Mensch
In my family, my mom was typically the one who smacked first and asked questions later. My father’s method of punishment was, at least to my mind, far far worse: an interminable lecture that would end with the guilty party being told to commit to some introspection. God almighty, how I wished the guy would have just given me a whack and been done with it.
In retrospect, the lectures have colored the way I deal not only with my son, but with how I deal with myself. All that introspection, for better or for worse, has made me a better writer and given me a stronger sense of self. I think I’ve doled out corporal punishment to Sam on three occasions, and as I’ve mentioned, his past few visits haven’t been marked by much conflict at all. When problems raise their head, it’s a lot more effective for me to appeal to his child’s sense of reason by pointing out that we don’t spend much time together and that fighting takes away from our fun.
One of my father’s favorite tactics in these lectures was to exhort me to “be a mensch”, a Yiddish word for “man”, but in the sense of “be responsible for your actions.” “Be a mensch: apologize to your sister for hitting her. Maybe she did deserve it, but it wasn’t right to hit her and you know it. Be a mensch and say you’re sorry.”
I’m reflecting on that word mensch as I re-read Opportunities and Lessons, particular this series of paragraphs:
“It’s interesting that you have no hope for humanity, yet you like helping people. I wonder if we can talk about that,†my professional friend asked.
“Well, yeah,†I answered. “Just because humanity’s doomed to an ignominious end doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t help out people less fortunate than you during your stay here. That’s what I like about my job, and it’s probably one of the reasons I’m such an angry guy. I don’t like seeing people pushed around, and you have to help someone when they’re down and out. My mom was always big on that: she took my sister’s friends in when they were kicked out of their own homes, and gave some of my less-employable friends work to do at our house landscaping and painting.â€
It seems counter-intuitive that I feel a responsibility to my fellow humans, when I think so little of humanity’s character, and when I harbor no hopes for our future. “No hope”: “negative hopes” is a more accurate description: in my opinion, the extinction of our species will be a blessing for the rest of the planet. I was thinking about this as I drove up the Schuylkill Expressway this morning to work: the rain was pouring down and the river was as swift as it was muddy. The skyline was barely visible through the clouds and rain, and I began to envision the valley as it might look in 200 years, when humanity is (hopefully) dead and gone. The river will still be there, but the highway itself will be eroded, irreparably so. Many of the residential buildings will have been reclaimed by the weeds and trees, the same way that abandoned rowhouses often have a sumac tree or a maple growing through the roof, but on an exponentially greater scale. The shiny glass skyscrapers will be marked by broken windows and rust where the infrastructure will poke through. It’s a beautiful image, like the ruins of Rome or Athens.
So if I’m so negative about the future, why the hell do I care what happens to the miserable SOB’s I share the planet with? I think a lot of it has to do with being a mensch. You have to be responsible, and that means looking out for the other person’s interests as well as your own. Life is hard, and if you can help lighten someone else’s load, you should do that.
I don’t see the two concepts as contradictory. There’s no hope, so you might as well make the most of the time we’re here.
2 Responses to “Mensch”
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June 21st, 2007 at 8:14 am
As The Dude said about the nihilists, “Must be exhausting.”
June 21st, 2007 at 9:44 am
nah, not really.
Once you give up hope, it’s difficult to be disappointed when things don’t work out.