A simple street scene glimpsed on the early morning commute. A woman in her forties dressed in a sari, a gentleman in jeans and a collared shirt pressed up by her side. A rolling suitcase stood on the sidewalk nearby. A few feet away two young women in western dress milled about one of them fiddling with a camera, reading to capture the scene.
Stopped at a red light, I watched for a moment. Driving off I knew that while it was just one of thousands of mundane moments that I had already experienced that morning, there was no denying that something important had happened.
The concept of gratitude is fundamental to Jewish life and practice. The miracle of opening the eyes deserves a prayer of thanksgiving, as does our ability to put our feet on the floor and going to the bathroom. Following the structures of our liturgy, much of life becomes worthy of gratitude. Gratitude is powerful stuff.
When I was in 9th grade, my mother went back to school, I moved from a tiny Jewish school to large public school, and my family prepared to move to a different city. I was miserable. Each night, my mother would make me make a list of the things that had gone well that day- my sandwich was not soggy, I finished my math homework with ease, walking home before the rain started. My mother is not a religious woman but she was studying psychology. Positive psychology knows the power of gratitude. As Martin Seligman writes in Flourish, “gratitude will raise your well being and lower your depression.”
I know this power. Three years ago, I arrived with my family in San Francisco after two challenging years in the Midwest. The sea air, extraordinary vistas and mild climate could not change the difficulties of the past, but the appreciation of the miracles around me made it possible for me to heal some of the scars. I can tell the difference between the mornings when I wake my children with urgent cries to hurry and those I when I wake them with the prayer of thanksgiving followed by a personalized appreciation of my child. On the former, there is tension, on the latter there is harmony –and either way we manage to get out in time.
There is much in our lives that we often fail to appreciate – and for the most part my gratitude practice helps me noticing those things. But the lady in the sari was different. With the exception of the sari, which was a bold contrast of gold and maroon, there was nothing remarkable about what I saw that morning. Yet throughout the day my mind returned to that moment, to the wonder I had felt in witnessing that moment. Having seen those people standing there, doing nothing that demanded my attention, somehow opened me. The rest of my day was similarly unremarkable and yet throughout I felt profound awareness and sense of awe.
Both my spiritual study partner and my husband, having heard my story, sought a meaning in what I had seen. But I could uncover none intrinsic to what I had seen. For all I know this was a sad moment in the life of these people a moment of departure. Likewise it could have been a positive moment. But the meaning it had to them was not apparent to me. For me I simply felt blessed to have be able to witness what I did, where I did, for no reason in particular.
Skeptics often wonder why God needs so much praise. In my experience, it is not about God’s need but rather our own. Most of the prayers of thanksgiving are directed at things that we simply take for granted. Likewise for most of the things on the lists I used to make with my mother. But it is daily noticing that which often is left unenjoyed that I credit for enabling me to be grateful for that scene. There was nothing that I ought to have been grateful at that moment nor was it remarkable in any way. Yet I was profoundly glad for having noticed and taken it in –just because it was. Witnessing and valuing the scene created a sense of openness in me, equanimity that allowed me to be present in an extraordinary way for the rest of the day. And for that too, I am grateful
In the midst of much activity in Israel in the ongoing push to ensure that women are not silenced or made invisible in newspaper media or public advertising, the celebration of a Reform woman rabbi winning a Supreme Court case to receive public funding, and the ongoing travails of the Women of the Wall seeking the right to pray in peace at the Kotel – the Western Wall in Jerusalem – there is much to write about these days about women and Judaism. And there is plenty to say about female leadership in Jewish community, both lay and professional.
Launched less than a month ago, Kol Isha: Reform Women Rabbis Speak Out, is a new blog that provides a new vehicle for Women Rabbis to reflect on their own experiences as female clergy, and reflect on these larger issues that affect women’s’ experience in the wider Jewish world.
Kol Isha is Hebrew for ‘Voice of a Woman’. It is a contested concept in traditional Jewish law, whereby a man cannot hear the voice of a woman, but even in traditional circles there is much debate as to the specific times and contexts to which this precept applies. Is it at all times, just in prayer, only for certain categories of prayer, or just when singing, for example. Among progressive Jews, equality of genders has overridden this precept, as it has in many contemporary societies.
Why just Reform Women Rabbis? The blog was launched as a project of the Women’s Rabbinic Network – an auxiliary of the Central Conference of American Rabbis, the official body representing Reform Rabbis in the USA.
The first blog was posted on June 3rd – the precise date of the ordination of the first woman Rabbi in the USA, Sally Priesand. Sally guest posted the first blog. There are about 30 women Rabbis now providing daily postings, many of whom are blogging for the first time. Just as with this blog, we Rabbis who blog have found that this medium provides an effective way of getting beyond the borders of our own local communities, sharing our voices and reflections on Jewish wisdom, culture, spirituality, and life with an audience that is literally global. I know from the stats on my personal blog, Raise it Up, that I have readers from South Africa, Israel, Russia, Argentina, Great Britain, Spain, as well as from all over the USA. I also know from comments and private email correspondence that I have both Jewish and non-Jewish readers. I’ve met people who have attended programs that I’ve run in the community who have told me that they came to their first Jewish event with me after many years of no explicit Jewish connection, after having read my blog for several months. And I’ve had individuals reach out to me with pastoral needs online, in response to something that I wrote that they found on my blog.
So, what are our women Rabbis writing about? Well, go and take a look for yourself. But among the topics covered in these past couple of weeks, there are reflections on body image, relating to our teenage girls, balancing work and family life, pregnancy and miscarriage, supporting a sick child, leaving congregational positions, being a chaplain to the prison population, and several reflections on 40 years of women in the Rabbinate.
While most women who are Rabbis will tell you that, in the work they do in their communities, they are ‘Rabbis’ and not ‘Women Rabbis’, there is no question that women have transformed the face of the rabbinate in more than just its appearance. Just looking at the topics above, this is clear. In being true to the essence of who we are, we cannot leave any one piece of our identities behind, and our gender informs how we live in this world, what we see and experience, and how we relate to others.
Forty years on, we celebrate the place of women in the Rabbinate, we reflect on the journey and where we still hope to go, and we share our experiences and insights.
Last year I was chatting with a member of my congregation over bagels with our Tot Shabbat families. She mentioned a mutual friend who has a photo of himself with Robert Redford on his wall. Having been a big fan of Redford as a young adult, that is – years ago – I was tickled. But in this conversation I noticed that another young woman who was standing with us at that time had a blank look on her face. I asked her if she knew who Robert Redford was, and she said, “no.” Oh, did I feel old!
Last week I saw an interview of Crosby, Stills and Nash on a morning TV show. You know Crosby, Stills and Nash, right? They were (and still are) a folk rock supergroup of the sixties, seventies, and beyond. “Teach Your Children” is one very famous song they contributed to the American musical lexicon. I still listen to their music regularly for its beauty, power and social justice themes. I wish the folk rock music of that era was still the cultural currency of our day!
So imagine my surprise when I sat at a table in a very crowded Apple Store in NJ and noticed a very familiar looking man standing next to me, talking with some companions. I know I could be wrong, but I was thought it was David Crosby. I was so excited; I opened his Wikipedia page to check the photo while he walked away. At that moment the Apple Store technician, clearly 25+ years my junior , came over to assist me. I was all excited — “Hey, he was just standing here!” I said as I pointed at the picture. The technician gave a cursory look at the web page and said, “oh”, “now how can I help you?” I was frantic to find someone in the store who had noticed the (apparent) celebrity, so I searched the faces of the crowd. No one seemed to have noticed. Young, almost all a generation younger than my own, they were oblivious.
There is an old joke about the itinerant maggid (preacher) who would go from town to town and give a public sermon. He was a passionate speaker and developed quite a reputation. The only problem was that he had only one good sermon for Parashat (Torah portion of) Korach. This was quite troubling as he was asked to speak in many towns on different weeks of the year and the expectation was he would speak on the weekly Parashah.
So what would he do? As he began his talk, he would “accidentally” knock his Bible off the lectern, bend down to retrieve it and declare, “Oy, the earth has swallowed up the book which reminds me of when Korach and his followers were swallowed up by the earth”, and proceed to give his Korach sermon.
To rehash the role and importance of memory in Judaism is not needed. However, there is a quality of “which reminds me” that is a staple of traditional Jewish life. This is true of our sacred texts. It is quite common in Talmudic literature to see later debates being described as manifestations of earlier ones. Debates about particular issues are analyzed in what might first appear as not easily related other debates. There is a mode of thinking that draws on the tradition and earlier contexts. While you are a voice in the discussion, you are only a voice. The conversation requires many voices over time. Your creative input is welcomed and desired in the broader context.
This is a guest post by Rabbi Darby Leigh.
It was 1984 when Dee Snider first asked me what I wanted to do with my life. The answer was then, and still is, “I want to ROCK!” Given a rather conventional and full life as a congregational rabbi with two amazing children and a partner who is an OB/GYN resident, the truth is I don’t really get to rock on a daily basis- even though I need it man, oh how I need it!
Sure, I infuse my daily routine with rock when I can. Lately I listen to Anthrax’s Worship Music on my commute to work and I write sermons while listening to Perry Farrell and Jane’s Addiction. Rock lyrics find their way into my teaching and preaching, but nonetheless, my relationship to rock is not what it once was. It’s not the same as being in the mosh pit. It’s not the same as being pressed up against the barricade in front of the stage. It’s not the same as watching the house lights grow dim, waiting for the band to emerge and feeling the collective roar as the stage lights go up and the first notes wail. In the crowd you become part of an enormous community, when your voice merges with thousands of others, your individualism and ego are dimmed. For a brief moment, you can lose yourself to a collective consciousness and experience being part of something much greater.
Over the years I have been paying close attention to the experiences people have and cultivate that they consider to be “spiritual.” Spirituality today is so often characterized as meditation, yoga, chanting, or sitting in a circle contemplating unity, oneness, and the truth of our interconnectedness. In other words, for many of us, cultivating spiritual experiences is about trying to turn down the volume and pace of our daily lives. In the Jewish tradition, the spirituality of Shabbat often receives the same monochromatic treatment.
It is not a new or radical statement to suggest that the concept of Shabbat, and the experience of Shabbat is one of the greatest gifts the Jewish tradition offers its followers. The observance of Shabbat is said by many to be the “first labor law” in the history of humanity. We are commanded to “take a break” every week, to not permit our lives to be solely about work and the mundane. Shabbat, we are taught, should be an oneg, a joy and a delight. Indeed we engage in the unique joy and pleasure of being in the company of family and friends sharing meals and thoughts about deeper matters, and about Truth. This core Jewish tradition and observance is a profound teaching in and of itself.
There are different spiritual personalities in our world and for some spiritual types, increasing volume and speed is an equally powerful and authentic way to access an authentic Shabbat experience. In fact, while turning the volume down and becoming more still can support our experience of the spirituality of Shabbat, so too, turning the volume up on the Marshall Amp stacks can do the same thing. Rock & Roll can generate for me, joy, delight, rest, and a break from work and the mundane. Since I can’t rock out every day, when would I rock, if not on Shabbat?
Not only is my spiritual personality occasionally better served on Shabbat with a dose of Rock & Roll, but it is an authentic Jewish experience to do so. Every Shabbat we symbolically reenact the moment of revelation at Mount Sinai. The Biblical account of revelation at Sinai seems to me to be more like a Rock concert than a silent meditation. “There was thunder and lightning, a dense fog covered the mountain, there was a loud horn and everyone shook. Mount Sinai was smoking, and trembling violently, the horn grew louder…all the people saw the sounds of the thunder and lightning, the blare of the horn and of the mountain smoking.” (Ex. 20) One might argue that attending a rock concert, with a laser light show, fog and smoke machines, booms of horns and thunder, pyrotechnics perhaps, and a crowd of thousands all listening for Truth, would be the most authentic way to symbolically recreate revelation.
There is also an implicit sensuality that runs through Rock and Roll, ever since Elvis’ hips first gyrated. While some might argue that rock and roll with its sensuality, passion, and intensity is counter to the religious spirit of Shabbat, I would argue that on the contrary, Shabbat is an extremely physical, as well as a spiritual time, when we are meant to take delight in sensual experiences of touch, taste, and smells. There is a long standing Rabbinic tradition, both in mystical Judaism and in the Talmud, that erev Shabbat, the evening of Shabbat, is a particularly auspicious time for sexual relations. Sexual relations on erev Shabbat are viewed in these texts as acts of joy with spiritual and potentially profound mystical ramifications. Sexual activity is viewed in this context as a sacred spiritual act with purpose that goes far beyond a simplistic notion of sex as an act of procreation.
So in honoring the part of myself, and of many members the community that crave the spiritual experience of “rocking out,” I have been working with members of our community to create Bnai Keshet’s first ever, “Rock On Shabbat!” At this service, we will move our way through the matbeah, the traditional structure of a Friday night service by setting some liturgical pieces to rock and roll or more upbeat tunes. We will also insert rock songs into certain ‘thematic’ prayers at key moments in the service. The service will be followed by a concert and party.
We can’t wait to Rock on Shabbat & celebrate!
A life-long “truth seeker,” Rabbi Darby Jared Leigh is a native New Yorker who loves mountains. Rabbi Leigh is a fire-juggling Generation Xer who toured as a leading actor with the Tony award-winning National Theater of the Deaf. He received a B.A. in religion, summa cum laude, from the University of Rochester and an M.A. in religion from Columbia University. He also spent a year at Gallaudet University, where he received the President’s Scholar Award. Rabbi Leigh provided consulting services for the Oscar-nominated documentary Sound and Fury and for Hands ON, an organization that provides sign-language interpreting for Broadway and off Broadway productions He has also taught on issues related to deafness for organizations including the NYC Fire Department, and the NYC Mayor’s Office for People with Disabilities. Rabbi Darby J. Leigh is the Assoicate Rabbi at Bnei Kesht in Montclair, NJ.
Hope is a Jewish value. The Psalmist says “Hope in Adonai and be strong.” The national anthem of Israel is Hatikva – the Hope. Yet, in the Jewish community today I hear more complaining and lamenting than I hear expressions of hope.
This past week I spent a day with a group of women Jewish non-profit professionals. We gathered under the auspices of Advancing Jewish Women and the Jewish Community. Over the course of the day we identified obstacles to women’s advancement in the Jewish non-profit sector, and brainstormed ideas to overcome these obstacles. The women at the gathering were smart, articulate and creative in their ideas. But the highlight of the day for me was when we all had a chance to share our personal journeys. We were asked to create a collage the represented two points of challenge in our lives and how we chose to overcome those challenges. Each woman took a turn relating the events that formed their adult identities. Stories of deep challenge were shared: deaths of family members, job loss, painful transitions, and sexual harassment. Each story brought tears to the eyes of those gathered in the room, and we sat with each other in our pain.
But we did not wallow in the pain. In each instance, I was amazed at the courage and perseverance the women showed. Not a one of us was knocked out by our painful experience. Instead we rallied and rebounded. Family relationships were reformed, new jobs were found, and difficult transitions turned in to wonderful new opportunities. The collective and individual strength of the women in that room awed me and filled me with great hope.
These women are the next generation of Jewish leaders. Each is poised to take the helm of a Jewish non-profit in the near future. I can assure you that the future is in good hands.
These women have the wisdom to steer the Jewish community through this current period of malaise caused by the economic crisis and shifting religious affiliations. They will not moan about the state of the Jewish world as so many of our leaders do today. They will take the reins and with courage, creativity and perseverance lead us in to a new era.
“We can do it!” was the slogan pasted on posters of Rosie the Riveter during the Second World War encouraging women to help in the war effort. This poster has always been one of my favorites. Roise is strong, powerful, and above all hopeful. The job can be done and we can do it! Women should raise a new version of this poster across the community today.
I am profoundly hopeful that the very real obstacles women face in the culture of leadership in the Jewish community will be overcome. We have slowly been moving towards more inclusion of women in leadership roles in the Jewish community over the past 30 years. More must be done. But I see it happening. The income inequality gap will close. Parental leave and flex time policies will be instituted, and women will rise as leaders in established Jewish Institutions and as founders of new projects yet to be launched.
The women I sat with this week are my hope. They go to work each day fighting for a better world for all. The psalmist asked “I turn my eyes to the mountain from where will my hope come?” My hope comes from the stories and leadership of these women. We have a lot to look forward to!
Last Saturday evening I was given an opportunity to be part of a truly wonderful celebration – the Sweet 16 party of a very special young woman. As I explained to the guests gathered there that evening, this was an evening of firsts for me. We don’t really make much of the 16th birthday in the UK, probably because 18 is not so far away. In the UK, 18 takes on greater significance as it is the legal drinking age.
So last Saturday was my first ever Sweet Sixteen party. Another new and special part of the experience for me was that this Sweet 16 was celebrated Puerto Rican style. As I learned in preparing for the event, there are variations on the rituals that have become associated with this celebration – Brazilians, Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, and other Latin American countries all utilize slightly different symbolic acts and objects to represent the transition into womanhood. Traditionally, these events took place at the age of 15, and so the celebration would be called a quinceanera.
In North America, the celebration has often shifted to the age of 16, influenced by North American Sweet Sixteen celebrations. At the celebration I attended, two key ritual moments involved replacing a ribbon in the young woman’s hair with a tiara, and a pair of flat shoes with high heels. Another part of the tradition is for a priest to offer a blessing, often presenting a bible and a crucifix necklace. And this is where I came in.
The young woman in question is Muslim. Desiring to celebrate her Puerto Rican cultural roots, but minus the religious traditions of Catholicism, it might have been challenging to involve either a priest or an imam. Much of the family was practicing Catholic, and many of the women from the Islamic community were present for the celebration too. It was a wonderful interfaith and intercultural gathering in and of itself. But why add a Rabbi to the mix?
I was invited to offer a blessing at this particular Sweet 16 after getting to know this young woman these past two years through our Tent of Abraham interfaith activities. We had met on several occasions – adult and teen discussion programs, Rosh Hodesh group and Muslim women’s study and celebration gatherings, and Iftar (evening break fast) during Ramadan. And so it was that, in the week leading up to the celebration we spoke on the phone. In preparing some words of blessing, I asked her to reflect on significant moments in her life up until now that seemed to her to have shaped her life and her faith. She spoke of her father’s death at an early age, and later reflecting more deeply on taking responsibility in the world during a time that her mother was unwell. She spoke of the values that were most important to her – trust, loyalty, compassion, friendship. She spoke of her belief in one God, who could be addressed and experienced directly by every person. These words and more were the sentiments that I reflected back to her. In the mix, as per a request from her and her mother, I explained how the rituals and the celebration compared with Jewish coming-of-age ceremonies. Just as the evening was filled with many firsts for me (I even began with a few sentences of Spanish – a language I have never studied or spoken before – thanks to the assistance of one of our Puerto Rican staff at the synagogue!), I explained that I was sure that the presence of a Rabbi to offer the blessing was a first for everyone there. It became an opportunity to learn from and about each other.
In the mix was the Priestly Blessing, an English interpretative rendition by Debbie Friedman, a Rashi interpretation on the blessing, and a blessing over the food sung in Aramaic and English. In just 5 minutes I had the opportunity to share some rich Jewish traditions and prayers with many who may never or rarely had any direct experience of Judaism before. This was taking Jewish wisdom public in a whole new context. These were blessings beyond borders. It certainly was a blessing for me to attend and participate in this wonderful young woman’s special evening.
cross-posted at Raise it Up: the Blog of Rabbi Rachel Gurevitz
Twenty-five years ago I stood with three classmates from the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and received the title “rabbi.” After five intense years of rabbinical school, following years of preparatory Jewish study, we had arrived. The emotional and spiritual power of ordination was about achieving a dream, but it also signaled a change in our status that would forever define our identities. As rabbis we would now bear responsibility to care for the Jewish people and repair the world, with a unique status of authority.
This past weekend my classmates and I were joined by three more colleagues, as we were honored with our Doctor of Divinity (honoris causa) degrees. As has become custom in much of the American rabbinate we were honored with these degrees by virtue of our worthy service to the Jewish people over these twenty five years.
I have been looking forward to this moment for years. I knew it would joyous — a celebration like a significant birthday or anniversary. Many rabbis joke that the D.D., as we all call it, means “didn’t die.” It is a testament to a rabbi’s survival. Reminiscent of the rude awakening I received when I went to buy disability insurance as a young rabbi. I learned that few insurers (at the time of my career’s beginning — only two) would insure rabbis because clergy have the highest rates of disability from stress related illnesses. I still find that statistic hard to believe based on my observations, but no matter, you get the point. We laugh about celebrating survival because we worry about not surviving. We made it, whew!
But surely, as the year and the date approached for my own D.D., I came to appreciate how important it was to celebrate more than the passage of time. This was an opportunity for reflection on the experiences of these years, with the mistakes and achievements, accomplishments and disappointments. My colleagues and I marveled at the enormity of everything we have experienced and done during this quarter century. Our journeys have tracked a time of tremendous change in American Judaism.
What did we learn during these years? What would we have done differently? One of my colleagues wanted to know if I had to it to do over again, would I still have wanted to be a rabbi? Without any hesitation, I said “yes”. My colleague did not.
Of course, it would take a book to document what I have learned. But the opportunity for reflection helped to surface important lessons. I thought of these as I watched with pride and joy the newly ordained rabbis at the RRC graduation. “Be ready”, I thought. “Everything you know and believe can be challenged in the years ahead.” The world — and notably the Jewish world — is shifting around us in dramatic and unpredictable ways. All of my youthful assumptions about what Jewish life would be like at this time have been challenged, and some have unraveled. The stable Jewish community I envisioned in which synagogue affiliation would be central to Jewish life is now very unstable as affiliation rates drop and synagogues are far from being the only game in town. Knowing how to listen to the world around you — and to your own gut — is essential. It takes experience to acquire the wisdom to do this well.
What does it mean to be Doctor of Divinity? It means to be a rabbi who notices and acts on the presence of God within the most mundane moments of life, elevating the sparks of holiness in our world. It means loving the Jewish people and all peoples with an open heart. And it means being ready for change. It means integrating all that you have learned — the texts of our people, the texts of our culture and the texts of your mistakes and your accomplishments — so that you can be better at what you do, every day. It is, as the Psalmist taught, a chance to “Number our days that we may attain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90) Principles, values, knowledge and fluidity — if I have learned anything in these 25 years of service it is that these must guide us in a path of godliness. This, I believe, is the leadership the Jewish community needs. I am grateful for the privilege to serve.
When stories are told, we sometimes see them through the lens of the characters, sometimes from the vantage point of the omniscient narrator, and often from a combination of the above. This week’s Torah reading presents a fine example of this. This is shaped in part by a Midrash, the result being of that which looks on the surface as a laudatory moment contains within it much greater moral complexity.
26. Now two men remained in the camp; the name of one was Eldad and the name of the second was Medad, and the spirit rested upon them. They were among those written, but they did not go out to the tent, but prophesied in the camp. 27. The lad ran and told Moses, saying, “Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp!” 28. Joshua the son of Nun, Moses’ servant from his youth, answered and said, Moses, my master, imprison them!” 29. Moses said to him, “Are you zealous for my sake? If only all the Lord’s people were prophets, that the Lord would bestow His spirit upon them!”
There are many questions here including the identity of the lad and the sudden appearance of Eldad and Medad. This passage and its larger context deserve much study.
There is a powerful contrast between Joshua and Moses. What Joshua sees as a threat to Moses by Eldad and Medad, Moses views as a cause for celebration. The capacity of Eldad and Medad to prophesize is a sign of their greatness and is not to be viewed as an act of rebellion against Moses. Moses is happy for others to share the spirit of God.
But the story does not end here. The Midrash picked up by Rashi describes the following scenario. “R. Nathan says: Miriam was beside Zipporah (Moses’s wife) when Moses was told that Eldad and Medad were prophesying in the camp. When Zipporah heard this, she said, “Woe to their wives if they are required to prophesy, for they will separate from their wives just my husband separated from me.”
For Moses’s wife, the achievement of prophecy is a tragedy. Her fear is for the wives of Eldad and Medad. To be the wife of a prophet as great as Moses is to be abandoned by her husband. Moses has experienced so much of the presence of God that he can never return to his tent and be intimate with his wife. Zipporah understands that Eldad and Medad are indeed a threat, but not to Moses, but rather to their families and wives in particular.
It is this very complexity and mixture of viewpoints that draws me to Torah. However the attraction cannot only be to the pleasure of reading the text. Rather moral questions must emerge from Torah as well. Who suffers for my spiritual success? As I strive for meaning and purpose do I leave anyone behind in the wake? Through whose lens do I properly judge a situation? Torah calls me to face these questions. And rabbis should ask them on a regular basis.
According to the NY1-Marist poll, 53% of New Yorkers believe that New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s latest proposal is a bad idea. The Nutritionist-in-Chief of the “World’s Capital” proposes a ban on the sale of soda in cups exceeding 16 oz. 42% of New Yorkers say it’s a good idea; and 6% are unsure. Manhattan was the only borough in which those in favor of the proposal, 52%, outweighed those opposed to it, 44%.
Is it an intrusion on our freedom? Not at all. Feel free to get 20 oz. of soda if you’d like, but you’ll need two cups. This forces you to visualize, and therefore stop denying, that you are one person drinking enough for two. What the mayor has done is created a bit of “choice architecture” that would “nudge” us in the right direction. He did a similar thing a few years back when he required the printing of calories on menus. You could have that lemon iced carrot cake with your latte if you’d like; your choice, but just know that it has all the rest of the calories your body will need to fuel you from breakfast until bedtime. Your choice.
In Richard Thaler’s and Cass Susstein’s wonderful book Nudge: Improving Decisions About Health, Wealth, and Happiness, the two describe ways in which choices are offered that lure us to better decisions.
When you walk into a super market and you are statistically more likely to buy the cereal, or pretzels, or salsa that has been shelved at eye level. That’s prime real estate in the market business. Without a word, our choices are influenced by big and tiny nudges.
Certainly my favorite example, found in the introduction to Nudge, is that of the tiny image of a little black housefly etched into each or the urinals in the Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam:
“It seems that men usually do not pay much attention to where they aim, which can create a bit of a mess, but if they see a target, attention and therefore accuracy are much increased…fly-in-urinal trials found that etching reduced spillage by 80 percent.”
What we know about human nature is that we are fully capable of making choices against our best interests, especially when we feel a competing value threatened. Right now some New Yorkers might feel like their freedom to buy and drink however much soda as they please is threatened. Yet at the same time, we are dealing with a national epidemic on the way to 1 in 4 Americans having diabetes. Freedom and health are the competing values here. It is very hard to change one’s habits, yet alone that of a city or a nation, but we know we need to change. I for one applaud the nudge toward smaller sizes of sugary drinks – empty calories that the body does not even recognize as food. Will I still have a soda at the movies? Yes, I will, but I won’t have two – and my waistline will thank me.
A nudge makes it easier for us to make the right choice. This is an application of the verse, “Thou shalt not put a stumbling block before the blind.” -Lev. 19:14.