"Empathic Distress"

And what to do about it

Dear Friends,

It has been a challenge finding time to write! I will do my best to file some more dispatches while I am here. Failing that, I look forward to catching up after I return home at the end of next week.

I have spent the majority of my time here driving all over the country visiting old friends, and I have several more visits planned in the coming days. I have known most of these people for decades, college friends who moved to a kibbutz right after graduation, Israeli friends from my many visits, rabbinic colleagues and former congregants who decided Israel was the place they wanted to call home. These visits seem to be an important aspect of my present visit to Israel. To show up, hug, let them know I care. I’m grateful to be able to do this.

I recently read an essay by psychologist Adam Grant that appeared in the New York Times that I found very helpful. (Here’s the link.) Dr. Grant discusses the powerlessness and despair so many of us are feeling these days regarding having any impact on the current Israel-Gaza war. I can certainly relate. I don’t know how many hours I have spent over the past three months hunched over my computer, reading obsessively, barely breathing, not knowing what else to do. I have often needed to force myself to find another activity, to move my body, and to breathe.

Dr. Grant calls this condition “empathic distress.” When we encounter others’ suffering, we feel that we should be able to alleviate it. But we are powerless to do so. We feel this so deeply that we take on their suffering. This weighs us down even more, reducing our ability to be effective. We feel guilty that we are safe and whole, and we hesitate to savor life’s pleasures. It is a downward spiral of despair.

Grant suggests a distinction between empathy and compassion. He writes, “Empathy absorbs others’ emotions as your own: ‘I’m hurting for you.’ Compassion focuses your action on their emotions: ‘I see that you’re hurting, and I’m here for you.’”

He continues: “The most basic form of compassion is not assuaging distress but acknowledging it. When we can’t make people feel better, we can still make a difference by making them feel seen. And in my research, I’ve found that being helpful has a secondary benefit: It’s an antidote to feeling helpless.”

This has certainly been my experience in visiting my friends and family here in Israel. My presence, not demanding anything of them, is a comfort to them. And I get to connect and express my caring, which energizes me as well.

Grant cites the research of psychologist Susan Silk, who offers an image that I find useful. She suggests picturing a dartboard,

with the people closest to the trauma in the bull’s-eye and those more peripherally affected in the outer rings. The victims of violence in Israel and Gaza are in the center ring. Their immediate family members and closest friends are in the ring surrounding them. The local community is in the next ring, followed by people in other communities who share an identity or affiliation with them. Once you’ve figured out where you belong on the dart board, look for support from people outside your ring, and offer it to people closer to the center.

I am in no way suggesting that anyone refrain from activism if that is your inclination. Protest, write, fundraise, advocate for the causes that compel you. But if you feel stymied, powerless, bitter or bereft remember to practice compassion. Offer compassion to those who are suffering the most, but also offer it to yourself, compassion for you who cares so much and who wishes you could do more. Seek out those who can offer you their hearing heart, so that you can feel seen in your distress. The world needs us to be open and available and present, whether at home with our loved ones, in line at the store, or even at a protest march. Even if the Israel-Gaza war were to end tomorrow (ken yehi ratzon/Inshallah/God willing!) there are yet oceans of suffering in our world, and almost certainly always will be. We must equip ourselves for facing this world, as it is, without being crushed by its pain. You have my compassion, as best I can muster it; I will always appreciate yours as well.

With love,

Rabbi Jonathan Kligler