September 28, 2024
Author(s): Rav Hazzan Aliza Berger,
Parashat Nitzavim-Vayeilech
Blue’s Clues
September 28, 2024 — 25 Elul 5784
Temple Emanuel, Newton, MA
What do we do when the way we feel on the inside doesn’t match what we feel we have to project on the outside? Or even more generally, what do we do when our insides don’t match our outsides?
I was thinking about this recently as I was reading a fascinating New York Times interview with Steve Burns, the actor on Blue’s Clues. If you weren’t tuned into preschool television in the late 90s and early 2000s, Blues Clues was a show on Nickelodeon wherein the host, Steve Burns, invited little kids to help figure out what Blue the dog had been up to by interpreting Blue’s pawprints.
On the show, Steve was a gregarious, curious, engaging adult who reveled in the joy of simple discovery. Viewers saw him ensconced in a cozy, cartoon living room and surrounded by friends including the cheery dog, Blue. Viewers saw him as a star—the show became immediately and wildly popular. In its heyday, it was the highest rated American tv show for preschoolers and was syndicated in 120 countries and translated into 15 languages.
But, in the interview, Steve shared that his experience on the show was very different. He would show up at work wearing his signature green shirt and walk into a plain blue room. There were no props, no pets, no visual stimulation, no one else—just him, the blue screens, and the cameras. And, because the show was designed to help kids to think creatively and to spark their own problem-solving skills, there wasn’t much to the script either. Much of his time was spent asking questions to the air and pretending to hear the responses. It was exhausting and intense. He says his years on the show were some of the loneliest years of his life. And yet, what is so interesting is that he got caught up in the hype of the show. At the time, he didn’t recognize what he was feeling. It was only years after he left the show that he began to process what it was like for him then. And it took decades for him to discover that he had been battling undiagnosed clinical depression for all that time.
In other words, here is someone who looks like he’s having fun and is so happy and fulfilled, who feels exhausted and depressed on the inside, and yet swallows those emotions to get through the day. That dichotomy is one that many of us can relate to. We too sometimes move through the world with seemingly happy smiles and cartoonish well-being that covers up the challenges we are struggling with on the inside. Or we’re filled with joy, but our inner happiness is juxtaposed against the world’s tsuris in a way that makes us feel like we shouldn’t be so happy. Or we’re trying to broadcast smart, capable professional all the while we feel on the inside like an imposter and a failure. No matter what the difference is between what other people see and what we feel, the experience of living in multiple realities can feel painful.
What do we do with this dichotomy?
In the Talmud, our ancestors faced this same question. Rabban Gamliel was, for a long time, the head of the Harvard of ancient Israel. He upheld a rigorous admissions standard which resulted in fewer and fewer students being accepted every single year. For Rabban Gamliel it wasn’t test scores or grades that convinced him a student was right for his academy, he was looking for an even more elusive standard—a student who was תּוֹכוֹ כְּבָרוֹ. What is תּוֹכוֹ כְּבָרוֹ? It literally means someone whose insides match their outsides. In other words, if you’re applying to be a student in Rabban Gamliel’s academy, you could only ever be brilliant and high performing. If you had questions, if you had doubts, if you had emotions that didn’t match what was expected, then you would not be admitted or would not be able to stay. For students, you have to imagine that this created a very challenging learning environment. Imagine worrying that any question could raise suspicion about your capabilities. Imagine the fear—what if someone discovers I am vulnerable? What if someone notices that I don’t always have the answer? What if someone sees that I am a different person on the inside than people see from the outside?
Eventually, the intense environment that Rabban Gamliel cultivated became untenable and he was deposed. His successor, Rav Elazar ben Azaria, took a completely different approach. Where Rabban Gamliel had only admitted the top 1% and only then if they could demonstrate rigorous academic achievement and total dedication and alignment, Rav Elazar ben Azaria believed that everyone, no matter their academic ability, no matter whether their insides matched their outsides, deserved a place at the beit midrash. That meant that the most brilliant students were able to ask all their questions without fear of being labeled a fraud. That meant that students were empowered to bring their full self to the learning, which in turn meant that they could think creatively and outside the bounds of traditional understanding. And here is what is just so magical – Rav Elazar ben Azaria had far more students who were differently abled and did not meet the rigorous admissions standards that Rabban Gamliel set. But we are taught that on his first day as head of the academy, halakhic issues that could never be solved in Rabban Gamliel’s study hall were suddenly effortlessly resolved. In other words, Rabban Gamliel got the best students, but he didn’t get the best from them. Rav Elazar ben Azaria created an environment where students could embody their full identity without fear, and the more they were able to listen to their hearts, the more creatively and effectively they were able to think.
Rav Elazar ben Azaria understood that the contradictions we feel between our inner and outer worlds are not inherently negative or inhibiting. Rather, the tension we experience is sometimes our greatest teacher. When we can inhabit different realities, that frees us from the constraint of a single mindset and enables us to think more expansively and creatively about the world around us.
Let me give you an example. We have a thriving Yisod 20s and 30s community. A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with a young adult at our shabbat dinner. He shared that he always feels extremely shy and socially awkward on the inside, but has figured out all of these coping mechanisms over the years so that when he walks into an event, he projects “social butterfly” energy. No one would ever guess that the effort of being social is taxing for him. In fact, sometimes when he shares that he is an introvert, people laugh in his face. But recently, he realized that he could channel this dichotomy that he experiences for good. He knows how it feels to be anxious at programs and to feel socially uncomfortable. And he knows how to fake it. And so, he’s started signing up to volunteer at events—he notices the people that are struggling, he helps them to connect with others using the tools he has developed over the years, and in the process he has discovered that social situations feel less taxing for him too.
I’ll give you another example. The other day I was speaking with a new mom who just went back to work after a five-month maternity leave. She was talking about how bifurcated her life feels. At home, she’s totally ensconced in love for her child and delight at their baby accomplishments. At work, she is a Jewish professional that’s totally dialed into the pain and brokenness of our beloved Eretz Yisrael and deeply stressed about the state of our world. And yet, she said, somehow that division helps her in both settings. Her love and delight in her child remind her why she is invested in her work, and keeps her heart balanced and open. And her stress about the world helps her to appreciate the beautiful moments she gets with her child. At the end of the day, she says, she thinks she’s a better professional and a better mom because she’s trying to do both at once.
Walt Whitman once famously wrote, “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” That’s the truth. We all contain multitudes. Our challenge is not to choose one over the other. This Rosh Hashanah let’s own all of who we are. We contain multitudes for a reason.