No one wants to be alone. But living with other people is not always easy. The built-in problem with relationships is our knee-jerk resistance to acknowledging that there is someone out there other than me. Hashem placed woman opposite man because the prerequisite to relationships is that there be an “other” we face — who is not me.

Babies start out quite sure that Mommy is a bit character in an epic play in which Baby stars and Mommy’s sole purpose in life is to wait in the wings and then rush in with the pacifier when Baby cries. In the process of growing up Baby makes the startling revelation that there is a “me” and then there is a ‘not me.’ Mommy actually has a life — feelings thoughts activities and experiences —  that is not mine.

But even though we may walk around in the body of adults we still sometimes take up all the space on the stage. And while babies are cute enough that we forgive them for wanting to be fed right now even though Mommy only had three hours of sleep it’s scary when adults still relate to everyone in their life as props on their personal stage. Especially when we realize that those adults are sometimes us.

MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY

What do the following four sentences have in common?

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Give him a nice dinner and you can ask him for anything.”

“Just bring her flowers. She’ll forgive you right way.”

“Hi Mom Happy Mother’s Day. Glad you like it. Mind if I take the car?”

“Don’t worry if those shoes feel like they are a size too small. They look great on you and they’re a great buy. You know what? I’ll give you an additional five-dollar discount!”

In all of these sentences the other is seen as a human ATM machine; my sole concern is what buttons I need to press to get what I want from you. Will a temper tantrum work? How about a charming smile and a compliment? Should I nod understandingly? Flatter you? I’m willing to invest the time to learn how to activate you but ultimately this is all about me. You may be useful at times but are of no consequence when I don’t need you.

If we were using psychological terms to explain the concept of k’negdo we might talk about differentiation. Very simply if I want to connect with another person there has to be another person. This may be my parent my child my sibling my friend or my spouse but they are not me. Even if I would like to dictate their opinions desires and actions if I want to be in a relationship with someone other than myself I have to grant them permission to be “not me.”

The very essence of the other calls out to us to relate to him. “Face” in Hebrew is panim. Panim shares the same root as both the word pnim — inner and the word pniya — a turning toward a solicitation. The face of a person turns to me requesting acknowledgement that there is a vast inner world here — a pnim that is ultimately unknowable. Indeed when we allow ourselves to really see another’s face we are jolted out of our little universe and obligated to grant him space in our life.

This may be why doctors who have to perform painful procedures will often look in the other direction so as not to see the person’s face while they are causing them pain. Perhaps even subconsciously it is hard for a doctor to confront the humanity of the person he is hurting.

A friend who went through a number of painful procedures mentioned how much it meant to her when one brave doctor looked her in the eye as she did what she had to do. If the other doctors turned her into an object in order to escape their discomfort this doctor was willing to acknowledge her personhood and by doing that gave my friend the sense that she was with her in her pain.

When the other likes music I can’t stand has an opinion I find stupid splashes water all over when doing the dishes and I by my body language or ridicule do not allow his perspective to find expression I’ve ignored the solicitation that his face — and his being — invites. Instead I’ve effectively drawn a big X right on top of his face. I’ve insisted that on my stage there be no one else but me — and a cardboard figure upon which I’ve pasted a name (who faintly resembles a person who uses that name).

Rabbi Wolbe in his classic Alei Shur points out that Hebrew is the only language in which the world “life” is in plural. Chayim really means lives not life. This is because the definition of life is connection. The famous Talmudic line “Give me friendship or give me death ” is not just a warm fuzzy Hallmark sentiment. Life is about reaching beyond the narrow borders of ourselves and relating to the k’negdo the one opposite me who sees the world so differently than I do that he is clearly “not me.”

If we want to be alive to really touch chayim we need that “not me” standing opposite us his essence demanding that I relate to him. I may want to sell those shoes I may want to get on my spouse’s or my mother’s good side but when I turn the person opposite me into a means toward an end I not only erase them I have no exit from the prison of my own self. It is the other who will catapult me out of the narrow world of my comfort zone into a life of connection.

I AM

The basis of all Creation is the first commandment: “Anochi Hashem Elokecha — I am the L-rd your G-d.” G-d is telling us: I am. I. Am.

This first statement crashes humanity straight into the reality of G-d’s Existence.

Because I Am you may not have other gods before Me. You may not make an image of Me or draw a picture of Me. You may not have an idol that represents Me. Being in a relationship with Me means you will have to resist the urge to make Me over in your own image.

Why do people hate stereotypes? Why do we insist that even though we are New Yorkers/Yekkes/Hungarians/ chassidishe we’re not really like other NewYorkers/Yekkes/Hungarians/chassidim?

We fight against being put in a box. Stereotypes deny the vastness of our humanity. We thrash against any attempt to reduce us to a number. Intrinsically we know that we are infinite — vaster and deeper than anything anyone else could ever know.

And yet as much as we hate it when others label us we find ourselves escaping the discomfort of being with the unknowable by trying to put a label on Hashem. Over and over again the Torah tells us not to succumb to the temptation of thinking we can put Hashem in our pocket. After the sin of the Golden Calf Hashem calls us a stubborn “stiff-necked people.” We may have been impetuous we may have been disobedient but why did He call us stubborn? We were stubborn because we insisted on slinking back to that comfortable mode of “non-relationship” where I define who You are. The prohibition against making an idol is a charge to humanity — be brave enough to enter into a relationship in which you do not know. In which you do not understand in which G-d is. And G-d is not you.

RECREATING “G-D” IN MAN’S IMAGE

Chazal tell us that Iyov was a righteous man. At first Iyov’s life ran predictably: He was good and Hashem bestowed on him the good he knew he deserved. Every day he conscientiously brought sacrifices to atone for any sins his children might have committed; the script of his life rolled forward exactly as was expected.

But though he was covering all the bases he wasn’t really in a relationship. He did what he was supposed to and took the necessary precautions to make sure G-d continued doing what He was “supposed to.” He pressed all the levers to make sure that his carefully built little world did not fall apart. But a relationship with an other is not one you can control. The name of the game is being willing to step into the unknown.

All of a sudden Iyov was thrust into a world that did not seem to make sense. His suffering was way beyond anything he knew he deserved. In his pain he called out to Hashem “Maybe you have even confused me Iyov with an Oyev [an enemy]?!” Who was this G-d who was no longer playing by the rules?

Iyov’s friends kept trying to drag the conversation back into its predictable comfortable borders insisting that Iyov must have sinned. There has to be a tit for tat here (because if we can’t explain it then we have no control — and what could be more terrifying than that?). Therefore Iyov you must be wrong. Such terrible things would not happen to an innocent person.

But Iyov was courageous enough not to go there. He was being invited to move out of that safe predictable world where when you push that lever you get that result. Hashem was opening the door to a real relationship — the definition of which involves pushing open the door labeled not-me and entering into unknown territory. Iyov allowed himself to be jolted out of his comfortable but immature relationship where Hashem fit neatly into his cookie-cutter existence. He was brought face-to-face with an Other who is unfathomable. And strangely that was his comfort.

I wasn’t there when G-d created heaven and earth. G-d is not me. He is unknowable beyond what He tells me about himself. But He is there. And if I want a relationship with another there will be no hiding behind a facade of “Baruch Hashem all is fine.” I am in a real relationship that by definition drags in the whole spectrum of human emotions. Closeness. Intimacy. Bewilderment. Anger. Distance. Understanding. And again closeness. It is not just me with myself and the shadow god I project. It’s me with G-d Master of the Universe. (These ideas are culled from the book Out of the Whirlwind by Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik.)  

It would be so much more comfortable if I could recreate G-d into a nice three-dimensional figure that I could fit into my pocket. But Anochi Hashem is the clarion call of Otherness.

It would be so much more comfortable if I could recreate my spouse into the person I want him to be. So much more comfortable if I could dictate to him what he should think and how he should act. But on the other side of the Luchos exactly parallel to Anochi Hashem is the commandment that tells us “Do not murder.” Acknowledge the vast unknowable person with the eternal G-dly soul that stands opposite you. He exists. Grant him life in your world. Don’t snuff him out and stand up a straw man in his place. He was not created to wear the costume you have chosen for him.

THE LOVE WORKSHOP

Judaism is one huge laboratory to help us move into relationship. In an exquisitely orchestrated framework Judaism brings us face-to-face with the fact that there is more to this world than wonderful me.

In the famous story of the potential convert to Judaism who asked Hillel to tell him “the whole Torah while he was standing on one foot” Hillel tells him that Judaism is all about your obligation to your fellow man. “Whatever you would not want someone to do to you do not do to others. The rest is commentary — go and learn.”

We have grown up on that story and it is excellent public relations for Judaism but what does it mean? How could Hillel have said that? What about tefillin? What about Shabbos? What about kosher? What about all those mitzvos that do not seem to have anything to do with v’ahavta l’rei’acha kamocha?

In a feel-good American-as-apple-pie approach “mitzvah” is sometimes used as synonymous with good deed. A mitzvah is a nice thing I do when the sentiment moves me. It is a warm fuzzy act that affirms to me that “I am ” as the T-shirt proclaims “Awesome!”

But a mitzvah is not just a good deed. A mitzvah is a commandment and a commandment much as we may like to escape the thought implies a Commander. The minute I acknowledge “Anochi Hashem Elokecha” I step into a world of obligation.

Beyond all the depth and beauty of each and every mitzvah a mitzvah obligates.

Hillel was telling the potential convert: You want to know what the bottom line of Judaism is? Judaism is a workshop where you learn the art of love. Love involves a k’negdo — an awareness that I am not you — and that is what the mitzvos do. They ask us to commit to something and thereby to Someone. They ask us to go beyond our surety about life beyond our opinions about the best way to do things beyond our druthers.

Judaism is not an ecstatic experience that is all about me and the high I get from connecting to Him. It’s about making space for Hashem in every sphere of my life even when I really don’t want to. Hillel was telling the convert: If you allow yourself to be obligated by the Other you will become someone who knows how to love your neighbor as yourself. You will know what love actually is. By committing to someone beyond youself you can be in a relationship — with the “rei’a” Who is Hashem and the “rei’a” who is your fellow man.

What is it that gives us the ability to relate to the other? Not our bodies which like human vacuum cleaners are busily engaged in survival of the fittest — sure that every morsel of resources is designated just for me. Only the soul understands the language of love — of being obligated by the other.

And it is that soul that Hashem blew into us that chelek eloka mimaal which we blow back into the shofar on Motzaei Yom Kippur freed at last from the narrow prison of ourselves. Through our teshuvah we have finally made room in our lives for the Ultimate Other — and can turn to face He who awaits our return.  

Miriam Kosman is a lecturer for Nefesh Yehudi an outreach organization that teaches Torah to secular Israeli university students. This article is excerpted from her upcoming book on the Male and Female forces in creation and in ourselves.