A Real Pain
Debra Arbit, a member of Harry Kay Leadership Institute’s Cohort 11, reflects on her experience in Poland.
“You are going to visit Poland this month? Wow. Have you seen the movie A Real Pain?”
I’m quite sure that many, if not most, of us have had some version of this exact conversation sometime in the last few weeks. And if the conversation didn’t go exactly like that, it may have gone, “You are going to visit Poland this month? Wow. Have you seen….[long pause]….that movie?”
It’s amazing to me how often my travels have led me to similar thoughts and conversations. Whether it was marveling how the Masai Mara of Kenya looked “just like Lion King” or that the stunning Great Barrier Reef was filled with Doris and Nemos, it often seems that life imitates art even more than art imitates life.
When I first saw A Real Pain, I was on an airplane. And while I can say I definitely didn’t hate the movie, I can’t say I loved it either. Throughout watching it, I kept checking the time toggle on the bottom of my Delta screen and as the movie crossed the halfway point, and then got closer and closer to the end, I found myself asking “Wait, is anything going to happen?” (Spoiler: it kind of never does)
But this is a travel blog about our trip to Poland and not a movie review. I promise. I’m getting there.
I’m writing this essay on the El Al flight from Poland to Israel. Before my travel memories get jumbled together between these two powerful places, I am finding myself wanting to reflect on this strange land called Poland that, in so many ways, is defined by pain.
In thinking about the experiences we had in the context of the movie, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on both A Real Pain and the real pain within all of us. I’m quite sure that I’m not alone that it felt very, very difficult to complain or even acknowledge my own pain over the last week—both physical and mental. In comparison to the unimaginable pain of the Holocaust, it seemed, well, ridiculous that my soaking wet pants or mud filled shoes warranted a word of complaint. I couldn’t talk about how long we were standing or the less than delicious apple that came with my lunch because I was standing in a place where people starved to death. I even found myself judging my own internal pain. I am feeling enough pain? Too much?
All of this got me thinking, is pain relative? While I’m quite sure my mushy apple does not count as a real pain, what about the pain of Agam Berger? The hostage who we crossed paths with over and over again on our journeys through Poland. Is her pain worth acknowledging? How does it compare to that of Sarah Weinstein, the survivor who spent three years of the Holocaust living in the forest? What about the pain of the lost Jews of Poland who are only, as adults, discovering they are Jewish and finding themselves searching for answers at the local JCC? A lifetime of Judaism stolen from them. Do the experiences of the young Arabs who support Israel, caught between two worlds, count as “enough” pain to justify our sympathy?
On our tour through Polin (the Jewish Museum of Poland), our guide said something to the effect of “Poland loves suffering. Everyone is often in a competition of who suffered more throughout history.” To me, that’s a fast race to the bottom.
How do we draw the line between real pain and…not? The more I think about it, the more I realize that when we make pain relative and put it on some kind of imaginary pain continuum, we lose our ability to not only feel compassion for others but even for ourselves. When we deny someone their pain, it is as though we are denying their humanity. Who am I to judge whose pain is worse than whose? Who are any of us? And most importantly, even if we could, where does it lead us?
As a leader on my own leadership journey, I’m leaving Poland thinking about how rather than leading with judgment of others’ pain, how do I lead with compassion? It is not up to me to decide who is worthy of the real pain designation. It is only up to me to see the person. The story. The history. The pain. It’s not about the plot of the story and what did or did not happen. It’s about being human. And to me, that always feels real.