myself vulnerable to someone else ’ s experience . I discovered humility when I look at a homeless man begging for “ anything helps ” at an intersection , and that I have no idea what that person is dealing with . They are still human , just like me . I may not completely share or understand their feelings or experience , but I still honor them . Tentropolis allowed me to give up the right to know someone ’ s story at first glance . I discovered an access to love .
Therein lies a dilemma , and the next transformation in my relationship to empathy . Tentropolis was six years ago , and I can ’ t always undergo a week-long simulation to “ stand in another ’ s moccasins ,” as my mother would say . It ’ s also easier — and safer — to show empathy to a stranger . Even now as I embark on a career in Assisted Living and Memory Care , caring for people with Alzheimer ’ s and dementia , which requires a high level of empathy , I cannot , nor do I want to “ understand or share ” the feelings of my residents . I cannot locate myself in their brains ; honestly that terrifies me . Yet I still possess an extraordinary ability to be with my residents ’ feelings , without making them wrong for that which is no longer in their control . Do I get frustrated ? Absolutely . Am I always the beacon of empathy , grace , and patience ? No . Sometimes I turn off my empathy to avoid being a puddle on the floor .
So my next step : having empathy unconditionally for the people I love the most , and being empathic towards the people who scare me .
We begin as total strangers ... by Rabbi Bernie Kling
As a Sedona Rabbi and chaplain , my greatest experiences of empathy have taken place in hospital and hospice chaplaincy situations . When I walk into the hospital room of a patient I have not met before , I know little about them — just their name , their age , and their admission date . Beyond that they are a blank slate to me , just as I am to them . We begin as total strangers . My immediate goal is to close this gap between us as quickly as possible .
I tell them my name , that I am the chaplain on duty , and ask them whether they would like a visit or a prayer . If they say neither , I understand .— Sometimes I don ’ t want to deal with an uninvited stranger who appears on my doorstep with the kindest of intentions either . Why should a hospital patient be expected to do so ? If the patient invites me in , a deeper connection begins . At times they just want a prayer and a blessing , but usually they want to talk to me about their lives — especially when they can feel how much I love to listen . And as I am old enough to have had a great variety of life experiences , our stories often cross paths , and we learn that we have both encountered many similar people , relationships and situations in our past . This gets a wonderful process of mutual empathy going without either of us really having to work at it . We can feel both the love and loss that we have each experienced in our lives — because they are fundamentally the same .
One holiday night I was called to the bedside of a man whose struggle for breath was just about over . His wife lay curled around him in bed , unable to let go , even though both she and his children knew it was time for him to let go .
I — chanted two psalms over him in Hebrew . Even though he appeared unconscious , his breathing became more rapid and his eyes began rolling behind closed lids . It seemed the ancient words were getting through on some deep spiritual level , even as he hovered between life and death .
I felt empathy for this stranger I had been called to visit because I had witnessed several of my relatives go through this final struggle for breath . And I felt empathy for his family because of all the times my own family had been part of a similar deathwatch . I know what waiting for the end is like . It ’ s a painful and conflicted situation . You don ’ t want your loved one to leave , and yet you don ’ t want them to suffer any longer .
When I finished chanting , I asked whether there were any special prayers they would like me to recite . “ No , Rabbi ,” they said . “ You said all the prayers that were needed .” I left shortly afterwards , deeply honored by their response .
The next morning they called to let me know their father had passed . I felt so blessed to be able to participate once again in this holy work . Cultivating empathy as we move through our days brings such richness to life . For me , that ’ s what it ’ s all about .
24 IMAGINE l SPRING 2016