The call came in
at 2:05 a.m. The 911 operator who took the call was a veteran of many years. He
intoned with a mixture of compassion and authority, “Do you have an emergency?”
But the caller couldn’t talk. Over the phone line came choking sobs. To the
operator it sounded a bit like gasps for air. Or was it shock and panic that
the operator was hearing? The sobbing, gasps, and attempts to talk in a hushed
tone continued, leaving the operator baffled.
Clearly there was
an emergency. But despite years of
training, it was impossible for him to tell what type of emergency it was. Was
it a person in the throes of a physical or mental crisis? the operator
wondered. Or was this a mass casualty event, and the caller was the lone
survivor, suffering from shock and pleading for help?
Identifying the
caller’s location through EMS tracking, the operator responded in the only way
he felt he could. He called for a city-wide multi-disciplinary response.
Within seconds,
sirens could be heard, and emergency lights seen throughout the city. The night
was lit up as every available unit was activated to respond to the crisis.
Police, fire, paramedics, SWAT, hostage negotiators, the National Guard, and,
of course, Hatzolah all arrived, ready to do whatever needed to be done.
Command of the emergency was assigned to a well-respected lieutenant. The
strategy for the entire operation fell squarely on his shoulders. The first
question was, “How would they enter the building?” There were a lot of choices.
The fire
department instinctively favored raising a hydraulic ladder to the second story
and breaking through the windows to the most likely location of the crisis. The
SWAT team favored placing controlled explosives by one of the doors and blowing
their way into the building. The paramedics pulled out their much quieter but
equally efficient equipment, capable of forcing the doorposts apart and
removing the door in less than a minute. All eyes turned to the lieutenant
waiting to see which method he would favor.
The lieutenant
gazed at the yard and surveyed the mass of talent and firepower at his
disposal. He turned to those closest to him and calmly asked, “Did anyone try
the front doorknob?”
Remarkably, the
door was unlocked, and the rescue units were able to enter the building to
provide the much-needed assessment and support.
* * *
This story, which
lingers in my mind from a true event many years ago, can serve as a metaphor
for situations in which a person we encounter is experiencing great pain or
trauma but can’t necessarily identify or articulate what solution to ask for.
It could be a marriage that has deteriorated and is very challenging to
unravel, or a myriad other situations and relationship fallouts that produce
feelings of shock and trauma. There are times that a person might simply be at
a total loss for words.
Those around this
troubled person are deeply committed to harnessing every talent at their
disposal to help. Yet, until there is a conversation, we simply don’t know how
to help. In fact, the best way to help may actually be a conversation – if we can get that conversation going.
The solution might not need the drama of hydraulic equipment and explosives.
The solution might involve having the courage to open the front door, a
metaphor for the invitation to talk, as we create the safe space necessary to
have a conversation.
But what kind of
conversation are we looking to have?
The Talmud (Yoma
75a) tells us, “If there is a worry in your heart, tell it to another person.”
Rashi comments, “Maybe the listener will give you a solution.” I believe this
passage is referring to what is known today as empathetic listening.
As Jews, we are
accustomed to conversations that are fact oriented. When we ask a question of a
mentor, we provide facts and expect a clear directive as a response. Consider
for example, if someone cut a radish with a dairy knife and asks if she can now
use the radish to season a meat dish. If the rabbi declined to respond, and instead
asked, “Well, how does that make you feel?” we might wonder about the rabbi’s
ability to field the question. We are accustomed to asking questions and
receiving answers.
Indeed, even in
the case of a worry and emotional breakdown, it is possible to respond in a very
factual way. If a person is worried or shaken, we can try logic and give them
all kinds of reasons why they should not take things to heart and should not be
concerned. We can talk to them about emunah and bitachon (faith
and trust in G-d). We can quote statistics about how insurance companies make
their money playing on unfounded fears. We can even pontificate about how worry
drains us needlessly.
Yet there is a
totally different kind of response, a type of conversation that can be used
when a person is emotionally shaken, one that works wonders to help the person
sort things out. It is a conversation that does not involve giving advice or making
moral judgments. Rather, it is mostly about listening.
This does not mean
listening just enough to know when it is one’s turn to talk. It is not a
conversation where the listener’s responses are mechanical affirmations just to
get the process over and done with. Rather, I am describing a conversation in
which the listener truly listens and is there with the person, who has finally gathered the courage to speak.
Such a listener provides an amazing service to the person who is speaking. He
or she gives the speaker the gift of being heard
– allowing the speaker to fulfill the words of our sages, “If there is a worry
in your heart, tell it to another person.” This kind of conversation is
remarkably effective in helping a person to process the emotion and heal. It
allows a person to dig inside themselves and begin to see solutions on their own.
Rashi comments,
“Maybe the listener will give you a solution.” I believe that Rashi chose his
words very carefully to capture the essence of empathetic listening. The key
word is “maybe.” As long as listeners understand that they are playing the role
of “maybe,” curiously exploring the issues together with the speaker, they can provide
effective help by listening. The minute they transition into having the answers
and giving advice, they have left this vital role of empathetic listing. “Maybe” is not just
a logistical thing – that perhaps the listener will be able to
suggest a solution. “Maybe” describes an essential – and humble – style of
listening that makes empathetic listening effective.
Sometimes, the speaker
might ask, “What would you do in such a situation?” To be sure, sometimes a
listener might need, at some point, to take responsibility in the conversation
and give advice. But we must recognize that once that starts, the conversation
has changed from listening to mentorship. The wise listener should evaluate if
it is really time to switch out of this very effective conversation style
called empathetic listening and become a mentor. Has the talker truly exhausted
the process, or is he perhaps asking for a gentle prompt of possible solutions
that will help continue the process? Alternatively, the talker may be begging
for validation of how difficult their situation is. So, when a talker asks,
“What would you do in this situation?” the listener might consider how best to
respond. Instead of ending this valuable conversation quickly by giving a wise
solution, it might be more useful to suggest, in the tone of “maybe,” different
possibilities that some people might consider to step forward.
There are times in
life when we encounter a person who is at a loss for words. The pain is clear,
but we do not know exactly what the problem is or how to respond. When we set
up a safe space and allow the person to talk, we enable him or her to process
and share what he or she is experiencing. Remarkably, if we listen well, we can
actually provide significant assistance in the healing process.
