Why I'm Mad at Phyllis Sommer

Phyllis Sommer is a bad friend.  There, I've said it.  Though she has, for the past ten years that I've been in the rabbinate been a loving colleague and confidant, she has simply gone too far.

I mean, would a friend make me look beyond myself to recognize that there are those in my inner circle who are facing hardship and pain?

Would a friend burden me by introducing me to seventy other like-minded people, and intertwining my life, my interests, and my passions with theirs?

Would a friend compel me to support legislation like the Gabriella Miller Kids First Research Act, when I'm inclined to be blasé about politics?

Would a friend want me to sit in front of my computer, heartbroken and weeping, as I read stories of kids like Zach and Rebecca and Sam and Jessie and countless others?

Would a friend involve me in a crazy endeavor to change my hairstyle, believing that in so doing we could perhaps change the world?

No way- a "true" friend would have allowed me to go on with my life, content to have us touch base once or twice a year, and never would have interfered with my social conscience.

So I'm mad at Phyllis Sommer.  She's a bad friend.  And the world needs many, many more just like her.

(P.S. I'm also mad at Michael Sommer.  Rebecca Einstein Schorr, in that vein, I'm furious with you.)