Klalpathy

Language, like most other aspects of our world, is constantly evolving. Words can fall out of fashion, take on different meanings, and even be added to our ever-growing lexicons. Last year alone, Merriam-Webster published over 5000 new words. No doubt that the legitimacy of some of these words could and should be challenged, but the reality is that once a word captures a concept, a feeling, a thing, or an action, and has made it into regular use, it becomes a bona fide word.

It can be hard to keep up. There are so many words that are commonly misused, it is a wonder that we keep turning out new ones, possibly further complicating our ability to keep things straight. One might question the virtue of giving each and everything its own word. Is it really necessary? Personally, I believe that when we speak to one another, even in the same mother tongue, we are all ultimately translating from the language of our hearts and thoughts, constantly searching for the most precise words to express ourselves. Consequently, something is always being lost in translation. The more nuanced options that we have available, the more chances we have to be understood, even if just by ourselves. Having the language to identify our feelings is invaluable.

Years ago, I used to fantasize about inventing a new word. How cool would it be to identify a feeling or concept that we can all relate to that up until now has had no name? I had it all laid out. First, I would search for this universal feeling. Then, I’d have to formulate the perfect word to encompass it, and finally, the fun part, I’d introduce it to the world and watch it take off like pickleball. I was excited…until I failed to pull it off. Turns out it is harder than it looks. That was disappointing in itself, but it was kind of devastating to realize how difficult it actually was to join the ranks of the originators of “sus”, “delulu”, and “fit check”. Accepting my apparent ineptitude, I let this particular fantasy go, and moved on to other noble pursuits. Imagine the surprise I experienced today, years after giving up on this dream, when I inadvertently identified a concept just begging for a name.

It all began today on the 10 minute drive to physical therapy. This is a drive I have done thousands of times over the last 5 years. To get anywhere from Moreshet, you can drive either left or right. The initial 10 minutes of driving in either direction will ultimately lead you to wherever you want to go, but these roads are unavoidable. Most notably, this means that every time I went grocery shopping, people visiting, gas filling, child pick uping, library perusing, etc, I was driving these roads. Moreshet is part of the regional council known as Misgav, found in the Lower Galilee. While we have much to boast about, including gorgeous views of the Mediterranean, we are now probably most known as the regional council where ex-hostage Alon Ohel is from.

For years, and not unlike most of Israel, the people of Misgav have lived with the pain of the hostages at the forefront. It was not enough to decorate our highways and traffic circles with demands to do what we can for our hostages, but this area made sure to constantly change the banners and displays. They did not allow the pain to ebb, to fade somewhat into the background. To drive in Misgav was to remember every day the urgency of this crisis. To confront the pain of the suffering of our own. To understand that life will never just go on as long as they are not home.

This plight to return all of the hostages took over a large amount of real estate in my heart and mind, but even within that, there are particular hostages who found their way covering more surface area than others. Not that they were more important to me than others, G-d forbid, but rather my familiarity with them lent itself to having me extra invested in every aspect of their return. Alon’s parents were the first parents of hostages that I met and heard speak. I was humbled and moved by the grace that they embodied throughout this nightmare. They shared Alon’s story, which began long before he was ever kidnapped. Alon’s face and name are all over our area. He is one of ours, and tomorrow, G-d willing, he is finally coming home.

As I drove this morning, I was naturally thinking about tomorrow. I imagined all of the yeshuvim of our area lining the road welcoming Alon home, and I cried. I wondered if there would be a new display up now that Alon is coming home, and I cried. I contemplated making my own poster, and I cried. I cried like I’ve been crying at all of the hostage return footage. Not the pretty kind of tears that slowly well up and delicately fall one at a time kind of crying. The ugly throat-catching, heart-wrenching sobs that escape and intermingle with the tears and snot kind of crying. I lean into it and give this unnamed emotion the space to express itself, and I wonder what it is exactly that I am feeling and how I can possibly feel it as strongly as I do.

I think about the hostages themselves, their experiences, their pain, their recovery. I think about their families, and their experiences, pain, and recovery. And I think for a moment that maybe what I’m feeling and why I am feeling it so strongly is because it is empathy. That’s the difference between empathy and sympathy, right? Empathy is the actual consuming feeling of experiencing someone else’s feelings whereas sympathy is feeling compassion for someone else’s feelings. Surely, this is empathy. Except, how could I, essentially a bystander, possibly feel anything close to what these people could be feeling? No, I am not that arrogant. So what is it? Could there be something between sympathy and empathy? Could there be a word to describe the experience of feeling so connected to someone else that you can actually feel something so strongly as a direct response to that connection? Can I be feeling the relief and joy of my own experience with this new reality that is in contrast to the pain that I felt as someone connected to those experiencing it firsthand? Is it maybe not feeling even in part what they are feeling, but rather the feeling of connectedness itself? Yes. This possibility begins to resonate. It reminds me of all of the times since I’ve made Aliyah when I’ve felt consumed by emotion. I don’t think it was ever about the joy or the pain or whatever the emotion was, I think it was essentially a response to the feeling of being so connected to my people, so invested in them. What do we call this?

It looks like I’ve finally got my concept, now I just need to give it a name. On the other hand, maybe the name for this emotion already exists. Maybe that’s what it means to be a part of Klal Yisrael. However, being a part of Klal Yisrael encompasses more than just this, so allow me to introduce the word “klalpathy” for the first time.

klal·pa·thy
/ˈklaləTHē/
noun
the feeling of being so connected to other Jewish people
“Her feelings of klalpathy filled her heart as she watched her people rejoice.”

I am intimately connected to my people through our shared connection to the Almighty. My feelings of klalpathy are, in essence, an acknowledgement of that point of connection.

It strikes me as ironic that I have this specific epiphany right before פרשת נח. We all know the story of the people of בבל who joined together to try and force G-d out of their lives. Hashem responded by changing their languages, which in turn created discord among them. I always thought that this was a practical punishment intended to prevent them from working together. Now I understand better. The דור הפלגה wished to take Hashem out of the picture, and when that is the case, humanity no longer has a connection; hence, they no longer had a shared language. They took this new reality and used it to move further apart from each other.

Jews, by contrast, may live all over the world, but we all speak the same language, and that is the language of klalpathy. May we always continue to work to expand our vocabularies to give more expression to our language in order to bridge the gaps between us.