Everyone Loves a Good Story

Everyone loves a good story. 

This week I had the great pleasure attending a Moth story slam held at the Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew. Ten people were randomly selected to stand in front of a live audience of several hundred, where they each shared a deep and personal story connected to the evening’s theme, “keeping the faith.”

We heard from one gay man who described the spiritual journey that allowed him to reestablish a relationship with his disapproving, Catholic mother, from whom he had been estranged. Another man travelled the world seeking God, and found a connection to the divine through an unlikely synchronicity involving a Czech woman and a denim jacket (I guess you had to be there). A story about a trans hospital chaplain who was unexpectedly embraced—literally and figuratively—by an elderly woman facing tragic loss, which challenged their assumptions about this woman’s homophobia and transphobia. One about an encounter with God that came through a pen pal relationship with a man incarcerated in a prison on the other side of the country. One from a woman who began by declaring herself an atheist, and then went on to describe the other-worldly phenomenon she had experienced at the exact moment her mother died. An out-of-body experience. Love and care from a surprising source. And more, ten in all.

The details of each story were unique, but the underlying themes were universal: faith—whether in God, humanity, or the possibility of goodness in the world—was found through surprise, mystery, relationship, transcendence. Everyone in the room connected, nodded, laughed, teared up, and cheered with wild enthusiasm for the ten storytellers who stood so vulnerably to bare their souls in front of a room full of strangers. It was an evening that celebrated the shared human experience.

Beyond that, the event was moving because it was so deeply counter-cultural. Yes, we love hearing a good story—but how often do we tell the stories of who we truly are, of the events and the people who have shaped us? How often are we encouraged to courageously share the stories of our own lives and hearts, to answer the question “how are you” with something more than “fine, how are you?” How well do we even know our own stories?

The Jewish tradition loves stories. There is a whole category of rabbinic literature called aggadah, which literally means “telling.” The biblical stories of our ancestors generate more stories—stories upon stories—in the form of midrash, interpretive narratives that can add more meaning and dimension to the text. In this week’s Torah portion, we are commanded to tell our most formative collective story, that of our liberation from Egypt; Moshe instructs the people of Israel to forevermore observe the Passover holiday, and to explain its rituals to their children every year by recounting the events of redemption:

שִׁבְעַת יָמִים תֹּאכַל מַצֹּת וּבַיוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי חַג לַ’ה׃…והִגַּדְתָּ לְבִנְךָ בַּיוֹם הַהוּא לֵאמֹר בַּעֲבוּר זֶה עָשָׂה ה לִי בְּצֵאתִי מִמִּצְרָיִם׃

Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread, and on the seventh day there shall be a festival of GOD… And you shall explain to your child on that day, “It is because of what GOD did for me when I went free from Egypt.” (Exodus 13:6,8)

Storytelling is one of the first mitzvot we are given—because of its power to generate empathy and love, connection and understanding.

So here is a spiritual challenge for this Shabbat: Open up your mental memory box and dig around. Ask yourself a question that will help you go deep. Here are some ideas: 

What is a lesson one of my ancestors taught me?
When have I taken a risk, and what did I learn from the experience?
Which teacher has influenced me the most, and how?
Have I ever had a moment when I experienced connection with God?

And then—share your story. Go around your Shabbat table, or call a friend and have a story swap, or write your story down and send it to someone you care about. If you’re at Community Kiddush tomorrow, find me at a table in the back. Come with a story—five minutes or less—about a spiritual experience you’ve had, and we’ll have our own mini story slam.

When we dare to say this is who I am, this is what I’ve lived, this is where I’ve found meaning, we keep the faith—not only in God, but in one another. So let’s do the sacred work of sharing and listening to stories, spoken from our hearts and held with care. And in the telling, may we help one another find purpose, freedom, and faith in the unfolding of our lives.

Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Shuli Passow