Rabbi Sharon Brous is pictured at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago on Aug. 20, 2024. Her new book is a thought-provoking and deeply personal treatise on the power of being present for others.J. Scott Applewhite/The Associated Press
Hanne was walking her dog in the park, when she encountered a young man sleeping on a bench, and offered to buy him breakfast. By the time the bill was paid, she’d invited Ryan home. Her friends, including her Rabbi Sharon Brous, discouraged her, worried for her safety.
But Hanne refused to listen; Ryan stayed in her guest room for a year. And much later, at Hanne’s funeral, the true value of her kindness was revealed, when Ryan stood to give a eulogy. “That woman,” he said, “saved my life.”
Rabbi Brous, the founder of IKAR, a 20-year-old progressive Jewish congregation in Los Angeles, and one of the most prominent Jewish leaders in the United States today, shares Hanne’s story in her recent book The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend our Broken Hearts and World, a thought-provoking and deeply personal treatise on the power of being present for others.
In Ryan’s example, Rabbi Brous considers her own reaction: Why did the danger of trusting this stranger, she asks, feel instinctively greater than the danger he experiences living on the street?
“It’s so easy to retreat,” she explained, in an interview with The Globe and Mail in November. “The harder thing is to actually step close to someone who’s suffering like that and say, ‘I see you.’”
Rabbi Brous has been making her own presence known for years: in 2013, Newsweek named her America’s most influential rabbi and in 2018, she appeared on the cover of Time Magazine. Her 2016 Ted Talk, “It’s Time to Reclaim Religion” has been viewed 1.5-million times. She was invited to officially bless both President Barack Obama and President Joe Biden at the prayer services on their inauguration days.
In the interview, she admits there was debate about using the word “Amen” in title of her book, especially since she wants her words to speak equally to atheists, agnostics and believers alike. But amen, she says, is a word that’s been used in different forms across faith traditions to honour and empathize with another person’s humanity, and it captures the essence of her message: show up for the joy, show up for the heartache, but just show up.
Many of the anecdotes in her book involve friends and members of her congregation, using their first names only. Along with Hanne, she tells the story of Allie, who wakes up in the hospital after being hit by a car while out for a run; she keeps repeating another man’s name to her husband’s consternation. That man, “Andrew” is the stranger who held Allie in his arms until help arrived; without him, Rabbi Brous writes, she likely would have died.
In the book, she reflects on his presence while wrestling with a painful question she has yet to personally resolve: why do angels appear to some while other good people die? Andrew became an important reminder: since we don’t understand “the inner workings of angels,” she writes, “it’s that much more essential we make sure we step forward in those moments in life when we’re called.”
What prevents us from showing up, even when we know how much it matters? We stress about saying the wrong thing when being there and simply listening is enough, suggests Rabbi Brous. We worry that our presence will be an intrusion, that we don’t know the person “well enough” – even though, as she well knows, families are always buoyed when the funeral seats are full. And we fear what Rabbi Brous calls pain contagion – that being so close to someone else’s grief and sorrow will force us to face our own.
Her book, however, is a call to set aside those concerns, and practice “sacred accompaniment,” even with individuals you might disagree with or dislike. She often describes an ancient pilgrimage ritual involving thousands of people at the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Those who were relatively content and happy would walk counterclockwise in a circle, while the people who were grieving, lonely or sick would walk an inner circle in the opposite direction, sharing their story with someone in the outer circle and receiving a blessing in exchange.
Offering comfort and understanding to people we care about should be an easy decision. But how do you show up for those whose values or politics you find objectionable? First, no one should feel unsafe, Rabbi Brous advises. But “we have to practice turning down the volume,” by sitting with someone who sees the world differently, and learning their perspective, without sacrificing our own values. “That’s where curiosity and compassion really come to the forefront. Can we turn even to people whose views make us profoundly uncomfortable, and engage them like human beings?”
For her part, Rabbi Brous doesn’t dodge those difficult encounters: she has been a vocal critic of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. She condemned the Hamas attack and honoured the lives lost, while also lamenting the humanitarian devastation in Gaza. At the Democratic convention in August, she seized the chance to set an example, and stood on stage with Iman Talib Shareef to pray for peace.
Not long after the U.S. election, she was flying home to Los Angeles, when she encountered a group of 30 teenagers at the airport, all wearing MAGA hats. Repulsed by the sight, she nevertheless approached them while they waited for their mutual planes. “Can I ask you about your hats,” she said. “I’m really curious about what appeals to you about this movement.”
The teens were Persian Jews from an Iranian school in New York; one reason they gave was that they felt the administration of President-elect Donald Trump would be tougher on Iran. They asked about her views and she described the virulent narrative the red hats send to so many people.
They spoke for an hour and half. By the end, she noticed that almost every student had removed their hat. “I’m not a magician,” she says. She doesn’t believe she completely changed their minds.
But, whether it’s a random airport meeting or standing with a worried or grieving family, she says, “affirming each others humanity will help us heal.”
First, we have to show up.