Yitro- a lesson in asking for help

         I recently received a gift from my daughter Jessie.  It was a belated Chanukkah gift that just arrived, but it was worth waiting for.  Jessie knows how much Ron and I like decks of cards that ask questions and stimulate conversation at our dinner table.  So she bought us this “Oneg” deck, which features a discussion question for every weekly Torah portion.

         The cards are nicely done and the questions engaging.  So I thought I’d take a look at what the Oneg card asked about this week’s Torah portion.  Our parsha, Yitro, features the 10 commandments.  So maybe they’d ask which ones are most meaningful to you?  Or, is one more challenging than another?  Or maybe focus on one of the other 7 mitzvot that appear in this reading?

         I was surprised when I read the following, “Think back over your week.  What is one thing you couldn’t do on your own?  Is it easy or hard for you to ask for help, and why?  Did anyone ask you for help?”

         Does this surprise you too?  There is a relatively straightforward connection, yet it hardly seems obvious.  I think that the question emerges from the opening moments of chapter 18.  Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law, for whom the portion is named, comes to meet Moses and the Israelites as they begin their desert journey.  He is accompanied by Moses’ wife, Tzipporah, and their 2 sons.

         Yitro, as you will recall, was a religious leader in his own community.   So he had some experience dealing with people and their problems.  The family embraces, Yitro is delighted to hear of the exodus, and Yitro offers a sacrifice to God. 

         The next morning it’s back to work.  Yitro watches as Moses sits from sunrise to sundown adjudicating the various issues the Israelites bring for him to resolve.  All day long, resolving one conflict after another after another.

         Finally, Yitro asks him, “What are you doing?”  Moses calmly explains that when folks have a question they come to him, he inquires of God, and then he shares the answer. 

         Yitro is unimpressed.  “This thing you are doing is not good. . . It’s too heavy a weight and you can’t do it alone.  Listen to me. . . Find substantive men, God-fearing, men of truth who spurn bribes.”  Yitro advises him, essentially to make local courts and appellate courts, and only take on the biggest concerns.  It’s the only way, Yitro concludes, that Moses will survive and be able to lead the people on this journey.

         Moses is no dummy.  He know good advice when he hears it, he listens to the voice of experience, and he recruits help.

         I imagine that was the motivation for the authors of the Oneg cards to ask, ““Think back over your week.  What is one thing you couldn’t do on your own?  Is it easy or hard for you to ask for help, and why?  Did anyone ask you for help?”

         Asking for help is hard because it touches something tender in us: our sense of worth, competence, and control. From a young age, many of us learn—explicitly or implicitly—that strength means self-sufficiency. We are praised for independence, for figuring things out on our own, for not being a burden. Over time, needing help can come to feel like failure or weakness rather than a natural part of being human. Pride plays a role, but so does fear: fear of rejection, of being judged, of owing something we cannot repay, or of discovering that the help we need might not be available.

It is also hard because asking for help requires clarity and vulnerability. We must admit—to ourselves first—that something is beyond us. That moment can feel threatening. Yet it is often precisely that moment that opens the door to growth, connection, and healing.  For many of us, a request for help is a welcome invitation to closeness.

So when should we ask for help? We should ask when the cost of not asking is greater than the discomfort of asking. When we are stuck, overwhelmed, or repeating the same painful patterns. When our physical, emotional, or spiritual well-being is at stake. When our independence becomes isolation rather than strength. Wisdom is knowing the difference between healthy perseverance and stubborn self-reliance.

How we ask for help matters. It helps to be specific—about what we need and what we do not. It helps to ask from a place of self-respect, not apology: “This is hard for me, and I could use support.” It also helps to ask the right people—those who are capable, trustworthy, and appropriately positioned to help, which is precisely what Yitro advises Moses.   Receiving help, like giving it, is a skill that takes practice.

Independence allows us dignity, responsibility, and a sense of competence. It is essential. But taken too far, it becomes a fiction, because none of us is truly independent. We are interdependent beings, shaped and sustained by relationships. Dependence, when chosen wisely, is not weakness; it is honesty. It acknowledges that strength does not reside only within the individual but within the network of care we build and sustain.

The deepest value lies not in choosing dependence over independence, or vice versa, but in holding both. Maturity is knowing when to stand on our own and when to lean on others—and trusting that, in time, the roles will reverse.

I’ll conclude with the words of Franz Rosenzweig, who captures this so beautifully when he writes, “And the miraculous thing is that, although each of us stands in the mire himself, we can each pull out our neighbor, or at least keep him from drowning.  None of us has solid ground under his feet; each of us in only held up by the neighborly hands grasping him by the scruff, with the result that we are each held up by the next man, and often, indeed most of the time, hold each other up mutually.”

That’s what a community is all about- holding each other up mutually. 

I wonder what next week’s question will be?