A True Chanukah Story That Will Change You -- Rabbi YY Jacobson

[Music] The story occurred a number of years ago in North Carolina. It touched me profoundly. When Joe Cerna was arrested for drinking and driving, one of the terms of his probation was that he would not consume alcohol for a predetermined amount of time. Yet after caught lying, he was brought back to the courthouse. This time in front of Judge Lao Aloea. Judge Alivera felt he had no choice but to sentence Joe to a night in jail for breaking probation, a sentence that was carried out. As Joe walked into the prison cell, the door was closed behind him. Anxiety filled his entire body. In his own words, "It came back. It came back. What came back? You see, we often know so little about someone else's story. Joe is a decorated American veteran who served three terms in Afghanistan and has two Purple Hearts for his bravery. His Green Beret survived bombs and a suicide bomber. But the scariest moment was that dark night in Afghanistan when he was riding in a truck with three other US soldiers. While following a creek, the road gave way, causing the truck to be submerged underwater. Unable to move, Joe and his friends were trapped inside the truck, which was now sinking deeper and deeper. Joe can feel the water rise to his legs, then to his torso, and then up to his neck. Finally, it stopped at his chin. As the long dark night was over, Joe was the only soldier to make it out of the truck alive. His three close friends died. As Joe returned from war, he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. For him to be in a confined space like a jail cell, brought up that experience when he was in the truck trapped underwater. So, as Judge Alivera sentenced Joe to a night in jail, he was sending this war veteran to one of his very worst fears, trapped in a cell. The judge said, "I knew Joe's history. I knew that he had to be held accountable, but I also knew that for him to be in a prison cell could be horrific. So, what did the judge do?" Moments after Joe was locked away for his night in prison, he was shocked as he saw someone else entering his prison cell. Who is it? It was Judge Aloe Vera himself who came to stay the entire night with the man he is just sent to jail. To quote the judge in his own words, "I felt that if I'm going to send him to jail, it's fine, but I have to go with him." With homemade meatloaf and a change of clothes, the judge accompanied Joe throughout the night. They spoke about their families and their lives, their visions and their dreams, their fears and their disappointments. They spent an entire night chatting, musing, sharing. Joe said that with Judge Alivera there, the walls were no longer here. My anxiety and fear melted away. I was able to have a genuine, beautiful conversation with a highly intelligent and empathetic human being. He took me from a truck underwater in Afghanistan back to a room in North Carolina. After the night in jail, Joe promised the judge there would be no more messups. And as morning came, the two people hugged each other like they were old friends back from high school. Sometimes the judge said, "Jail is not what a man needs. Sometimes the best sentence is compassion." What a lesson for our relationships with our children and students. Sometimes we administer penalties and punishment. We show disapproval and disappointment. We chastise and we rebuke. But if we fail to understand who we are dealing with, if we lack the humility and empathy to experience their inner distress, we may win the battle and lose the war. We sometimes known help but create even more anxiety and anguish. I need to be able to get off my high horse and go into the prison cell with my student, with my child, or the person I'm trying to help. I need to be there with them in their experience and distress and with a warm and loving presence. I can lift them up. I show them that I am here with them. I believe in them so that they can believe in themselves. I want to show them that I am not scared of them so they also don't have to be scared of themselves. And this is also true with ourselves. Can you go into your own dark cell and sit with the child who is afraid and tantruming? Can you sit with your own darkness, with your own pain? Embrace it with love, with empathy as a loving, non-judgmental adult. Because the peace you search for is often on the other side of the pain you don't want to feel. The connection you seek is on the other side of the solitude you desperately avoid. The friends you want are on the other side of the person you keep trying to be in order to please others. We light the Kaneka flames as the sun sets and darkness descends on our horizon. Do not be afraid of your darkness. Enter into your night. Kindle a flame of love and compassion. Embrace all of your parts. And that is how things begin to shift for real. Happy Kaneka. [Music]