A Roast and A Toast: Balancing Mussar Traits

In recent weeks, I was asked to offer a roast and a toast at two different gatherings, each with more than 100 attendees. The roast was at a gala celebration of Rabbi Jamie’s 20^th anniversary at Congregation Beth Evergreen, and the toast was to honor the National Federation of Press Women’s latest Communicator of Achievement, my friend Donna Bryson. 

Both provided opportunities to practice Mussar. For the roast, I worked on balancing kavod (honor) and simcha (fun). For the toast, it was a balance of anavah (humility) and ga’avah (pride).

 “How do I roast the rabbi?” I asked a friend.

“Very carefully,” she replied.

A second friend gave a sympathetic warning about karma. So before I put pen to paper, I did some serious thinking about how Mussar could inform my speech.

In Pirkei Avot, a collection of wisdom from our sages, we are advised to consider the consequences of our words and think carefully before we speak. I remembered the 19^th century Jewish folktale about a man spreading gossip in his community. Feeling chagrined, the man visited the rabbi and asked how he could be forgiven. The rabbi told him to take a feather pillow, cut it open and scatter the feathers to the winds. He finished the assignment and returned for more advice.

 “Gather up all the feathers and put them back in the pillow,” the rabbi said.

“How can I do that?” the man asked. “The wind has carried them away.”

“And so it is with words,” the rabbi replied. “When you use words without thinking, they can fly to many corners, and how could you possibly retrieve them? Better not to speak without thinking in the first place!"

With this story in mind, I labored over my roast, trying to strike a balance between poking fun and rightful speech so that I could honor Rabbi Jamie in an appropriate manner while incorporating Mussar middot (soul traits). I didn’t want the “feathers” to be ones I wished I could take back. So I teased him about his tardiness in answering emails and his overscheduling that results in late arrivals, which teach us the middah of savlanut (patience).

I said, “I’ve always been in awe of the Rabbi’s faith. (Awe and faith, two middot). For example, He has faith that no matter how much he schedules in a day, he can get to every appointment on time.” I made jokes about the long length of his tenure. “He took his first trip to Israel when the Dead Sea was just feeling a bit under the weather.” The crowd laughed…and so did Rabbi Jamie. Phew!

And then I got serious and talked about the middah of hakarat hatov (gratitude): How he had made a strong impact on my life through his teachings, especially of Mussar.

For the toast, it was a bit easier. I wanted to keep it light-hearted as well as honoring Donna and previous honorees. Researching the history of the award, I discovered that Colorado has had more recipients of this honor, granted since 1957, than any other state. My ga’avah (pride) kicked in! I was writing the toast in my head as I walked my dog down a steep gravel road, my heart swollen with pride when I mentally listed the names of all the past Colorado winners (including myself). I was so busy “writing” that I slid on the gravel and fell on my behind. Literally, pride cometh before the fall. It was a physically painful reminder to balance pride with humility when I gave my toast.

At the event, I made fun of myself for falling while including the names of previous Colorado winners, putting feathers in their caps! I ended the toast with words of rightful pride in all those present by saying, “Please raise your glasses to celebrate Donna, the COA nominees, past COAs and all the accomplished women and men who contribute to our democracy through their critical work in communications. Long live NFPW and long live freedom of the press!”   

A toast and a roast: An opportunity to honor dear friends, sending judicious “feathers to the wind,” while honing my middot. Who knew that roasting and toasting could bring so much personal growth?

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