Rabbi Janet Marder

May 25, 2007

Green-Eyed Monster

            The letter was addressed to her husband, but something about it didn’t look right; it looked suspicious. Feeling nervous and uncomfortable, she opened the letter, and suddenly she felt sick. It was clear that her husband was having an affair.

            That’s a true story – it happened to someone I know. Here’s another one. They’d been having trouble for a long time; he could tell she was restless and unhappy, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Nothing he tried seemed to work. One day he found her journal lying on the dresser, and he couldn’t help himself – he had to look. To his shock, it revealed that his wife was in love with another man.

            Our Torah portion for this week takes us into the heart of a spouse who is wild with jealousy, humiliation and rage. Numbers chapter five poses the problem. What should a man do when he finds out that his wife has cheated on him, but she won’t tell him the truth? Or what if his imagination runs riot, and he’s convinced that something is going on behind his back, but try as he might, he can’t find any proof – what then?

            The jealous husband walks around seething inside – he’s afraid he’s going to explode -- and there’s so much tension in the household that his wife can’t stand to be around him. It’s an untenable situation, ripe for violence, and it’s clear that someone is going to get hurt soon.

            The Torah addresses this human problem by creating a ritual in the Temple designed to assess the culpability of the suspected adulteress. Today we would call this ritual, known as the ordeal of the bitter waters, both primitive and unfair. For one thing, it is asymmetrical; no such ritual was available in ancient Israel for suspicious wives to call their philandering husbands to account. Already in Talmudic times, our Sages regarded this biblical ritual as unjust, since it did not accord with their own strict rules for a fair trial.

            But the ritual arose for a good reason: because of the devastation and misery that unresolved jealousy can bring – even now, almost three thousand years later.

            One dictionary defines jealousy as “the powerful complex of emotions experienced at the loss, real or imagined, of something or someone you believe is yours.” Another calls jealousy a “protective resentment towards one who threatens a relationship or value.” At its strongest, it is a primitive emotion, rooted in fear and possessiveness – the fear of losing what belongs to us.

            Jealousy is most often manifest in powerfully physical ways: a pounding heart, a flushed face, an overwhelming urge to hit someone. The word itself is rooted in these bodily sensations: “jealousy” comes from the Latin verb “to boil or ferment”; its Hebrew version, “kinah,” apparently comes from an Arabic word meaning “to become intensely red with dye,” and conjures up the vision of a person whose face is crimson with rage.

            Colorful references to this emotion abound in literature. The phrase “green-eyed jealousy” appears in Shakespeare’s  “The Merchant of Venice,” apparently playing on the association of green with bile and sickness. But it is in “Othello,” a tragedy of mistrust, manipulation and murder, that we find the memorable phrase describing jealousy as  “the green-eyed monster.” There the villain, Iago, compares jealousy to a green-eyed cat that maliciously plays with with a mouse before devouring it.

            Jealousy appears to be a universal phenomenon; I have read that a word for this emotion occurs in every human language. It has been observed in infants just a few months old; it may continue to torment the hearts of those who are well into their senior years.

            The word is commonly used interchangeably with “envy,” but purists note that there is a difference. Envy, the Oxford English dictionary says, is “the feeing or mortification and ill-will occasioned by the contemplation of superior advantages possessed by another.”  It’s a blend of malice, resentment and craving what belongs to someone else. As one writer puts it, “one is jealous of what one has, envious of what other people have” [Joseph Epstein, Envy].

            Jealousy and envy run riot through the Bible. Cain envies Abel; so consumed is he that he takes his brother’s life. Sarah’s jealousy results in the expulsion of her servant Hagar and her son, Ishmael. Jacob and Esau, Leah and Rachel, Joseph and his brothers – the entire Genesis narrative could be understood as the story of close relatives wrestling with these powerful emotions.

            Later in the Torah, Aaron and Miriam envy the special status accorded their brother, Moses. Korach, too, is envious of Moses, and he foments a revolution. The midrash says that Moses, on the brink of death, envied Joshua, the young man who would succeed him, and that Moses cried out, poignantly, “a hundred deaths are preferable to the pain of envy.”

            King Saul suffers fiercely from envy when the Israelites sing the praises of the young hero David; he falls into rage and depression and eventually tries to kill David.

            King David’s sons are torn apart by conflicts born of jealousy and envy. The book of Proverbs vividly conveys the dangerous wrath of the jealous husband who will not be appeased. The prophet Hosea experiences jealousy firsthand when his wife betrays him. And the Bible repeatedly compares God’s anguish over Israel ’s unfaithfulness to the sorrow and anger of a jealous husband.

            A clear indication of the Bible’s concern with this phenomenon is the fact that envy is the only emotion specifically addressed in the Ten Commandments; the last commandment warns us not to covet what belongs to someone else. Displaying powerful psychological insight, the Book of Proverbs says that “envy is rot to the bones” [14:30] – a metaphor that vividly conveys the corrosive quality of this emotion, which eats away at our tranquility.

            Jealousy, says the Song of Songs [8:6], is “cruel as the grave.” The Talmud adds that “jealousy, lust and the thirst for glory drive a person out of this world” [Avot 4:28] – suggesting that these emotions so poison our outlook that life itself becomes despicable to us. Christian tradition regards envy as one of the seven deadly sins.

            Despite religious admonitions, jealousy and envy seem all pervasive. Few of us have never been touched by these emotions, whether it’s the uncomfortable feeling you get when others are bragging about their children’s achievements and your own child is struggling; or the twinge of annoyance you experience around people who are more wealthy, slender, popular, healthy or happy than you; or the anxiety you feel if your spouse tends to be flirtatious at parties; or the excruciating pain of discovering that someone you love has betrayed you.

            Simply telling people not to feel jealous or envious will not eradicate these feelings. They ferment insidiously, or erupt ferociously, and there seems to be little we can do about it. 

            Or is there? The Jewish approach to managing these emotions is twofold. First, our tradition acknowledges that there are situations in which these feelings may be appropriate and even beneficial. And second, Jewish tradition recognizes that we gain control over envy and jealousy not just by reciting Bible verses, but by patiently shaping our personality in particular ways over the course of time.

            How can envy be a constructive emotion? In a 13^th century work called “Yalkut Shimoni,” it says “ilmaleh ha-kinah, ein ha-olam omed. If it weren’t for envy (or competitiveness), the world could not exist.”  That is, envy is sometimes the catalyst that spurs us to do good and useful things. It may get us to go on a diet, or study hard, or work assiduously to get ahead.

            The competitive assertion of the ego will not necessarily have negative consequences, provided that we channel our behavior in proper directions. As the Talmud put it, “envy among scholars increases wisdom” [Bava Batra 21]. Perhaps a bright young scientist will be motivated to search for a cancer cure for reasons that are not entirely disinterested. So be it; if she is successful, the world will benefit.

         It’s an idea that Aristotle called “emulative envy” – we see that someone else is more learned, kind, accomplished or generous than we are; we feel envious, and this inspires us to develop positive qualities in ourself. Joseph Epstein, in a book called “Envy,” speaks wistfully of what he calls “faith envy.” This, he says, “is the envy one feels for those who have the true and deep and intelligent religious faith that sees them through the darkest of crises, death among them.” This sort of envy might spur us to search more deeply for our own kind of spiritual nourishment.

         It is harder to imagine that jealousy could play a constructive role in our lives, but it’s not impossible. Jewish tradition consistently focuses, not on eliminating negative emotions, but on finding positive ways to express them. Thus, if we become aware that we’re experiencing some jealousy, we might respond by being more attentive to our spouse, especially if we’ve been taking him or her for granted, focusing more care and energy on our marriage, and perhaps seeking help in renewing our sense of intimacy.

         How would Judaism shape a personality that is not controlled by jealousy and envy? Both of these emotions seem to arise from a kind of inner emptiness, a profound sense of insecurity and unworthiness. Thus, Judaism teaches us from the very beginning to regard ourselves as sacred, precious and unique – loved by God, endowed with particular gifts, entrusted with a purpose and mission in this life that no one else can fulfill. Our task, then, is not to compare ourselves with others but to discover our own gifts and find the best way of expressing them. Such beliefs, deeply internalized over time, fortify the spirit in essential ways. They lead to serenity and contentment.        

         Even a person who feels valuable, purposeful, and worthy of love can experience a twinge of envy now and then, or feel shocked and hurt when a cherished relationship is threatened. But a person who has this spiritual grounding will not go through life fixated on what others possess, and will not be permanently destroyed by emotions that rot us from within.

            Judaism can’t offer us protection from suffering, including the overwhelming pain that arises from love and trust betrayed. But it can give us a foundation for resilience and strength, the power to believe in ourselves and defeat the green-eyed monster.