Humility vs. Humiliation

In these trying days, I thought I’d start with the “humiliation” (at my own expense) part to give us a few laughs and something to muse on not related to current viral or political happenings. Then I’ll add the more serious bits.

Below is a picture of me – on the right – about to ride a camel for the first – and, needless to say, last – time.  I didn’t know I could even grit my teeth that tightly, but it’s amazing what terror can do to you! What you don’t see is the Bedouin calming the camel while yelling at me the equivalent of “Lean back! Hold tight! (As if I had to be told to do that). As he led me around (I had now progressed to full screams), he was laughing and shaking his head. In fact, as you can see in the picture, even the camel is laughing. I don’t even want to describe the dismount or the hanging of my head as I hobbled away mortified. I hoped nobody had noticed my humiliation but me, but someone took this picture!   

The second onslaught of humiliation was even worse. I had so been looking forward to floating in the Dead Sea, that Biblically momentous body of leaden water so significant to so many. I dutifully covered myself in Dead Sea mud, let it dry (ah, the alluring promise of how perfect my skin would turn out), and went onto a short boardwalk to enter. We were not able just to walk in because this particular shore was full of rocks and boulders. We had to have the “lifeguard,” a gorgeous, tanned young man with pecs, yes, to die for, help us. For some reason, he chose me to hose down with cold water before I could enter the sea. I don’t know if I had too much mud on (Would I pollute the sea?) or he was just bored and playing around. Cold water suddenly drenching me, I, sorry to say, began screaming and protesting which only made him laugh and do it more. Ah cruelty, thy name is youth! By the time I got into the sea, I could not hold my head up out of the water as recommended because my neck and shoulder muscles were now too painfully tense, and I immediately began getting extremely salty water in my mouth, ears, and eyes. All I wanted to do was get out again.

Well, before we arrived here, our guide had explained that getting in and floating in the Dead Sea are easy, but there are only three ways to get upright enough to get out: do a knees to chest scrunch and then push your legs downward as hard as possible (yeah, right), ask someone upright nearby if you can hold onto them to get leverage to push down (nobody near me), or call the lifeguard. Blinded by salt, coughing and sputtering, in desperation that is what I had to do. I had to hang onto Mr. Meanbutgorgeous for dear life. The feminist-we-can-do-anything-me had to rely on this man to lug me up and over rocks and out. Then I had to do the slouch of shame up to my room to shower.

I’m sure I don’t have to mention the lesson in this: the camel driver and the lifeguard, nor for that matter the camel or the Dead Sea, did not humiliate me – and even if they had – I would have had willingly to accept the humiliation, believe it, for it to have any lasting impact. I had learned that lesson from our Church and society’s restraints on women long ago. Instead I had let me humiliate me. I had thought I was braver, stronger, okay, and younger than I really was. In other words, I had been human. How wonderful when we can see that, gain some insight, and then just laugh.

Humility is so different.  It’s often a religious mandate, required of all but, mysteriously, especially enforced when it comes to women and used for debasing and devaluating. We, however, are clever enough to recognize how imbued with strength, fortitude, creativity, and spirit it can actually be, and here are some examples from the Israel and Jordan trip to illustrate the point.

In the old city of Jerusalem, some of the ancient buildings have “privacy walls” around their rooftop terraces. The walls allowed Orthodox women to see out without actually going out in full cover-up while, at the same time, preventing them from being seen by men other than their husbands. I could not find a picture of the walls (It was pouring that day.), and so – forgive me – I attempted to draw a section of a wall below.

The openings in the enclosures were fitted with clay cylinders to allow viewing out but not in. It also allowed women to be outside to work and rest with, albeit slightly, reduced constraints. Humbly obeying but clever nonetheless, the women, noting that the streets and rooftops were brutally hot a good part of the year, watered the openings of the clay cylinders in the walls so that even warm breezes cooled them and made their prison-like refuge not only bearable but desirable. They were humble in the best way:  graciously honoring traditions but with special strength, creativity, and ingenuity.

Sometimes humility comes with the hardest of tasks. We visited a long established kibbutz close to the Lebanon border. Our guide explained that settlements like this near hostile borders were established with complete gender equality in labor, responsibilities, and shared resources. Gender equality, however, often came with a high price for women. They may have expected to take on hard physical labor and onerous chores, but the most difficult for many was the requirement that they give over their newborns at three days old to live in kindergartens and be cared for by nannies there. As men had done for ages, they had to leave their babies almost immediately, spend the day away working, and see them for a few hours in the evening. It had to be humbling to obey that rule, to preserve equality and ensure work was done by all, but, with fortitude, they did it. 

In case you don’t believe that was brave and humbling enough, I have one more example. As we walked through the flower laden, dappled paths, and tiny charming gardens of the kibbutz, we would suddenly come upon a bomb shelter (pictured below); then more bucolic scenery and another bomb shelter; then the kindergarten with children’s trikes and bikes leaning and lying near their raucous owners and then a bomb shelter. Life was always – as it is now – precarious. Blessedly, all genders have proven we can meet its uncertainties through mutual, and I would argue humble, affirmation of the gifts that make us, truly, quite magnificent.