Why You Must Fill Up On Social Interaction

Maimonides, the great medieval Jewish sage, writes in his Guide for the Perplexed, “Man is innately a social being. Unlike [some] other animals for whom banding together is not a necessity, it is human nature to seek out society.”1

This is true of all of us. No matter how fiercely independent or introverted we might be, every human being needs other people.

“I have received your letter,” begins a 1959 response to a young woman,

where you describe your [negative] state of mind, etc.

I believe I have already written to you several times that in my opinion—which I have also seen borne out in reality—every person, without exception, is “innately a social being,” though of course not everyone to the same degree. When one tries to behave contrary to this nature, it understandably leads to [emotional] complications, etc.

Despite this inherent desire to connect with others, actually approaching people and talking to them can be difficult and uncomfortable. In today’s day and age, we might find ourselves resorting to effortless digital simulations instead of pursuing real human interactions. However, our craving for the simple physical company of our peers cannot be placated by sophisticated stand-ins. We have an undying need to see and talk and bond with other living beings just like us. And there is only one way to do this. The letter continues:

For those who, for one reason or another, have a difficult time mixing with other people—ultimately, there is no way other than the process of metaphorically “learning how to swim.” It is impossible for a person to begin developing swimming skills before they enter the water. Even if they stand on the river’s edge—it is insufficient. They must jump into the water, and then they’ll naturally begin learning how to swim. And in the end, they’ll finally master it. However, all the lengthy ruminations while still standing on the riverbank—about how they’ll learn, and what it will entail, and in which particular manner—are futile. For it’s impossible to learn how to swim anywhere else but in the water.

After asking your apologies, it is precisely the same in your situation. You articulate in your letters your arguments for and against taking on an occupation that would involve being in the presence and company of others. However, this entire thought process takes place while you’re sitting in your own room or in your own personal space.

Of course, my intention is not to rebuke you; I am only trying again, with the hope that perhaps this time my words will finally have an effect, and you will “jump” into an endeavor that will force you (at least for the first few days) to be among other people outside your home.

I hope that within a short period of time, you will not need to force yourself, and you will see for yourself how much meaning and how much benefit there is to being in other people’s company, [not only for you, but] also for them—for it is not to no purpose that human beings were created with a social nature.

Indeed, how wondrous are the words of our Sages,2 which are also intended as a practical lesson in our daily lives, that everything sacred must be done in a communal setting.

Our innate need for others is not a nuisance or a weakness, the Rebbe explains here. We each have our own unique virtues and life-experiences, and our social instinct was divinely designed to compel us to grow and learn from each other. While some might associate self-development with solitude, Jewish wisdom teaches that the exact opposite is true: not only is it possible to achieve great heights in unison with others—it is the only way.

The letter concludes:

There is a well-known Chasidic saying, attributed to several of the great Chasidic masters, that “it is worse to be alone in Paradise than [in Hell] together with others.”

Finding ourselves at the end of the month of Elul, a month of infinite divine mercy—may it be G‑d’s will that you begin to make real positive movement in this direction, and that you are soon able to report good news.3

Of course, this move toward healthy social engagement might sometimes need to be in gradual steps. As another letter explains, to the teacher of a student going through an emotionally challenging period:

It appears that an important component in his recovery is that he begin re-engaging with others…. It is self-understood that my intent is not that he should change suddenly from one extreme to another and begin interacting with others for many hours a day. Rather, he should do this step by step, and with the people with whom he finds it easiest to connect.

However, he should do so with the intent and goal of progressing steadily until he is able to speak and mingle with others naturally and without strain.

Together with the above, and this is of paramount importance, he should be strong in the knowledge (which is, in fact, true) that his current situation can be improved one hundred percent, though, as mentioned, it will require a step-by-step approach….

Since you took care to communicate his predicament, certainly you will not neglect him [throughout this process], and, ultimately, he too will thank you for your efforts—even if he won’t appreciate them initially.4

Let’s conclude with a touching example of the Rebbe encouraging someone away from seclusion and towards engagement with others.

Zelda Mishkovsky, a celebrated Israeli poet, was born in Ukraine in 1907 to Shlomo and Rachel Schneersohn, their only child. When she was eleven years old, she moved with her parents to British-ruled Palestine. Soon after their arrival, her father became ill and died.

As Mishkovsky was entering adulthood, her mother fell ill as well. She abandoned her university studies to help care for her mother while working as an elementary school teacher.

The years went by. Her mother’s illness gradually worsened while Mishkovsky remained at her side. At the age of thirty-five, she wrote to a friend, “It appears that the last fire of youth has flared up inside me before it fades entirely and goes silent; before it makes peace with the profane, with death, with illness, with falsehood. It cries out for love, for freedom, for beauty, for knowledge, for song, for the wonders of creation—for truth. And then again verses of poetry beat in my pitiful and lonely heart. Oh! How alone. How alone.”

A year later, she met her future husband, Chaim. “In his presence,” she wrote to the same friend, “I feel a certain serenity, an inner peace that I’ve never felt in another person’s company… As if there is nothing superfluous in me or him. Or the world.” After they married, they moved into her mother’s home so she could continue to care for her.

Mishkovsky was first cousins with the Rebbe—her father and the Rebbe’s father were brothers—and the families, while still in Ukraine, had enjoyed a close relationship. Throughout her life, she would write to the Rebbe about her experiences. One of the letters that she wrote during her mother’s illness reads as follows:

Suffering and pain fills my soul, seeing the agony of those near and dear to me while I am powerless to help them. It is so terrible to see the pain; it is so terrible to witness how mortality conquers, day after day, the body and spirit of someone close to you.

From the depths of my consciousness arises a rebellion to suffering, as if I lifted my head and saw the eternal sky above, the fresh new grass growing between the ruins; but I am experiencing one blow after another. When I identify with someone’s pain, I am entirely overtaken by their tragedy and nothing else exists in the world. Understandably, after this I become physically ill, so my health is not at all in a shining state. And sometimes, for some reason, what is happening [to another] doesn’t affect me, and then I feel guilty, coldhearted. My soul yearns for happiness, inspiration, bonding, to connect myself with other people….

Your cousin,

Shaina Zelda, the daughter of Rachel

After her mother succumbed to her illness, she found solace in her marriage. She and her husband moved into a house of their own, and, though the couple never merited children, they built a warm Jewish home, founded in faith, modesty, and kindness. They would often study and read books together, and it was her husband who encouraged her to finally bring her poetry to the public. She later described their unique bond as they carried together the reality of childlessness:

Chaim and I have been created by G‑d as one…. We have been expelled from the paradise of the righteous who are “planted beside streams of water, who bring forth their fruit in its season, and whose leaves do not wither.”5 We have been expelled from the paradise of “Your wife shall be like a fruitful vine within your house; your children, like olive saplings around your table.”6 We have been expelled, and we now live on top of a cloud, and the entrance to our home is the rainbow in the cloud….

We both have a dim perception, a faint memory, of the connection that existed between us before we were born. We belong one to another and are inseparable.

However, after ten years of bliss, her husband developed a serious heart condition. For nine long years she watched him ebb away as she hoped for a miracle (“I prayed that his candle not go out, I vowed a thousand vows…”) But alas, at the young age of sixty-four, Chaim passed on, leaving her entirely alone in the world.

We do not have her letters to the Rebbe from this period, but it appears from the Rebbe’s letters to her that part of her felt like disengaging from people and retreating into solitude after all she had gone through.

“It is now some time since I received your letter,” begins a response from the Rebbe,

and for understandable reasons it was hard to reply, for it is difficult to find the right words and the appropriate ideas. But as yesterday was the yahrtzeit [anniversary of passing] of my father, of blessed memory, and in connection with my reflections on the yahrtzeit, the time and emotions are more ripe to respond to your letter and to share some glimmers of thought….

One of the ideas here is that since we are dealing with a dear one’s soul ascending to Heaven, it is upon those who remain close to him to continue those activities that he was involved with throughout his time on earth…. These efforts bring pleasure and elevation to the soul of the departed, for, finding themselves in the World of Truth, they know all that is being done in their merit, as if by their emissaries.

From the above it is understood that there is no room for conclusions about solitude, etc., for, on the contrary, specifically such an occurrence must propel one to work with other people with increased vitality and on a larger scale. For, as is explained in sacred sources and is logically understood as well, there is no room to say that an illness of the body [even one resulting in death] can harm the soul, its life, or its eternity. The change was only in the soul’s connection to its body, a connection that brought along also various limitations to the soul, limitations that are now abolished. Thus, such activities, wherever they may physically take place, are immediately known to the soul, for it is now not limited by time and space nor by the faculties of vision and hearing.

I conclude with my wish that you organize your life in such a way that will allow you to use the talents you were gifted with for the benefit of the [general] public, in addition to the benefit of the individual [self] or [specific] individuals, and [to do this] with vitality and vigor. And may G‑d grant you long and happy years, filled with visible and tangible goodness.

With blessings to share good news about all the above soon,

M. Schneerson

P.S. Certainly every detail in how you will settle from here and on interests me, including, and this is also important, with regards to financials. And certainly you will write about all this as it really is, rooted in our familial closeness, etc., especially considering that only a few survivors of our family remain.7

Mishkovsky went on to open her home to young women in need of room and board. She offered them sensitive care and dedicated mentorship, and “Zelda’s girls,” as they became known, adored her like a wise and loving grandmother. She continued to write poetry, publishing another five books to wide acclaim. Her works depicting her lonely struggles and redemptive insights continue to garner a devoted readership, and are included in many school curricula to this day.

You are an integrated organism. The soulful you, the embodied you, the emotional you, the practical you, the inward-focused you, the social you—are all intertwined and deeply affect one another.

Therefore, to achieve optimal mental health, it is imperative to maintain a healthy body, a productive work ethic, an organized schedule, and a socially connected life.

Especially in times of inner turmoil when you might be tempted to slack off on your practical needs, remember that tending to your “external” self is a prerequisite to improving your “internal” state.

Just like there are physical habits that are necessary for a lifestyle that fosters emotional wellness—there are spiritual essentials as well.