The Problem, and a Biblical Model of Friendship
I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of FRIENDSHIP in Judaism, and had the pleasure of teaching some texts about this topic at our recent Shavuot celebration. This essay, in two parts, is an abridged form of that program. (If you want to see the Jewish sources I assembled for that evening, you can access the Source Sheet here.)
I. Introduction to the Topic, a Crisis
There is a crisis of loneliness in the modern world that’s been building for a long time and which was exacerbated by the pandemic. In past year or so, there have been a spate of articles (in the New York Times, Psychology Today, NPR, The Atlantic, and many more) along the lines of, “Why is it so difficult for adults to make new friends?”
There are many reasons for our increasing social isolation, but the burning irony is that all of our online technology somehow makes our distance from one another even worse. True, there is potential in social media and ever-present smartphones to keep people connected. I’m no Luddite: I have many friends and family members who are far away, and thanks to my devices I’m able to have a window into their lives.
But just as often, these tools worsen our ever-increasing estrangement from one another. So many of us are consumed with our own feeds and personalized diets of entertainment that our self-absorption is worse than ever. Sure, every generation of adults thinks the next iteration of technology is a calamity. (Remember when violent cartoons were going to be the destruction of all those ‘70s and ‘80s kids? Where’s Wile E. Coyote when you need him?) Yet it’s remarkable that people today can actually be nostalgic for the act of watching TV together as a family—as opposed to another evening with each family member subsumed in their own private screen.
Suffice to say that many psychologists identify loneliness and isolation as a health risk and a social crisis. The author Robert Putnam diagnosed this American syndrome in his classic study Bowling Alone (2000).
Of course, there is a big difference between “loneliness” and “being alone.” Plenty of people, not just the introverts among us, crave private time to be alone, for self-reflection, creativity, or simply to think. But that is very different from loneliness: the intense yearning for real connection with other people, but the failure to find someone who can reciprocate.
I’m also writing from a personal place. A few years ago, I went through a crisis that was both professional and personal. It was the most traumatic experience of my life, prompting therapy and lots of self-reflection. Of course, my family—especially my extraordinary wife—were my rock during this time. But I also discovered a few lessons about the nature of friends.
My discoveries were twofold. On one hand, I realized that the betrayal of a friend is surely the most painful experience in the world. I was saddened, to say the least, by the failure of some friends—people who said they loved me—to be there when I needed them. Perhaps you’ve had similar experiences, and if so, I empathize with that pain and loss.
But I discovered something else, too: I am blessed to have some truly extraordinary friends who stood up at that time. These friends were present, sympathetic, honest, and compassionate. Some were people who up to that point I didn’t realize were such good friends, and they revealed themselves to be loyal, loving, and partisan on my behalf. What a blessing!
My first prayer for you is that you should be blessed with such friends in your life.
So that’s the background for my inquiries:
· Did our ancestors in antiquity have “friends”—or is that a modern construct?
· Are there good examples of friendship in the classic Jewish literature?
· Jewish sources have so much to say about the most important relationships in life—do they have anything to teach us about how to be a good friend?
II. Friendship in the Hebrew Bible
If you believe, as I do, that the Bible is holy because every facet of experience is found there, then surely there are examples of good friends in its pages. But that’s easier said than done. Why not stop reading for a few moments and ask ourselves—“Who are the Biblical examples of true friends?”
Did you come up with any? It’s harder than it seems—especially if you take off of the table family relationships, on the assumption that the place of authority between, say, parents and children distorts what we mean by “friendship.”
Then there’s David and Jonathan—a relationship that is often held up as a true model of friendship. Even the Mishnah (Pirkei Avot 5:16) perpetuates this idea.
But with due respect to the Mishnah, I don’t buy it. David, as presented in the Book of Samuel, is a far too complex and contradictory figure to be a paragon of friendship. If you read carefully, you’ll notice that everyone keeps falling in love with the charismatic and gifted David: his various wives (at least at first); “all Israel and Judah” (2 Sam. 18:16); and, indeed, King Saul’s son Jonathan. Time after time, people profess their love for David, and periodically they save his life because of their devotion to him.
The problem is: David is always the object of another’s love, the Hebrew verb אהב. Never does the text position David as the subject to declare, “David loved ________.” It’s hard to know if David ever loves somebody else.
I propose that such one-sidedness is no model for a real or authentic friendship.
Instead, I can think of one Biblical model that strikes many of the notes of genuine friendship: the three friends of Job.
After Job’s devastating losses—of virtually everything he has—the text reads:
When Job’s three friends heard about all these calamities that had befallen him, each came from his home—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They met together to go and console and comfort him.
When they saw him from a distance, they could not recognize him, and they broke into loud weeping; each one tore his robe and threw dust into the air onto his head.
They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights. None spoke a word to him, for they saw how very great was his suffering. (Job 2:11-13)
Read that passage carefully and consider what an extraordinary group of friends Job has!
1. They live far away. We can tell by their exotic names and the epithets that the Bible gives them. (I know I have many cherished friends who live far away, and it can be a long time—sometimes years—between moments when we see each other.)
2. But when they hear of Job’s pain, they come. A time of real crisis is not a time to disappear, or to be too busy. They come to be with Job—without being asked.
3. They tear their clothes—an act of mourning—when they see his distress. His pain is their pain because of the intimacy of their feelings for him.
4. They sit on the ground with him (another ritual of mourning) and remain silent for days (surely the first example of sitting shiva). Regarding this silence: Yes, sometimes, a situation calls for a carefully chosen kind word. But just as often, what is really necessary is presence. Job’s friends don’t speak—at least, not right away; what is needed is their act of showing up and being present for their friend in his anguish.
Later, Job’s friends will have many things to say. Some of those words are helpful, others, not so much. But I’m struck by so many elements of their behavior, and their desire to bring compassion and healing to their ailing friend.
It’s a model that surely resonates with immediacy in our own age of distance and isolation and ever-creeping solipsism.
Coming in Part Two: The Rabbinic and Kabbalistic traditions offer some remarkable perspectives of genuine friendships. Stay tuned.
Image: “Friendship Matters,” Psychology Today, June 19, 2015