By Joel H. Cohen
NEW YORK — The story is told of a man in New York calling his aged mother in Florida.
When she answers, he says, “Ma, you sound weak. What’s the problem?”
“No problem. I just haven’t had anything to eat in two days.”
“Why not?” the son asks, genuinely concerned.
“I didn’t want to have food in my mouth, in case you called.”
Groan if you must, but the “weak” joke can serve as an on-target illustrative anecdote. the son apparently hasn’t called in quite awhile, and the mother imposes guilt On him for his negligence.
We’re celebrated — if that’s the word — for our Jewish guilt, although there are some competitors.
For instance at a gathering some years ago, a Jewish friend who’d moved away confessed he felt guilty for not having called a relative back home. “Jewish guilt is good,” I told him.
“So is Catholic guilt, said a niece by marriage, who overheard our conversation. Married to a Jewish man, she added, “Our son has the best of both worlds — he gets Jewish guilt from his father and Catholic guilt from me.”
We acknowledged she had a point, but I’m confident that Jewish guilt wins out over all the other brands.
Certainly, when it comes to collective guilt, we’re chest-knocks ahead with our multiple Yom Kippur “Al Chet” recitations of sins committed by us and fellow Jews. (There were years when, as a kid, I honestly didn’t know what some of the violations meant exactly — usury, obduracy, lewdness, impudence, among them. It seemed unjust to have bruises for hitting oneself for sins not understood. And, once I realized we were atoning for everyone’s sins, a great concept, I have to plead guilty to having looked around at other worshipers during some Yom Ki;our services, thinking “I can’t believe you’ve done something like that.”)
When I told my friend that Jewish guilt is good, what I really meant was the anticipation of guilt is often good. If you think you’re going to feel guilty about not doing something you should, or about doing something your shouldn’t, there’s a chance you’ll choose the right path.
For instance, you get a call to help out with a weeknight maariv minyan when you were hoping to watch a favorite TV show. You know you’ll feel guilty if you don’t heed the appeal, so you record the program, arrive as the tenth man to make the minyan, enabling a yahrtzeit-observer to say Kaddish, and you feel good about having done the right thing…or you challenge a friend about a racist remark — reluctantly because you’re not inclined to make waves — and your kids tell you how proud of you they are for standing up for what’s right.
Or your neighbor needs help getting his car out of a rut. you wish he’d called somebody else, but you know you wouldn’t feel right not helping out So you do, and feel satisfied and glad to have helped…Or you’re playing canasta, and it’s both easy and tempting to look at the hand of one of your opponents. But you know you’ll feel guilty if you peek, even though she holds her cards in a way that anyone can read them, so you look away. And when you and your partner win, the victory is sweet and unsullied.
At this time of year, when some of us make resolutions, here are a couple of suggestions:
Try not to impose guilt on others, loved ones especially. And, when it comes to yourself, if you anticipate guilty feelings about doing something you shouldn’t, or avoiding something you should do, behave accordingly. If, like the son (or daughter) in the opening anecdote, you’re overdue to call your mother, do it now. And, if you’re the parent, don’t make the child who finally does call feel guilty about the long wait.
None of this is easy. But letting yourself be guided to action or inaction by what you know you’ll otherwise feel guilty about, can result in a very good feeling — some might say, guilty pleasure.
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