When Mussar Meets Travel

by Jennifer Saber

“Oh, super,” I said sarcastically under my breath accompanied by a deep sigh. I was on an international overnight flight across the Atlantic and I was settling in for a choppy night’s sleep at best.  Nine hours and change squashed in a chair in Basic Economy. My best fighting chance was a neck pillow and a full recline. I sleepily searched and found the button in the armrest and leaned back, only to notice a few minutes later I was sitting straight up at attention again. So I tried again a few times with the same uncomfortable and frustrating result.   Shampoo. Rinse. Repeat. Darn it.  I really thought my seat was broken until I caught the dirty look from the stranger behind me and it clicked.  He was pushing my seat forward every time I leaned it back.  

What would you do in this situation?  In that split second, what would be your reaction to the grumpy looking elderly man behind you?  Would you yell at this stranger?  Would you hit the call button and signal the flight attendant over to referee?  Or would you quietly keep trying to reclaim your inch of comfort?

For a split second I glanced over at my travelmate with the stinkiest of eyes, willing my mouth to stay shut, to not slip out any moments of poor judgement.  Then in a split second it was gone.  I remembered on the way to my destination a week ago, the passenger in front of me did the same.  The seat in front of me was so far back it was definitely crowding my personal space.  That was when the overwhelming feeling of rachamim (compassion) hit me in the face like that seat nearly did.  

Rachamim, the kind of compassion that treats another person’s discomfort as something that matters to me too.

Oh gosh. I didn’t mean to cause this stranger discomfort.  I didn’t mean for this person to have my seat in his face while he tried to eat or the television screen on the back of my chair so close that he couldn’t see it clearly.  But if my comfort comes at someone else’s expense, what’s the compassionate choice?  The Torah’s call to love the stranger doesn’t wait for dramatic moments.  It shows up in cramped spaces, tired bodies, and tiny choices.

But if my comfort comes at someone else’s expense, what’s the compassionate choice?

“You shall love the stranger because you have been strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy. 10:19).  We are tasked with imagining the experience of a person you don’t know.  The person whose story you haven’t heard.  In that split second I realized that I needed to put myself in my fellow passenger’s shoes and give him the benefit of the doubt.  He may have a very good reason for his actions.  And I was in the same situation on the way to my destination the week before.  

“You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.  You shall not mistreat any widow or orphan.” (Exodus. 22:20-21).  In that split second, I didn’t want to cause this stranger any harm, using my advantage in the chair in front of him at the disadvantage of him behind me.  I certainly felt a level of discomfort when the person in front of me fully reclined backwards.  

We’ve all been in situations where we had to weigh a decision in a split second and dig deep for rachamim.  And in that moment high above the Atlantic Ocean, my compassion for the stranger won out with the eventual realization, noticing his discomfort and not wanting to wrong him.

So as not to keep you in suspense any longer… what was my reaction?  I decided to put my seat back a tiny bit.  An angle that would take the edge off, but hopefully kept a reasonable distance from intruding on the stranger’s personal space.  And my unspoken compromise seemed to be well received.  No more tug of war with my seat for the remainder of the flight.

If this resonates, join us for Chai Mitzvah’s virtual Mussar on the first Monday of every month to explore rachamim/compassion and other middot that help us make decisions and add meaning to everyday life.