Published: 7 May 2018
Last updated: 4 March 2024
Men are currently under fire. And for very good reason - the sexual harassment tsunami which ignited the #metoo movement, corporate greed that has resulted in horrendous exploitation of people and data, world leaders arguing over who has more nukes, sport stars turning to drugs and violence, religious leaders abusing vulnerable children. The list does go on.
One might argue that these incidents represent just a few bad apples, but there are way too many bad apples and as a society we need to look in the mirror and explore what has gone wrong.
In Western culture, masculinity is typified by big, strong, heroic athletes: firemen, footy players, soldiers. This identity emphasises brute strength, skill, and physical protection of the weak. The Zionist movement embraced this form of masculinity and did its best to shed the perceived “nebbishness” of European Jewry.
The “strong”man and the toughened Jew may look like desirable role models but they often hide a brittle underbelly. When we look at some of the recent statistics from the US surrounding men, the situation appears rather grim: Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 35; men also report significantly lower life satisfaction than women.
According to statistics compiled by the Men’s Health Forum, men make up 76% of all suicides, 95% of the prison population, 73% of adults who go missing and 87% of rough sleepers. The number of men who die by suicide in Australia every year is nearly double the national road toll.
We are living during the most prosperous, equitable, healthy, connected and peaceful time in history. Why, then, are depression, loneliness and addiction reaching near epidemic levels? What can possibly be done to reverse this trend?
The foundation to becoming a good man is very much enhanced by being surrounded by good men who can provide guidance and role modelling. The role models are men who are present, who can sit with and express emotion, who respect women and the feminine, who listen deeply, without needing to constantly fix and compete and who can demonstrate empathy.
I recently had the privilege of helping facilitate a five-day Rites of Passage journey for 24 fathers and their 24 sons (with the Rites of Passage Institute). It was a powerful experience that started with the boys describing their relationship with their fathers. The vast majority of the boys explained how their dads worked very hard and were often distracted by work-related issues or sports events, and that they didn’t feel their dad’s full presence and support.
The vast majority of the boys explained how their dads worked very hard and were often distracted by work-related issues or sports events, and that they didn’t feel their dad’s full presence and support.
I sat there listening to these boys and gleaned that they represented a generation of boys that are growing up with absent fathers. Absent physically, but even more detrimentally: absent emotionally. These teenage boys are learning about sex from porn sites, leadership from sports stars and politicians, social skills from social media, and any sense of adventure from video games. Clearly, these are not the ideal sources from which these young men should be developing their character and world view.
The camp was run in a beautiful rural setting and time was spent in nature, sharing stories about relationships, loss, hopes and dreams. There were no phones, no watches, no distractions. The participants got lost whilst hiking, laughed out loud during games and were moved to tears while listening to other men express their truth.
They engaged in beautiful discussions, displaying vulnerability and sharing deeply while the others listened without judgment, or feeling the need to shame the speakers tears or solve anyone’s problems.
As a young man, I spent many years on the sports field and I would often hear coaches or fathers on the side lines dismiss displays of emotion as weak. Comments like “don’t cry like a little girl”, “tears are weakness leaving the body”, “harden up or get off the field” etc…
These constant remarks ingrained in us that we should suppress our emotions because crying in public is socially unacceptable as a “real man”, and an example of how men pass down normative notions of masculinity that enforce a culture of male toughness, silence, and violence.
This aversion to men being vulnerable with each other is accelerating feelings of isolation, loneliness and stress. Listening to these stories around the campfire ignited a sense of community, humanity and compassion that many of the men had not felt in many years, if indeed ever.
After returning home from this Rites of Passage experience, I have been reflecting on our Jewish community and what kind of Jewish men we are nurturing. We are certainly not immune to the toxic masculinity culture that permeates the wider community.
The traditional stereotype of a Jewish man is a sensitive mummy’s boy who is socially awkward, studying hard to be a lawyer, doctor or accountant so that he can eventually move with his wife and three kids to a house in Toorak or Vaucluse.
Whether our Jewish masculinity is more closely aligned with a Zuckerberg (worrier) than a Netanyahu (warrior) is irrelevant. What is relevant is how we show up in the world. Do we acknowledge our privilege? Are we connected to our feelings? Are we ensuring that those around us who are not white men or who do not subscribe to gender stereotypes, feel safe, empowered and free to express their opinions?
Whether our Jewish masculinity is more closely aligned with a Zuckerberg (worrier) than a Netanyahu (warrior) is irrelevant. What is relevant is how we show up in the world.
Are we shaming the tenderness out of our young boys, or celebrating that tenderness and gentle nature? Are we reaching out to other men to provide friendship and support?
Are we supporting our girls and women in taking their equal place at the table and the world? Are we listening to these girls and women?
My hope for our community is that we can love the other men and boys in our lives for who they are and that we can teach our sons that love isn’t weak. Today it seems much easier to hate than it does to love. It takes strength to love, and love is strong. As the Dalai Lama says, “love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive”.
Photo courtesy Rites of Passage Institute
