the document I asked for two days ago.”

Never mind that I had sent it and she’d missed it. She still could have asked gently. And privately, not in front of a coworker.

I was so shocked. And speechless, which was probably a good thing; it’s never wise to respond in the heat of the moment.

I walked to my car that day with a feeling of dread. I’m not a confrontational person and during a decade in the workforce, I could count the number of uncomfortable interactions I’d had with colleagues on one hand.

Two in one week was rather intense. I like my job, but the workplace was beginning to feel untenable. There was so much hostility pointed directly toward me, and I hadn’t done anything to earn it.

Later that night, Michal called me to apologize. And the sentiment she expressed was eerily similar to what my acquaintance had said about Tamar. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m going through a lot right now, and I’m incredibly stressed. I feel terrible that I took it out on you.”

I dutifully forgave her and wished her the best.

Yet still, the uneasiness of the emotional whiplash lingered.

It reminded me of when I was a teen and a teacher suddenly became very impatient and angry with us students in an uncharacteristic way. It got to the point that we were anxious about sitting in the classroom, unsure of what new eruption would come our way. Eventually, I complained to the principal, and she pointed out that I needed to be more understanding of the teacher — she had a child going through a life-threatening medical crisis and was literally running from the ICU to our classroom.

Good girl that I was, I passed that information on to my classmates, and we all improved our classroom behavior and quietly tolerated her unprovoked explosions, sarcasm, and impatience. But in my heart, I thought, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’m davening for your son. But can’t you just be a bit nicer?

O

ver the years, I’ve realized that no one’s life is perfect. There’s no one in the world who doesn’t live with some form of pain, heartache, and uncertainty. I’ve had plenty of my own struggles, too.

A friend of mine who worked at a medical referral agency told me something I’ll never forget: “Some of the stories I hear from our clients are very intense. You never know what a smiling neighbor, shul mate, or coworker may be going through. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s to be nice to everyone because you never know what they may actually be going through.”

But does experiencing tzaros justify treating innocent bystanders badly? Do our difficult circumstances give us a free pass in our social interactions? Perhaps our culture of self-care and emotional space has stretched too far. In our attempt to allow space for feelings, have we lost a certain sense of responsibility for our behavior? Is it why we justify our own and others people’s poor displays of middos with a, “She’s going through a rough time, give her space”?

Tamar and Michal and that teacher had a lot going on in their lives. I get it. Of course they needed to reserve their time, brain space, and emotional energy for themselves and their family. I wasn’t expecting them to make dinner for a new mother or volunteer in their children’s school. I wasn’t asking them to do anything extra. I was just expecting them to talk nicely, or at very least, refrain from being hurtful.

And I do get it. When I struggled with a family sickness and financial hardship, there were times when I was seized by the incredible urge to scream at the person speaking to me about something inane, “How can you bother me with these minor issues? Don’t you know that I’m going through something that actually matters?” It felt as though we were on completely different wavelengths, vibrating along utterly different lives. It made me feel just a little hateful and impatient.

But in the end, I quashed that impulse. I was furious at an unnamable, indefinable enemy, and there was no reason for innocents to be caught in the crossfire. Is it ever right for us to create more pain because we’re caught up in our own world of suffering?

I’m wondering. We’re all going through some sort of challenge, some harder than others. It’s the nature of This World. But we’re still expected to keep mitzvos bein adam l’chaveiro. So why do we think we’re all entitled to the emotional space and leeway to say what we want when under stress and just let whoever we hurt in the process deal with it?

And is it heartless and judgmental of me to even ask this question?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 972)