Shattered Stories

This year, Deuteronomy feels different. It has me wondering about how we’ll look back at recent events, what kind of collective memories we’ll create.

While history deals in objective facts, memory concerns subjective experience. Jewish history is the story of events that happened; Jewish memory is how Jews talk and feel about their past, how we remember these events, and how we use them to strengthen Jewish life.

Memories, both individual and collective, are constantly being reinterpreted in light of new realities. Michael Weingrad writes, “History cannot tell stories about or draw lessons from events. It’s memory—willful, partial, selective—that makes meaning from the past and allows us to find our way in the present.” Memories are considered things that happened to us, even if they didn’t. Elie Weisel notes, “Some stories are true that never happened.” Adam Kirsh writes, “It’s possible to see Judaism itself as a technology of memory, a set of practices designed to make the past present.”

Memory underlies identity, the sense of self that distinguishes us from others, the unique set of characteristics that identify a person or group as themself & no one else. These days, identity is most often associated with race, gender, etc. But identity is broader and refers to any characteristic that you consider to be yours or to be an aspect of a group to which you belong. Identity is always in flux, negotiating among competing forces — events, experiences, perspectives, etc. Crucial to collective identity is a shared understanding of the past.

Another prominent feature in collective identity is the “Other” — those considered different, outside, inferior. Identity is constructed in part through the other, by delineating that which we are not. In Deuteronomy, the others are the Canaanites, incapable of seeing the superiority of the Israelite God and worshipping other deities through abhorrent practices.

“Narrative identity” is the internalized story self-constructed to make life sensible and meaningful. It provides continuity and purpose, enabling us to understand who we are. We craft a story that explains our experiences and their significance, and frame it within a generally stable space. Narratives evolve as we collect new experiences and insights, yet, coherence in our narrative identity is essential for a stable sense of self.

But, our stories can become fragmented through life transitions, traumatic events, and significant discrepancies with our lived experience. We reevaluate and integrate new insights. We strive to create more authentic and resilient narratives that better reflect our evolving selves.

These ideas explain why this past year has so many of us feeling unsettled, bereft, adrift. I contend that this is because we’ve been thrust into a new situation, one that doesn’t align with our existing narrative. Our identity has been upended. We’re living a broken story.

As American Jews, we had a certain understanding of what it meant to be a Zionist, a lover of Israel. We thought Antisemitism had largely disappeared. We considered those in the social justice world our partners and friends. Not to mention democracy.

Now we’re left questioning our narratives, needing to revise our stories to make sense of life.

It’s no surprise we’re feeling untethered.