The Elephant In The Room

Elephant in the room
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
The elephant in the room (also elephant in the living room, elephant in the corner, elephant on the dinner table, elephant in the kitchen, and horse in the corner) is an English idiom for an obvious truth that is being ignored or goes unaddressed. It is based on the idea that an elephant in a small room would be impossible to overlook.
It is sometimes used to refer to a question or problem that is obvious, but which is ignored out of embarrassment or taboo. The idiom also implies a value judgment that the issue ought to be discussed openly.
The term is often used to describe an issue that involves a social taboo, such as racism or religion, which everyone understands to be an issue but which no one is willing to admit.
The idiom is commonly used in addiction recovery terminology to describe the reluctance of friends and family of an addicted person to discuss the person's problem, thus aiding the person's denial.
The idiom is also occasionally invoked as a "pink elephant", possibly in reference to alcohol abuse, or for no other reason than that a pink elephant would be more visible than a normal elephant.

If you refer to the posting entitled "You can no more make amends for the damage your words have done..." which I wrote after Pesach in reaction to my son's outing by one of his oldest friends, I discussed the fact that once words, like feathers, become scatterred, it is virtually impossible to take back what was said.

Since my son was outed by his friend, we have noticed that people have been looking at us kind of funny. This weekend, our suspicions were confirmed.

We invited a couple to our house for Shabbat lunch. This particular couple became our friends because their daughter was a friend and classmate of our son. We sat and talked over lunch and through dessert. Finally, just before they were about to leave I asked "so what has your daughter told you about our son?" The wife turned pale and began to stammer. I went on to say, "look there is this elephant standing in the room, so why don't you just tell us what you know." After regaining her composure, she told us that her daughter found out about our son during Pesach. When pressed, she also told us that she had been fielding calls from people who are not our friends, who, "because enquiring minds want to know", were asking if the rumors were true. Our friends admitted that people were calling them, not out of concern for our son, or for us, but because they were being nosy and cruel.

The next day, we were invited to a Simchat Bat and a breakfast following. The mother of the infant is a friend of my son, so many of his contemporaries, as well as many of our contemporaries, were present at the breakfast. The elephant was looming so large in the banquet hall of the synagogue, that not one of these young adults, who used to spend time in my house, nor any of our contemporaries, had the courage to come over to us to say hello. To those people who we approached, the discomfort could be cut like a knife.

It was as if we had a contagious disease.

So to my son's good friend, who felt it was most important to email everyone on her contact list to report that my son is gay, I offer my deepest gratitude. When the elephant leaves the room, two things remain. One of the remains is the knowledge of who is and who is not a real friend.

Saul David